Protecting Abigail

by R. R. Banks

  Keeping my eye on the children, I make my way to where some of the other teachers have gathered. I stop and pick up a cup of hot apple cider from a creative display that turned a slow cooker of cider into a witch's cauldron. As I'm sipping the hot drink, I put on my most casual tone and turn to the woman beside me. The school's art teacher, Lisa, is another of the Primrose teachers who live in the building with me.

  "Hey, Lisa, did you find a flower outside your apartment a couple weeks back?"

  "A flower?" Lisa asks, a confused look on her face.

  I take another sip of my drink and nod.

  "Yeah. I found a primrose outside my apartment a couple weeks ago. I just assumed all the teachers in the building received one."

  She shakes her head.

  "No," she says. "I mean, I definitely didn't get one. I guess the others might have."

  "Or maybe Abigail has a secret admirer," Jana, a third-grade teacher, says in a silly, teasing voice.

  I force a smile.

  "Maybe," I say.

  I turn back to the party and see a few of the girls have started dancing. They look so carefree and joyful, but there's a sudden heaviness in the back of my mind that keeps me from laughing the way the other teachers do. Out of the corner of my eye, I see movement behind the fence around the school. Turning toward it, I see the outline of a man in black moving slowly along the fence. He's walking sideways at a brisk pace, his face directed at me. Though I can't make out his features from here, I feel the weight of his eyes burrowing into me, and a chill runs down my spine. Before I can get Lisa's attention, he walks even faster before abruptly disappearing around the corner. I feel myself shaking, but I try to push the fear out of my mind, telling myself it's another unrelated, albeit strange, incident. The flower is what is making me think I just saw Trevor stalking around outside the school.

  "Abigail?"

  I turn sharply toward Lisa.

  "Huh?"

  "Are you alright?" she asks, looking at me questioningly.

  "I'm fine," I say.

  My voice comes out a little higher than I intend, and Lisa looks even more concerned than before.

  "I was just asking if you had any plans for tonight."

  I shake my head.

  "Not really. I think I'll just curl up at home with a blanket and a good book."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah, I'm not that much of a Halloween person."

  I say it reluctantly, remembering a time when I loved to celebrate Halloween. It's been so many years, but I still cherish the memories of those few hours when I could be whatever I wanted to be.

  "If you change your mind, I'm having a little get-together in my apartment. You can even bring your blanket with you. Call it your costume."

  I smile.

  "Maybe."

  "Cool."

  I look back at the students and realize they've started to gather at the far end of the playground for the trick-or-treat trail that is to be the culminating event of the party. Several teachers have set up candy stations along a weaving path defined by cutouts of spooky trees, giant jack-o'-lanterns, and ghosts. I head to the end of the trail where I can meet up with my students once they finish before escorting them back to the classroom to finish out the day.

  The feeling of being watched is still creeping along my skin when I get to my apartment building later. I hesitate at the bottom of the steps, looking up at the door. It's standing open again, but before I can investigate further, I see a maintenance man back out. He reaches down and takes the rubber stopper out from the under the door, letting it close before turning around to face me. I feel my heart tighten, but then notice the smile on his face.

  "Hi," he says. "Just fixing the lightbulbs in the entryway. Should be much brighter now. I guess today might not have been the best day to do it. The other lights would have better for Halloween."

  He chuckles as if he thinks it's incredibly clever, but all I can manage is a weak smile in response. I climb the steps, and he opens the door for me as I pass from the chilly air into the warmth of the building. The smell of cinnamon and clove is heavy in the stairwell. I wonder which one of my neighbors is baking a pie, but that thought quickly disappears when I turn the corner toward my apartment. A jack-o'-lantern sits on the dark blue carpet outside my door, a candle burning inside. The flame is flickering frantically, and I have the immediate impression it was just recently lit. My throat feels tight as I look at the rest of the doors on the floor and see that none of them have pumpkins in front of them.

  Rushing to the door, I crouch down and snatch the cap off the jack-o'-lantern. Flipping it over in my hand, I look at the inside and see the coating of spices responsible for creating the warm scent wafting through the building. It's exactly what I used to do when I decorated for Halloween. I quickly blow out the flame and slam the lid back onto the pumpkin before rushing into my apartment. Leaning back against the door, I take in a deep breath, practicing the meditation techniques I’ve picked up over the years. Panic is creeping in around me, and all I want to do is curl up and hide. Before I allow myself to crumble, though, I force myself to think about all the other times I let fear control me. I don't want to feel that way again. I don't want to give anything that power over me. Never again.

  Pushing away from the door, I walk into my bathroom and take a long, hot shower. When I'm done, I head into my bedroom and put on a pair of black pants, a black turtleneck, and a pair of black heels. I combine that with far more makeup than I usually wear and a slick coat of red nail polish. I'm not sure if I'm Ann-Margaret in an Elvis movie or Catwoman, but it's the best I can pull off in a pinch. Squaring my shoulders, I head out of my apartment. As I start down the hallway, I can’t help but glance down and make sure the jack-o'-lantern is still unlit.

