Within the Shadows

by Brandon Massey

  He decided to cut to the chase.

  He wrote: WHAT DO YOU WANT?

  TO HELP

  “To help?” he asked aloud. He typed: YOU WANT TO HELP ME WITH WHAT?

  HELP WITH HER

  “You’ve lost me. I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who’s this person you want to help me with?”

  He remembered that he had to type the questions. But the keys moved before he touched them.

  SHES HEAR

  The doorbell rang.

  Chapter 22

  He dashed to his bedroom and lifted the curtain. A black Rolls Royce Silver Shadow idled in the cul-de-sac in front of his house, sun rays coruscating across the windshield, as if the interior of the sedan was afire.

  Mika was here.

  How did she know where he lived?

  He answered his own question: The same way she’d learned that he visited Starbucks on Tuesday mornings. The same way she knew that he loved Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee. The same way that she found him at Carmen’s house last night.

  She’d studied him well enough to earn a Ph.D. on the subject of his life.

  It wasn’t flattering. It was downright creepy.

  But how did the ghost know about her, and how did he plan to help him with her?

  He couldn’t fathom the answers to those questions.

  The doorbell chimed again.

  He didn’t relish a confrontation with her. But he had no choice. Undoubtedly, she knew he was home. Ignoring the door wasn’t going to solve anything.

  He went downstairs.

  Be firm with her. Don’t let her think there’s any chance of us still seeing each other. Cut it off.

  He opened the door.

  Mika stood outside, hands full of bulging, plastic grocery bags. She wore a red tank top that showed off her cleavage and flat stomach, a hip-hugging denim miniskirt, and sandals that displayed her perfectly pedicured feet.

  “Hey, baby!” She flashed a diamond-bright grin.

  Her beauty momentarily threw him off his plan, made him hesitate.

  It was the only opening she needed. He didn’t intend to let her inside, but she bustled through the doorway before he could act to stop her. She dropped the bags on the floor, wrapped her arms around him, and kissed him full on the lips, her tongue sliding eagerly across his.

  The old battle with his libido began anew.

  Emotionally, she repulsed him—even scared him a little. As his grandma liked to say, she wasn’t wrapped too tight.

  But his body hungered for her.

  He moved his hands to her narrow waist. Knowing he shouldn’t but unable to draw back.

  Kissing him hungrily, she guided his hands to her hips.

  “You’ve missed me, haven’t you baby?” she whispered. “I can feel it.”

  She pressed against his hardness.

  “I’ve missed you, too,” she said.

  Over her shoulder, he saw a photograph sitting on a table in the hallway. It was a picture of him and Eric on the golf course.

  What would his boy think of him right now, ignoring his common sense to be with this woman who might be hazardous to his health?

  Another photo, beside the first one, showed him, Carmen, and Eric posing together at a cookout.

  What would Carmen say if she walked in on him at this moment?

  Thinking of it, he finally untangled himself from Mika’s arms.

  “What’re you doing here?” he said. “I never told you where I live.”

  “Haven’t I told you before, Andrew? I make it my business to know everything about my man. I’m here to cook for you, since we didn’t have dinner together last night. Carry one of these for me please, will you, darling?”

  She handed him a grocery bag. Grabbing the other groceries, she strutted down the hallway, to the kitchen.

  She navigated the house confidently, as if she had visited many times before.

  He looked dumbly at the bag in his hand. It was full of strip steaks and baking potatoes.

  Had this woman lost her mind?

  He caught up to her as she was placing the bags on the countertop.

  “We can’t do this,” he said. “Please stop.”

  “Oh, we don’t have to eat dinner quite yet, Andrew.” She busied herself removing items from bags. “I know, it’s not yet evening. But I’d like to marinate these steaks, and afterward perhaps we can go for a walk.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Of course I am! It’s such a lovely day and you’ve got a beautiful lake behind your property. I’d like to stroll along the bank, holding hands. It sounds rather romantic, don’t you think?”

  His head pounded. He couldn’t take this anymore.

  “Dammit, will you listen to me?” he said. “If you want to come over and cook dinner, you call me first and offer. I say, ‘Yes, Mika, that sounds good, come on over.’ Then we agree on a time, and then I give you directions to my house. You don’t follow me around and find out where I live and show up with groceries whenever you feel like it. You’re going about this wrong, Mika, all wrong. You’re acting like a nut.”

  An uncertain smile flickered on her face.

  “I’m going about this wrong?” she asked. “I must admit that I can be aggressive sometimes. I can try to change—I can slow down if that would make you happy. Is that what you would like?”

  “Mika, listen—”

  “I’ll do whatever makes you happy, baby,” she said quickly. “Tell me what you want me to do.”

  He dragged his hand down his face.

  She watched him, eager.

  She was gorgeous. But her neediness tainted her beauty. Why was she so desperate? With her looks and money and sophistication, she didn’t need to run down a man like this. He didn’t understand it.

  Although she offered to change her approach, he saw that for what it was: a ploy to calm him down and prevent him from pushing her away. In truth, her obsessive streak was part of her nature. It would inevitably spring back. As his mother said, a leopard can’t change its spots.

