The following day was Monday. Matt came over with two new pumpkins to carve, as well as some fresh mini cinnamon apple crumb cakes, which they shared before their hands got covered in pumpkin guts. They agreed that since the drunk guys had nothing to do with the note or breaking into Kellan’s car, there was a good chance that it was all a coincidence and this was just a spell of bad luck. Matt told Kellan that he was sure things could only get better from here. Kellan knew how accurate Matt’s intuition could be, so he chose to believe it.
This false sense of security made it especially jarring on Tuesday when Omar called everyone together when they all arrived before the restaurant opened.
“You may have heard by now, but we received a one-star online review last night. It is obviously written by a troll and if anyone asks about it, you let them know that here at Besha we want everyone to feel welcome and cared for. Furthermore we have a dedication to utmost quality and sanitation. In short, don’t encourage any negativity. I’ll be talking to the wait staff as they come in.” Omar dismissed everyone, except for Kellan. “I need to speak to you in my office briefly.”
Kellan was confused, concerned, and there was a foreboding heavy sensation in his stomach. When Omar closed his office door behind them, Kellan asked, “What’s going on?”
Omar sighed. “I take it you didn’t see the review?”
“No, I haven’t. Why?”
“It’s about you.”
“Me? What?”
Omar pulled out his phone. There was an awkward silence as he pulled up the site. “Ahem, ‘I just found out that you have a filthy homosexual pervert working in your kitchen. I am outraged that you did not make this information available to the public. That man probably masturbates into the food to give all your customers AIDS. I have half a mind to report your establishment to the health inspector if he is not fired immediately. Either way, I will never eat here again.’” He rolled his eyes. “I’ve seen this before. People make an outrageous claim either because they want us to offer free food or give into their demands so they’ll take the review down.”
Kellan’s conspiracy paranoia was flaring up. “How do they even know about me? I barely leave the kitchen during my shift.”
“I have no clue. What I do know is that it would be very obvious if you were jerking off at your station and the blame would be on the entire restaurant if we let that happen. When I saw this review I nearly replied that our staff is cleaner than many of our customers, and far more respectful too. I’m going to ignore it, but if it’s still up in a month I’ll let them know they aren’t getting their way so they might as well take it down.” Omar waved his hand dismissively. “Besides, we have enough four- and five-star reviews that people will see this person is just blowing smoke out their ass. I’m not worried about it. I just wanted to let you know.”
“Thank you.” Kellan immediately wondered if the same person who tried to cancel his appointment had posted this review. Chelsie returned to Buffalo the next day, and boy, did Kellan have questions for her. This had to stop.
Omar patted Kellan on the arm reassuringly. “Don’t get yourself in a knot over it. Some people are just assholes.” He grinned. “Although, if this person is simply trying to get gay people fired, they shouldn’t have picked a restaurant owned by someone who walked his ‘filthy pervert homosexual’ sister down the aisle this past summer. Probably thought since I’m Islamic I’d be against it, but anyone who sees my sister and her wife together have to admit they’re an adorable, perfectly functional couple that God could never hate. Speaking of which, do you mind if I tell them about this? They would get a good laugh out of it.”
Kellan shook his head. “It’s fine. Go for it.” Something had clicked in his brain and he wasn’t really paying attention to their conversation anymore. The note Matt received had warned him not to trust “that filthy cheater.” Now here was a review calling him a “filthy pervert.” It was a stretch, but given the time span and the things that had been happening, there was a chance the note and the review were written by the same person. If that was the case, there were two explanations. The first was that Chelsie had put one of her friends up to this to annoy him and it was getting out of hand. The second, far more disturbing explanation was that Kellan’s friend was right; he had a stalker, one whose goal was to completely ruin his life.
Chapter 5
It was another night of tossing and turning as new fears gripped Kellan like thorny vines. Was this the work of a stalker? If so, who was it? What could Kellan have possibly done to attract that kind of unwanted attention? He played online multiplayer games sometimes, and he wasn’t the most pro gamer out there, but he wasn’t bad enough that someone would actively hunt him down. He didn’t even engage people in chat except to compliment them on a job well done or alert his team to something important. Other than that, his coworkers liked him, his neighbors liked him, his two previous relationships had ended amicably, and he didn’t exactly flaunt his sexuality or hand out his personal information to random strangers. He wasn’t even that active on social media.
Kellan’s sleep was so restless that he woke up around four-thirty in the morning, even though he hadn’t really fallen asleep until one at the earliest. Rather than go right back to trying to sleep, Kellan waited until Matt was supposed to be at the bakery, then called him.
The phone rang. And it rang. And it went to voicemail. Kellan didn’t know if Matt was still driving or just busy or if something had happened to him. He resisted the urge to hang up and keep calling until Matt answered, and instead he waited for the beep.
“Matt, hi. Look, I know it’s early—like, really early—but I’m really worried. Last night—”
Kellan was interrupted by the sudden ringing of his phone against his ear. He jumped. He half expected to see “unlisted” under the caller ID. It was Matt. Kellan fumbled for the green button to answer.