  ********

  November…

  I know he's watching me. I can feel it. I don't know if it's more terrifying when I can see him, or when I can't. Sometimes I want to tell the other teachers who he is, or at least let Eloise know. But what if I do? How will they react? Will it be the same as everyone else I've told? Only Evan has ever believed me.

  ----

  I found a footprint on my balcony this morning. It looks like it's made from mud, but I don't remember it raining hard enough recently to make this much mud. In the picture, you can see another partial footprint on the very edge. I don't understand how they're there. There's no fire escape on this building, so there are no stairs that would lead up to my balcony. It's only one story off the ground, but how could he get up here without anyone noticing? If someone did notice, would they do anything about it, or would they think it was none of their business and just walk by?

  ----

  Lilith came into the city to visit me today. It's the first time she's been here since I moved. It was almost strange to see her in the context of the bubble I've tried to create around myself in the city. When I moved here, I separated myself from the outside world, and she’s a part of that. But it was good to see her. Then she told me she found white paint splattered on her back door and the stones leading up to it a few days ago. She didn't think much of it. She only told me because she thought it was an odd thing to happen, and she just assumed it was some of the kids in her neighborhood getting into some post-Halloween mischief. I can't help but wonder if it has something to do with me. He called her two years ago before I came to the city. I know he knows her address. Could he have somehow found out that we were meeting, and wanted to make it clear he knew? She showed me a picture on her phone. I asked her to send it to me, so I could put it in here.

  ----

  I saw him at the school again today. Rather than just walking by, he stopped at the fence and watched me. I was glad the weather was cold, and the kids could only go out for a short recess. As soon as we headed back inside, he walked away, still staring at me. He always wears his hood, so I can't see his face. I know he's doing it on purpose to make people question me. He wants me to feel out of control and off-balance
. This is all just another way he's isolating me. I don't want him to win. I don't want to admit he has any control over my life anymore, but I feel like I'm starting to crack.

  "There was someone out there," I insist. "I heard it."

  I'm trying to keep the hysteria out of my voice. I still remember the way Officer Campanelli looked at me when Evan called him to his house that morning. Though the thought of the heartless, condescending officer is enough to make my blood boil, his words are etched in my mind.

  You have to understand, a lot of women get upset when their boyfriends or husbands break up with them, and they exaggerate stories, or make things up to try to get back at them, not really understanding how much trouble they could be causing.

  He didn't say it explicitly, but I know what he was saying. Calm down or no one will believe you. You’re a typical, dramatic woman.

  I despise the way he viewed me – and all women – but I know he's not the only person who thinks like that. I carry that lesson with me even now, and I'm using it to guide me forward. It's taking an unbelievable amount of effort, but I’ve forced myself to stay as calm and rational as possible in hopes the officers in my living room will take me seriously this time around. Within a few minutes of them entering my apartment and listening to what happened, however, I get the heavy feeling these officers aren’t going to listen to me, either.

  "There's no one out there," a willowy, thick-browed man who introduced himself as Officer Smith calls out.

  "I know there's no one there now," I say. "But there was. I heard him."

  "What do you mean you heard him?" Officer Bellamy, the short, round counterpart to Smith, asks.

  His tone makes him seem cartoonish, almost like a parody.

  "I heard him," I reply slowly, emphasizing each word. "Like I told you when you first got here, I heard heavy footsteps on the balcony, then I heard something scratching on the door."

  "On the door?" Smith asks. "Not the lock?"

  "The door," I say.

  "So, you think someone climbed up on your balcony just to stand there and scratch at the door? They didn't try to get in?"

  "No. He didn't turn the knob or anything. He just wanted me to know he was there."

  "You keep saying that," Bellamy says. "How do you know it was a man?"

  He says it defensively, as if even suggesting it was most likely a man is fundamentally offensive to him. I'm too focused on my own language to care. I didn't realize I had slipped into saying ‘he’ when talking about the incidents. I didn’t plan to take things in that direction. Even though my brother's voice in the back of my mind demanded that I tell them everything, I didn’t plan on talking about Trevor when I called them tonight. All I wanted to do was tell someone about what was happening to me, and give some sort of notice, just in case…

  I don't want to finish that thought. I can’t.

  "I have an ex-boyfriend."

  Officer Smith rolls his eyes.

  "There's always an ex-boyfriend," he says.

  He is as dismissive as Campanelli was two years ago, but I'm stronger now. I'm not going to let him brush it away this time.

  "He has been doing this to me for years," I say.

  "He's been climbing on your balcony for years?" Bellamy asks, the mocking in his voice barely veiled. "I'd think by now he'd find his way to the front door."

  He gives a self-amused chuckle, and I look at Officer Smith. Any hope I have for sympathy has disappeared, but I don't need that from them. I just need them to hear me out and do something.

  "You said you moved here in August," Officer Smith points out.

  "Yes, I know," I say. "And I didn't mean he's been climbing on my balcony for years. I mean he's been…" I hesitate. I'm not sure how to even finish that sentence. "Hold on."