  He had to do the smart thing and cut this off. Permanently.

  “Listen, we can’t pursue this,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Oh, don’t talk like that, baby.” She reached for him.

  He moved away.

  Tears shone in her eyes. “Please don’t leave me, Andrew. I only want to be with you. Is that so terrible? I’m only guilty of loving you.”

  “Loving me?”

  “Yes, baby. Loving you.” She wiped tears from her eyes. “I love you so much that it hurts. It’s like an ache in my chest.”

  “You can’t love me. We just spent one night together!”

  “An unforgettable night.” She gave him a sly smile. “Wasn’t it unforgettable for you, too?”

  “One night together doesn’t mean we’re in love.”

  “It doesn’t? How about the fact that you told me you’d never felt anything like what you felt with me? Was that a lie, Andrew?”

  “No, but—”

  “How about the fact that you wept like a baby and cried out my name until your voice cracked? Were you putting on an act?”

  Embarrassment heated his face. “I never said the sex wasn’t great. But it was only sex—lust, not love. There’s a difference.”

  “There is no difference!” she said. He flinched, took another step away from her.

  “No difference,” she said, in a softer tone. She came closer to him. “When we first met, I told you that I don’t believe in casual dating, and you said that you didn’t, either. You promised me that dating you would be worth my while.”

  He remembered what he had said. He felt like shit.

  “Our first night together, you promised that if I shared my body with you, you would treat me like a princess. Do you remember that, Andrew?”

  Slowly, he nodded.

  “Is this how you treat your princess? Like a two-dollar whore? Is that the kind of man you are?”

 
“No.” Guilt weighed on him. He lowered his head.

  He was partly to blame for this mess. He’d acted without considering the potential consequences. Normally, he was slow and methodical in his relationships, but he’d blown it this time, and he had no excuse whatsoever.

  “I know in my heart that you’re a wonderful man,” she said. “Know what else I know?”

  He only looked at her.

  She smiled. “I know that you love me, Andrew.”

  He nearly choked.

  “Come to me, baby.” She raised her arms, to hug him.

  He gently nudged her away.

  “Mika . . . look. I misled you, said some things I shouldn’t have said, just because I wanted to get to know you. I’m sorry. I don’t feel the way you do.”

  “Oh, yes, you do. You share my feelings, deep down. You love me, too.”

  “Mika, I don’t love you. I’m sorry.”

  “Sometimes, you can be such a typical man.” She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head. “Running from your emotions, like men always do. But I anticipated this reaction from you. I’m not going to allow you to push me away and hide in your little man-cave until you figure out your feelings and realize that you truly love me. No, I don’t have the patience for that nonsense. I know what’s best for us. We’re meant to be together.”

  “Listen—”

  “No, you listen!” She pointed at him. “I’m not playing games with you. You’re my soul mate, whether you realize it or not. I’m not letting you get away from me. Absolutely not. I’ve waited too long to find you and I’ll be damned if I let you go.”

  Her eyes flared dangerously.

  She truly was a bonafide psycho, like that woman in Fatal Attraction. He couldn’t talk her out of her obsession, couldn’t reason with her. It was useless.

  He stepped away from her and moved around the glass dinette table, putting it between them.

  He wanted to get her out of his house. But how could he do that, short of picking her up and carrying her out, kicking and screaming?

  “Come here, Andrew,” she said firmly, as if she were addressing a child.

  “I want you to leave,” he said. “Right now.”

  Her face tightened like a fist.

  She charged across the kitchen. He backed up, hit a chair and would’ve fallen if she hadn’t seized a handful of his shirt. She yanked him upright with a mighty jerk and shoved him into a wall. The collision knocked the breath out of him.

  Jesus, she was strong. He’d never seen a woman so strong.

  She pounced on him like a hungry animal. Ripped his shirt and planted her mouth on his chest. Licking, sucking, nipping with her teeth.

  He grabbed her arms. “Get. Off. Me!”

  He pushed her, hard.

  She crashed onto the top of the dinette table. Salt and pepper shakers clattered to the floor.

  She lay still. Breathing hard.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t want to hurt you, I just want you to leave.”

  Roaring, she rebounded to her feet. Her disheveled hair hung in her eyes.

  He backpedaled to the counter.

  Shaking her head, whimpering, she gripped tufts of her hair and pulled at it. She wept loudly.

  “I only want you to love me. Please, please, please love me. I love you so much, baby. Only want us to be together.” She sniffled.

  He was sickened and saddened by how she was acting. She seriously needed psychiatric help.

  Keeping his distance, he said, “Please, Mika. Go. Go home.”

  “Oh, honey baby, sweetie pie, darling, soul mate eyes, don’t leave me, please—”

  “Go!”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling and screeched, a piercing cry that he was convinced would shatter every glass in the house. He clapped his hands over his ears.

  Spinning, she grabbed the edge of the dinette table and flung it off its base. It crashed against the floor, a jagged crack running down the center.

  The tabletop had required two people to balance it on the table legs, but she had thrown it as if it weighed no more than a trash can lid.

  She brushed her hair away from her eyes. She wore a sly smile, clearly pleased at how her display of unusual strength had shocked him.