“Matt?”
“Kellan! What’s going on? Are you okay?”
Kellan told him about the bad review and his latest, most terrifying theory. “I didn’t tell you about it last night because I was hoping I could come up with a better explanation, but I really can’t.” Kellan wiped away a stray tear. “Matt, I think I am being haunted, except it’s not a ghost. There’s someone out there who…I don’t even know what they’re trying to do. I just know that it’s scaring me.”
There was an odd staticky noise on the other end that was either shuffling papers or Matt sniffling. “Oh, honey bunch. I really wish I could be there with you right now. There is still a chance that it’s one of Chelsie’s friends, but this has moved on from stupid pranks to full-on harassment. Do you think you should call the police?”
“Maybe. No. I don’t know.” Kellan sighed in frustration. “I don’t have any real proof that it’s all the same person. What am I going to tell them? That I highly doubt there are that many people who would refer to me as ‘filthy’ so therefore it has to be the same person?”
Matt paused. “You know, at this point I’m hoping it is Chelsie who is responsible for all this. I asked if I could talk to her today and she said she was busy, but we were going to get coffee or something tomorrow. I told her I wanted to talk about how her trip was. I am definitely going to skip the small talk and cut right to asking her if she put anyone up to this. If she is, she’s definitely going to deny it, but—oh, hang on.” Matt’s voice became quiet and muffled as he spoke to someone else at the bakery. “It’s Kellan. Yes, I know, it’s—Okay I’ll be right there.”
“You can go if they need you,” Kellan said. “I’ll try to go back to sleep.”
Matt came back to the phone. “What?”
“I said I think I’m going to try to get more sleep. You go help them out if they need you.”
Matt let out a soft groan. “Yeah, but you need me, too.”
Kellan smiled. “I need you even when I’m fine. I’ll be okay for now, sugar pie. The only way they could get to me before I leave for work is if th
ey break into my house, but then I would have a reason to call the police.”
“Well, okay. I guess I just have one more question.”
“Hm?”
“Did the reviewer really accuse you of jizzing in the food?”
That got Kellan to laugh, though in his exhausted and stressed state it came out as a sort of hiccupping wheeze. “Straight people and their weird delusions, amiright?”
“More like secret fetishes. And as someone who has tasted that ‘secret sauce’ I don’t think it would be a bad addition to some dishes.”
Kellan laughed again, heartier this time. “Okay, okay, get to work before you get in trouble. I love you.”
“I love you, too. It’s going to be okay.”
“Thank you.”
It was easier to get to sleep this time. Kellan awoke at a reasonable hour to the sound of rain against his bedroom window and the vague memory of a dream that involved trying to eat something with chopsticks that was not made to be eaten with chopsticks. In trying to remember what that something was, Kellan developed a craving for poached eggs. Even though the warmth of his bed and the pleasant patter of rain made for a cozy atmosphere Kellan would gladly lounge in all day, he knew he had to get up eventually, and his stomach was very keen on getting those eggs. He only stayed in bed an extra twenty minutes before hunger and other things encouraged him out.
His morning was fine. His commute to work was fine. His day at work was fine. Kellan was suspicious of the whole situation. When this all started, everything had happened within the span of a few days. There was no telling when the next strike would be, especially after such a long time leaving him alone. Then he told himself that this was probably what the prankster, whether they were a stalker or not, wanted. They wanted him to be afraid, to constantly look over his shoulder for the next thing, and he wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction. He went about his day like nothing was wrong, and the next day too.
However, that was clearly not what the prankster wanted. As he was closing his umbrella to get into his car in his building’s parking lot, someone sprang out from the other side of his car. He barely got a chance to look at them because he was more focused on what was in their hands. They swung upward with a bucket, showering Kellan in something that smelled like pickle brine and fish guts. The mystery liquid was frigid. Every muscle in his body tensed as though he had been hit with a taser, causing him to drop his umbrella. He hadn’t closed it all the way yet, so it sprang back open and hit him in the face. The whole thing lasted two seconds, yet by the time Kellan had any sense of what was going on, his assailant was already sprinting away.
“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?” Kellan screamed after them. He wanted to chase them, catch them, make them explain why they were doing this to him. However, his body was still frozen in shock and this person was fast. All he could make out was that they weren’t very tall or very short, but otherwise their form was obscured by a long dark raincoat. Kellan immediately thought of the description witnesses gave of the person who broke into his car. He now had no doubt whatsoever that all these things—the break-in, the note, the attempt to cancel his appointment, the review—were done by the same person. And that person knew where he lived.
Kellan called Omar to let him know something had come up and he would be about an hour late to work. His clothes stank and he absolutely needed a French bath. The good news was that no one cared what he wore under his uniform coat, and he kept his uniform at work. Unfortunately, the jacket he was currently wearing wasn’t waterproof and he was soaked all the way through, and his shirt and pants wouldn’t dry before he got to the restaurant, so the nastiness would get on his coat as well. He even had to leave his umbrella in his shower because it had gotten drenched as well and he didn’t have time to wash it. He didn’t tell Omar exactly what had happened, only that he had been “splashed” and needed a quick shower. Omar, being the wonderful understanding man that he was, said that was fine, so long as he was there before the lunch rush.
