A Fresh Start

by Grace, Trisha

  “And he was there.” Justin stared at the photo she had slid across the table. “He would have that sort of freedom if he were in sales.”

  Or a community college lecturer.

  On days where she didn’t have many classes to teach, she could leave early. She could leave anytime as long as she didn’t have a class.

  “What?”

  Justin’s voice broke her thoughts. “Nothing. Just thinking that my job gives me certain freedom as well.”

  “Suspecting someone you know?”

  “No,” she said. “No.” She was thinking too much. It couldn’t be anyone she knew. She picked up one of the letters and continued. “In some of the longer letters, he made references—good references—to poems. It wasn’t like he copied it off a book or the internet. He understood it, so he has to be educated.”

  “And you like poems?”

  “No, I hate them. I hated it when teachers give assignments like writing poems. I’m not melodramatic enough to write one.”

  “Good. I know nothing about poems.”

  She beamed at him, then turned back to the letters. “That’s all I have.”

  “With all the time this guy spent doing this, he won’t have a life outside of this. So he’s a loner, someone whom people don’t bother to take a second look. I doubt someone like that can be a business owner.”

  “You’re a loner, and you’re a businessman.”

  He frowned. “I’m not a loner.”

  “The only friends you have in this town are Travis and Amy.”

  “And you? And the Seymours? I’m sure Jane would consider me a friend as well. Besides, if I couldn’t be charming when I wanted to, then what are you doing with me?”

  She grinned and shook her head. There wasn’t any way she could retort without putting herself down, so she shrugged and wrote down the word ‘loner’ and canceled out the ‘owns business’ on her mindmap.

  “You mentioned that he called you a whore for betraying him.”

  Nodding, she added, “I get hate mail for speaking to any guy for a few minutes.”

  “He’s possessive,” he concluded. “Did the letters ever mention Cole? I don’t see any photos of Cole.”

  She turned her face away, thinking about his question. “No. He’s never in any of the photos.” She hadn’t noticed it until Justin had asked her. “I don’t get hate mail when I go out with him either.”

  Her brows drew closer as she thought back on what Andrew had told her.

  Since finding out about the stalking issue, Andrew had insisted to Paige that Cole had been manipulating her through her fear. He even went as far as to accuse Cole as the stalker.

  She knew Andrew never liked Cole and thought his dislike was clouding his judgement.

  But now that Justin had asked, it didn’t seem that far-fetched.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  “Just something Andrew said.”

  “He thinks that Cole is the stalker, too?”

  “Too? I don’t think he’s the stalker,” she clarified.

  “I do,” he pointed out. “Did you see how he reacted when he found out about us? He behaved like a maniac, and he did used the same word as the stalker.”

  Paige rolled her eyes. “That’s because he read these before. Not all of them, but I’ve shown him a couple.”

  “Did he behave that way when you were dating?”

  “Of course not. He isn’t like that, not usually anyway. He never got angry with me before. Today is the first time I’ve seen him like this.”

  “Yeah, when he found out you were with someone else. Sounds familiar?” His eyes slid to the side as his head cocked toward the box on the coffee table. “What was his initial reaction when you told him about your stalker?”

  “He seemed concerned. He offered to send me home, accompanied me when I needed, and even went with me to the police station to report this,” she stated. “Why would he do that if he was the stalker?”

  “He never made use of the situation to get what he wanted? Not even once?”

  She folded her arms across the table and leaned forward on her elbow. “It came to a point where he knew I didn’t dare to go anywhere without him. At times, when I wanted to go for a gathering or some event, he’d come up with some last minute excuse to tell me that he couldn’t make it and I wouldn’t go either,” she said. “At first, I thought it was a bad coincidence, but the pattern got pretty clear.”

  Justin didn’t say anything. He merely nodded, seemingly waiting for her to get to her own conclusion.

  “That was it. He was nice to me; he won’t do this. I’m sure.”

  Justin continued in his silence, rummaging through the letters, searching for clues.

  They spent the rest of the afternoon sifting through the letters. With Justin guiding her, they were able to list down quite a few characteristics.

  She had been through the letters so many times, but reading them only made her more anxious. She never got anything out of the letters. The only thing she’d managed was to write down those information on the back of the photos, then got herself all worked up over the knowledge that someone was watching her.

  “These are different,” Justin said with his eyes still on the typewritten letter he was holding.

  He was looking at the latest stack of letters she’d received. The letters right before the stalker broke into her house. The letters that made her leave New York.

  “He started making a reference to our future,” she muttered.

  “This is why you think he’s coming for you.” He fanned the letter in his hand.

  She nodded slowly.

  “This is why you freaked out when you realized he was in your house.”

  She drew in a deep breath. “It was the one place I thought I was safe.”

  “He’s no longer happy to watch from afar.” He read through the letter again.

  She stared at him as his brows drew closer. “What is it?”