  My stomach turns as I go to the table and pull out my journal. I told myself I would never have to show this to anyone, and now that I'm going to, I feel raw and exposed. Opening the journal, I hold it out to Officer Smith.

  "What is this?" he asks.

  "I've been keeping records of every time I encounter him," I say. "His name is Trevor –"

  The officer cuts me off before I'm able to tell him Trevor's last name.

  "You wrote here that you saw him outside of the school where you teach on Halloween?"

  "Yes," I say. "And again, last week."

  "Just walking down the sidewalk?" he asks.

  "The first times, yes, but last week, he stopped. He was standing outside the fence watching me."

  "Did he say anything to you?"

  "No, but he stared at me."

  "Did anyone else see him?"

  "Are you suggesting I imagined him standing there?"

  "It says he was at a distance and wearing a hood. How do you know for certain it was this boyfriend of yours?"

  "Ex-boyfriend. I just know." I flipped to the primrose taped to the paper. Its petals are faded and discolored, but the shape is still evident. "He left this at my apartment. It's a primrose. The school where I teach is The Primrose Academy. Then on Halloween, he left a jack-o'-lantern."

  I want to keep going, but Officer Smith looks at me incredulously, stopping the words in my throat.

  "You want us to go after someone because he walked down a city sidewalk and you think he left you flowers and a pumpkin?"

  "He didn't leave me flowers," I say, hating the fact that he's mimicking what I said to Evan to try to make him not worry about the blossom. "He left a primrose. It's a message. He was telling me he knew where I was at all times."

  Some of the desperation I feel has started creeping into my voice as I feel the officers' attention slipping away.

  "Miss –" Bellamy starts.

  "This isn't it," I say. "Look at the rest of the journal. He was controlling and abusive when we were together. You can even see, I called the police after I left him."

  "And what did they do?"

  I hesitate.

  "Nothing," I say. "They said I could have him arrested, but they didn't think it would even get to trial, much less result in anything."

  They both look at me smugly. I take my journal back as they start toward my apartment door.

  "Look," Officer Smith says. "I can see you're worked up about this. But there's really nothing we can do. You don't even know for sure your ex is behind all of this, and nothing he's done is threatening."

  "He tried to come in my house," I say. "The lock is scratched. He stood outside my balcony door just to scare me. I'd call that threatening."

  "Until he directly threatens you, or causes you some kind of physical harm, we can't prove he's done anything wrong."

  "So, what do you want me to do?" I ask. "Just sit around and wait for him to actually get inside?"

  "It's almost Thanksgiving. Aren't you going to go home to your family? I suggest you take some time away, enjoy your holiday, and then come back and carry on with your life. If this is your ex, he probably got a kick out of seeing you call us, so he'll lay off. He's had his fun now, so there's no reason to keep going. If it makes you feel better, keep writing things down in your journal. After a while, you'll probably realize all of this is just coincidences, and you are overreacting about minor things."

  They walk out of the apartment and I close the door, feeling empty and ignored. There has to be someone who actually cares about what I’m going through and can do something about it. At the same time, maybe the officers are right. Maybe I'm overreacting and seeing a larger significance in things where none exists. I could be hearing things. Anyone could have left those things at my door. Even as I try to convince myself I’m overthinking things, I know it isn’t true. I check the locks three times before I lock myself into my bedroom, pulling the curtains as tightly closed as I can, and tucking myself under my comforter, intensely grateful that I'm leaving tomorrow morning to spend Thanksgiving break with Evan.

  Chapter Six

  Xavier

  The next morning…

  It's several days
before Thanksgiving, but Christmas has already made its presence known throughout the city. Strings of lights and giant ornaments have slowly popped up on apartment balconies around the neighborhood, and like every year, I like to imagine that they tried their best to hold back their Christmas spirit until the day after Thanksgiving, but it still burst out of their apartment like a festive explosion.

  I know it won't be long until my own apartment will be equally as festive. Christmas is Anna's favorite time of the year, and I try to make it as fun for her as possible. I have my limits at decorating before Thanksgiving and not letting anything spill out of the apartment itself. As I think about the upcoming holiday season, I wonder how much longer Anna will have that exhilarated sparkle in her eyes and flush on her cheeks from the magic she believes in so strongly. As much as I want to slow time down, I know that's not an option. She's going to keep growing older. The days when she was easily entertained with toys and books, and fully satisfied to spend the day with Ruth or the housekeeper, Mila, are quickly passing. They might have already passed. Anna needs more, and it's the one thing I don't know how to give her.

  I see more signs of the impending Christmas season the further I walk. Thanksgiving harvest decor continues to fight for its rightful spot against the glitter of Christmas, while the occasional building sits completely unadorned. I'm not as familiar with this area as other parts of the city, and I wonder what in the hell compelled me to walk the several blocks to meet a new business contact. I'm checking numbers and hoping the person I've agreed to meet will come out and fucking find me when I hear an exasperated growl. I look up and see a woman walking in circles around a car a few strides away. She looks up toward the sky as if in appeal, and I realize it's Evan's sister Abigail.