After cleaning off the stink and tying his clothes in a plastic bag, Kellan called Matt. It went to voicemail, as he expected it would since Matt didn’t get off work for at least another hour. He told him what had just happened, described the person in the raincoat as best he could, and implored Matt to get the truth out of Chelsie, no matter what.
“This has to stop,” Kellan said firmly, holding back tears. “I can’t live like this. I don’t know what to do. I’m scared of what they’ll do next. And whoever it is knows where you live too…” His voice choked on the lump in his throat. He took a composing breath. “This just has to stop.”
Chapter 6
Chelsie, of course, swore she had nothing to do with it. Matt said he questioned her for nearly an hour, until the public setting of the coffee shop wasn’t enough to stop her from causing a scene. She stormed out shouting, “You can’t blame everything on the ‘psycho ex,’ shithead!”
I tried everything, Matt’s text read. Either therapy has somehow made her better at lying, or she really has no idea what’s going on. I’m sorry :(
Kellan’s worst fears were confirmed. It was some random stalker. Despite not wanting the bastard to know their scare tactics were working, Kellan was now truly afraid to leave his apartment or the restaurant. Even in those sanctuaries he didn’t feel completely safe, since the stalker knew where he lived, where he worked, and—thanks to his planner—when he was scheduled to be in certain places. The only thing that gave him a sense of security was the knowledge that the stalker couldn’t go barging into the kitchen while he was working, and that if they broke into his house there was bound to be someone in the building there to witness it and call for help.
Matt, wonderful as always, offered to stay at Kellan’s place for a while. “I don’t like the thought of you being alone with someone like that out there,” he said. “You’re lucky they threw brine at you. I’ve heard stories about—” He cut off there, biting his lip anxiously. Kellan had heard those stories, too. Jilted lovers or neo-Nazis throwing acid onto helpless victims out of pure malice, as if there weren’t enough things for oppressed people to worry about in their day-to-day lives. Kellan didn’t want to put Matt in danger of the stalker trying something like that on him, but Matt insisted.
Their conflicting schedules meant Matt was asleep when Kellan got home, and that Kellan woke up briefly when Matt had to leave for work, but otherwise it was nice to spend more time together. At last, they got to cuddle up and listen to a thunderstorm together, even though the lightning was a few miles away and the thunder was muffled by the time it reached them. Kellan wished they could move in together, but the rules about couples sharing a one-bedroom apartment in his building meant the rent would go up enough that neither of them would be able to afford it. Every place they had looked at was either too far from either of their jobs, too expensive, or was such a shit hole that it would cost a small fortune to make it habitable. This extended sleepover was as close as they were going to get, and were it under any other circumstances, Kellan would have been perfectly content.
However, on the third night Matt stayed over, they were both awoken by a loud crash, followed by the sound of the curtains on Kellan’s bedroom window whipping around with a sudden gust of wind. Someone had thrown a brick through the window, and Kellan’s bedroom was small enough that that meant he couldn’t step out of bed without stepping on broken glass. Matt stood up on the bed trying to peer through the window, but he couldn’t see anything. Kellan curled into the fetal position. He trembled as tears soaked into the sheets below him.
“I hate this,” he whimpered. “Why can’t they just leave me the fuck alone?”
Matt pulled Kellan up against his chest and held him tight. He still smelled vaguely of cinnamon and warm bread. “It’s okay, honey bunch. I’m here. I won’t let them hurt you. Go back to sleep, I’ll clean this up.”
Kellan gripped Matt’s arm. “Don’t go.”
“Hey, it’s okay. I’m not going far.
Just need to sweep this up, maybe put a towel down so we don’t step on anything with bare feet. I’ll be right back, okay?”
Matt looked for the brick from the safety of the bed first. “Who the fuck even throws a brick through someone’s window?” Matt grumbled. “There it is. Hold on, is there something taped to it?…There is! I think I can reach it from here…”
Kellan held Matt steady while Matt stretched out to grab the brick. There was, in fact, a piece of paper taped to it. Matt unfolded it, revealing another collaged ransom-style note. They turned on the light to see it better. It read, NO ONE WANTS YOU HERE!
“Is that supposed to be about me?” Matt asked. “As in, no one wants me to stay with you? Or…” He put the brick and the note carefully on the ground. “Doesn’t matter what it means. No one is going anywhere. They can’t scare either of us away. This is your home and you have a right to be here, and I have a right as your partner to be here with you when you need me.”
“Thank you,” Kellan said, wiping his eyes. He sniffled. “Y’know what, I don’t think I’m going to be able to fall asleep, so why don’t I help you—”
“No, it’s fine. You just got in, what, two hours ago? Lie down and at least get some rest. But, um, if you’re not going back to sleep, do you think it’s okay if I use the vacuum? Or is that going to wake your neighbors? I can sweep it instead, but I don’t know how much that’ll do on carpet like this…”
Unwanted Attention Page 3