  “The words used, it sounds like what realtors say when they’re trying to sell a house to young couples.” Justin dropped the letter onto the coffee table and leaned forward, stretching his hand toward her face.

  Only when his warm fingers touched her cheeks did she realized how cold her skin had become. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have pushed you into doing this.”

  “No, you’re right. Whoever this is, he’ll be less scary without the anonymity.”

  Justin smiled and moved to sit beside her on the floor.

  “And this is why it can’t be Cole,” Paige added. “We were already dating then, there wasn’t a need to get me.”

  “But he proposed, he did try to have a future with you,” Justin corrected.

  She sighed, not knowing what else to say.

  “I’m just saying, be careful around him. Can you do that? Don’t get into the car with him. Don’t go anywhere alone with him. I know you used to do that, but things are different now.”

  “Okay,” she said. “I don’t want him to think he still has a chance with me anyway.”

  Justin packed up the letters and photographs on the table and returned them to the box. “Can I have this? I”ll get it back to you in a few days.”

  “Yeah.”

  Hiding the box didn’t get rid of the knowing of its existance. Each time she opened her wardrobe, she was aware that the box was inside.

  She was aware that she was only in Pine Bluffs to hide from her stalker.

  And she was aware of all the habits she had built up because of her stalker. Habits that she hadn’t broken despite being miles away from New York.

  She didn’t have to close all the curtains in her house anymore, but whenever she looked out of the window, she would scan the area, making sure nothing was amiss.

  She did feel safer and happier here, but this morning made her realized how fragile those feelings were.

  All it took was a black sedan rolling into the street for cracks to appear in the sense of security that Pi
ne Bluffs had brought her.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Paige woke up before the alarm on her phone rang. She sat up on her bed and contemplated if she should go for her jog. She ran her hands through her hair and swung her legs over the side of the bed.

  She turned her face to the window and looked out at the sky, watching the orange glow slowly invading the dark blue sky. She got to her feet and moved toward the window.

  Standing right behind the curtains, she took in a deep breath before taking a step to the side and scanning the streets.

  She sighed, exhaling the breath she’d taken when she confirmed there wasn’t anyone watching the house.

  Giving up the thought of going for a run, she went into the bathroom and splashed some water on her face.

  She washed up and headed downstairs, smelling the bacon from the kitchen.

  “Good morning, dear. Breakfast is almost ready.”

  The lights in the Seymours house were always switched on whenever she went for a jog, but they never had breakfast this early before.

  “How did you know I won’t be going out for my run?”

  “Justin said so, told me to go ahead and prepare breakfast.”

  She glanced over to the empty couch and caught a glimpse of the rifle leaning right beside the door.

  “Just a safety precaution.”

  She nodded and licked her lips. She didn’t grow up with guns around her house. Seeing something that could potentially kill someone lying so casually around was rather uncanny to her.

  She took her eyes off the rifle and back onto the couch. “Where’s Justin?”

  “He went back home to get something.”

  Paige followed Mrs. Seymour into the kitchen, took the plates, and went out to set the table. As usual, Mr. Seymour sat, reading his newspaper.

  She had just set down the first plate when the doorbell rang. She didn’t even know the Seymours had a doorbell; their door was never locked.

  Before she could take a step toward the door, Mr. Seymour stood and grabbed her arm.

  He shook his head and stepped forward. “I’ll get it.”

  “It’s me,” Justin shouted through the door.

  Mr. Seymour released her arm and allowed her to go over to the door, but he stayed close until she opened it and saw Justin standing outside.

  “Morning.” He leaned in and gave her a peck on her lips. She smiled as she breathed in his citrusy aftershave. “Breakfast ready?” He stepped into the house with her, but moved over to place the black box he was holding onto the coffee table.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  “My plan to help you feel safe when outside the house.”

  She looked over her shoulder at the box again.

  Justin wrapped his arm over her shoulder and nudged her forward. “Let’s have breakfast.”

  Once breakfast was over, the Seymours disappeared into the kitchen while she got dragged out of the house.

  “One minute.” Justin left her standing between the two houses, jogged to his car, and returned with a navy green cap in his hand. He placed it over her head and grinned as he adjusted the band on the back. “I don’t want you getting sunburn again.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “Behind your house.”

  “Are we having a picnic?”

  He smirked and took her hand, not saying another word.

  As she rounded the house and plodded toward the woods, she noticed a piece of cardboard nailed against one of the trees facing them. On the brown cardboard, probably from an old box, was a rudimentary drawing of a man.

  “What’s that?”

  “Are you commenting on my drawing or are you asking what is that for?”

  “The drawing is bad and yes, what’s that bad drawing for?”

  He handed over the black box and gestured for her to open it.

  She opened the black box made of plastic-like material. “A gun?” She closed the box as she looked back up at him.

  “It’s registered under my name, but you keep it until we get you one. We’ll practice how to shoot with this today.”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea. I freeze whenever I get frightened, I don’t think I’ll remember to reach for the gun.”