  “I’ll leave, Andrew,” she said. “But only to give you time to regain your common sense. This isn’t over—and you can’t hide from me. Remember the thong?”

  He remembered. The red thong hanging on the doorknob at Carmen’s place. He hadn’t wanted to believe that she’d been able to get inside the house and then slip away, undetected by the security system. But somehow, she had done it.

  She watched him, smiling, as the realization sank in.

  Then she strutted out of the house, swinging her hips.

  He locked the door—both the dead bolt and the chain.

  His hands shook.

  On weak legs, he made his way upstairs to the office. A new line of text glowed on the screen.

  YOUR IN BIG TRUBEL NOW

  Chapter 23

  Eric let out a whistle as Andrew finished telling him what had happened.

  “Damn, bro, I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’ve got a seriously psychotic female on your hands.”

  They were on the deck at Eric’s house. It was half-past six in the evening; Andrew arrived there almost immediately after Eric got home from work. He’d been a package of nerves for the past few hours and had been eager to share his story with his friend.

  Still dressed in his dark brown Armani suit, silk tie loosened, Eric paced the wooden planks, hands buried in his pockets. Eric the Comedian had vacated the premises and been replaced by his identical but solemn twin, Eric the Attorney.

  Andrew had told him everything that had occurred. He wanted his advice. Eric worked as an employment law attorney at a boutique firm in Buckhead; he’d litigated numerous cases of workplace sexual harassment, which Andrew figured was close to what he’d been experiencing with Mika—with the unfortunate exception being that his situation wasn’t limited to an office. Mika was harassing him everywhere he went.

  In his retelling, he’d left out the parts about his communication with the ghost, Sammy. He wanted to keep his talk with Eric in the realm of the real world, for now. He still didn’t understand how the ghost knew about Mika. Upon discovering the last message from Sammy, which warned him that he was in big trouble, he’d typed a question asking Sammy to elaborate. But the ghost never responded.

  “Mika’s psychotic all right,” Andrew said. “Strong, too. She doesn’t look like she could harm a fly, but she flipped that table across the room like it was a paper plate.”

  “Could be on drugs,” Eric said. “PCP, something that amped up her nerves. Or she’s just flat-out crazy.”

  “And she knows everything—I mean everything—about me,” Andrew said. “This woman could write a book on my life.”

  “She’s taken her time to plan this,” Eric said. “That’s typical of stalkers. They have an ability to gather information that could shame the NSA.”

  He reflected on the time he’d spent in Mika’s hotel suite, the morning after their date.

  “But she’s taken this to another level,” Andrew said. “When I woke up the next morning, she’d laid out the same deodorant and toothpaste and stuff that I use. Cooked the breakfast foods that I liked. Eric, even the newspaper was arranged in the exact order that I read it every day.”

  “Whoa,” Eric said. “Gotta admit, that’s impressive. Disturbing as hell, but impressive.”

  “I thought it was all coincidence.” He shook his head, leaned back in the deck chair. “But none of it was. I feel like an idiot for ignoring the signs.”

  “Don’t blame yourself. You were letting the other head do the thinking, for a minute. Wouldn’t be the first brother guilty of that, you know.”

  “But as much as she knows about me, I hardly know anything specific about her. I don’t even know where she lives.”


  “That’s right, you spent the night with her at the Ritz.” Eric tapped his lips. “She’s really been planning this.”

  “The hotel should have some info on her. Her home address, for sure.”

  “As detail oriented as this chick seems to be, I wouldn’t count on it,” Eric said. “How about that Rolls Royce she takes around town? Ever seen the plates?”

  “I never thought of that. Never seen the driver, either, actually.”

  “You’ve got to pay attention to that stuff, bro. Didn’t I tell you that you have to be more careful in your personal life?”

  “Don’t lecture me right now, man.”

  “Sorry, my bad.”

  “I admit it—I screwed up,” Andrew said. “But I need to know what to do about this. I want your legal advice.”

  Eric sat on the railing. He folded his arms, his gaze serious.

  “Legally, your only recourse, initially, is to get a temporary restraining order. You know what that is?”

  “Yeah, the cops’ll tell her to stay the hell away from me.”

  “That’s the basic idea. The problem for you is that matters haven’t moved along far enough for you to request one yet. There has to be an established pattern of stalking and threats before you have a decent chance of getting a TRO. No doubt, Mika’s tripping, but she’s just started, bro.”

  “But this isn’t gonna end anytime soon. She told me that herself.”

  “Then you need to keep a record of everything she does and says,” Eric said. “Every uninvited visit, every nutty phone call or crazy E-mail message, every threatening word or harassing signal—write it all down. Write down the innocent seeming stuff, too, like if she sends you flowers or something. You’ve kicked her out of your crib already, and if she keeps dropping by and getting in touch with you, that’s harassment.”

  “What about this?” He raised the pager that Mika had given him.

  “Keep it. Save all of the messages. Could be helpful later.”

  “Will do.”

  “The bottom line is this. The more documentation you have, the easier it’ll be for you to get a TRO—and if things get worse and you have to press criminal charges, those records would be a gold mine for a prosecuting attorney.”