  “So we practice.” He took the gun out from the box and chucked the box onto the floor. Pulling out the magazine, he checked it then returned it to its original position.

  She stood there, watching him check through the gun.

  “You want to feel safe when you’re outside, right? This is small enough for you to put in your bag.”

  Her eyes widened. “I’m supposed to carry this around?”

  “Yes, and later back at your house, you’re going to practice pulling it out of your bag. And I’ll tell you where to keep the gun when you’re about in the house.”

  She couldn’t help laughing. The image of herself holding a gun was hilarious.

  “Now, before Mr. Seymour joins us with more bullets and probably several bigger guns, let’s learn how to use this.”

  Justin taught her how to use the safety on the gun, repeated it, then told her to recite it back to him.

  “Always keep the safety on. Never point the gun at anyone you don’t want to shoot, even if the safety is on. And don’t drop the gun after shooting it as it might trigger another shot.”

  Paige nodded as Justin rattled on, then repeated what he’d just said when he narrowed his eyes at her. “I’m listening.”

  “I thought you’d be a better student than this.”

  “I am a good student. If you give me a quiz on everything you’ve said, I’ll ace it. I’m just not too sure about actually shooting a gun.” She stared at the black piece in his hand. “It reminds me of how much I hated Drew joining the army, how he was shoot, and how he lost his leg. I could kill someone with that.”

  “You can, but you can choose not to.”

  She pursed her lips, not saying anything.

  Justin didn’t push her when she didn’t reply.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t think things through. Forget about this, I’ll think of something else.”

  Paige reached out and grabbed his arm with a small sigh. Among all her own arguments and counterargument, one was more prominent that the others—she wanted to feel safe and not only when she was around someone who could protect her. “I’ll do it.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” She straightened and began for the first time to pay serious attention. “Let’s begin.”

  Justin unlocked the gun’s safety and gave her the instructions.

  She licked her lips as she held the gun in her hand. “Is it strange to feel nervous even though the gun isn’t pointed at me?”

  Justin laughed and covered his hands over hers, adjusting her aim. “Don’t worry. Give it a try.”

  She leaned back, knocking into Justin as she squeezed the trigger, sending off a shot.

  It wasn’t the recoil that sent her against Justin; he had already prepared her for that. It was how loud the shot was.

  One of her hands moved over to rub against her ear.

  “You’ll get used to it. Remember not to lock your arms.” Justin stepped away from her. “Try it on your own.”

  She stared at cardboard and noticed a hole in the badly drawn head.

  “Try aiming for the chest. Bigger surface area,” he instructed.

  She tried. She took aim and fired, then laughed when she completely missed, not just her target area, but the entire cardboard.

  Justin laughed along with her. “It’s all right, let’s try again. Try to hold your hands in position instead of jerking it up.”

  “Bullets delivery,” Mrs. Seymour announced as she came around the corner, holding two boxes in her hands.

  “Where’s Mr. Seymour?” Paige asked.

  “Digging for more things to shoot at,” Mrs. Seymour said with a slight shake of head. “He’s already stolen all my apples, oranges, and even the lemons I was going
to use tonight.”

  Paige chuckled as she saw how frustrated Mrs. Seymour was.

  “He’s bringing the watermelon, too. Specially for you, he says,” Mrs. Seymour continued with a roll of her eyes. “All right, I’m going back before he starts stealing the bacon strips or something.”

  Mrs. Seymour thrust the two boxes into Justin’s hands and hurried back where she came from.

  Paige fired another few rounds and missed, but she figured out the adjustment she had to make.

  This time she took aim, made the adjustments, and squeezed the trigger. “I got it!”

  “Great, we brought more targets,” Mr. Seymour announced, carrying a large box in one hand and two different rifles in the other. When he set the box down in front of Paige, she could see a few more pistols inside.

  She arched her brow and looked over at Justin.

  “He loves his guns.” He winked at her and went over to help set up the new targets that Mr. Seymour had stolen from the house.

  While Justin arranged their targets, Mr. Seymour picked up each of his gun and told her in great detail about each gun. He explained how each gun worked, when it was made, and even who made it.

  Mrs. Seymour cast a sorry glance over at Paige, then picked up a rifle, shifting it into position with perfect ease.

  Once the lecture for each gun was over, Mr. Seymour would urge her to give it a try.

  Justin let her play with the rifles for a while before making her return to practice the pistol he’d given her.

  Hours of practice and plenty of bullets later, she was getting quite good at it.

  She still couldn’t hit the apples or oranges, but hitting the chest of the sadly drawn man was getting relatively easy. Out of five shots, Paige usually managed to get at least three shots into the cardboard’s chest.

  She also managed to put some bullets into the watermelon that Mr. Seymour had prepared for her.

  If only she could stop the cringing reaction before each shot and keep her eyes open; that would give her a better aim. She tried, but she each time she pulled the trigger, the same reaction would repeat as she braced herself for the loud blast that would send her ears ringing.