Officer Strong." He introduced them both. "Why don't you let us take a quick look around the house? We'll make sure it's safe first. If everything checks out, you can get dressed."
"Sounds great. Thank you." She smiled, feeling relieved, even if she was barely covered. She sat on one of her newly purchased chairs and waited while they searched the house, including the basement. They yelled, “clear" every once in a while, which would have been hilarious had she not been terrified.
Several minutes later, they walked back in together and the short, round one, with curly hair said, "We checked your house, and there is no one else here. Go ahead and get dressed."
"I'll be right back." She rushed into her room, closing the door. Picking up the clothes she'd been painting in, she put on a pair of jeans, her bra and a T-shirt. Breathing in deeply, she opened the door, walking back into her living room to give the officers her statement.
She gave it as speedily as possible, trying not to leave anything out. They asked questions when necessary, seemingly concerned. After she was finished, the officers looked at each other. The tall one, with bushy eyebrows and gray hair, she noticed, wore rubber gloves. He picked up an envelope from off the coffee table.
"Where did you get the envelope?" She asked, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end.
"First," he started, "We've radioed in your name and address and found a file on you. Is it true you've been having some trouble lately, most likely with your husband?"
She nodded, unable to stop looking at the envelope. Instinctively she knew who it was from and probably what it said.
"Well, I spoke to Detective Oborn about your file and apparently your case was closed due to a lack of leads. Seem about right?"
She nodded again.
"A real shame. I've no doubt this has been a frightening experience, but perhaps it’ll help us find your husband.
"I hope it does," she uttered. "The envelope you have in your hands, is it for me?" She asked, needing to move on. They both seemed uncomfortable about it and, she sensed, they were trying to put off the inevitable conversation.
"It is," he replied uneasily, scratching one of his bushy eyebrows.
"We found it in your kitchen. . ."
She finished for him, saying, "Leaning against a dozen red roses."
He looked at her curiously.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"It's something my husband has done since I met him. He thinks I like them," she answered fiercely. "What can I do?"
They obviously knew she was angry, because when Officer Strong finally spoke, he said soothingly, "You can relax and let us do our jobs. The dispatcher informed us the paramedics are on their way as well. When they arrive, let them check you out. Okay?"
Shrugging, she agreed. "I guess. Although, I feel fine."
"Let them check you out anyway. We're going out to our vehicle for a moment, but we'll be right back. Will you be all right in here alone?" Officer Larsen asked.
"Sure, I'll be fine."
What followed was a string of flashing lights and mayhem. Four more police cars showed up, along with Defectives Oborn and Mallory, an ambulance, and Rina. She vaguely wondered what the neighbors must be thinking.
The paramedics kindly checked her over. When she was given the okay, Detective Oborn came over to talk to her. At eleven o'clock, they finished dusting for fingerprints and everyone but Rina left.
Finally alone, and with Rina's encouragement, they discussed what had been written inside the envelope.
"The note said, ‘You belong to me and I'm coming for you’?" Rina asked.
"Yes, exactly."
"What are you going to do?" Rina questioned empathetically.
"Nothing. I've already decided I'm not running from him." She thought about the man she saw running from her house. He’d reminded her of Phillip once again, the length of hair and the build.
Surely it can't be him, she thought.
"What are you thinking about?"
"I was thinking about the man I saw leaving my house. He reminded me of someone."
"He did? Who?"
"Well, I'm not sure it was him; only, the man reminded me of him," she answered, not wanting to tell her.
"Who did you think you saw?"
Knowing Rina wasn't going to give up until she told her she reluctantly responded. "He reminded me of Phillip."
"Sophie, that's silly. What would Phillip have to do with all of this? With David?"
"Well, don't you think it's odd his wife may be having an affair with my husband? Don't you think it's odd I saw a man who looked like Phillip following me the other day? And now this, a man who looked a lot like Phillip came into my house. It all seems too coincidental."
"He was the one who rescued you from the man in the school, though, remember? How do you explain away him saving you?"
"I never saw the two of them together. I heard a commotion, but I didn't see the man in the mask and Phillip at the same time."
"Mmmm, all right, it's possible, I guess. Really, though, you can't think it's him."
"My heart tells me it isn't, but I haven’t been the best judge of character lately either. I believed in David and look where that got me."
"True," Rina agreed simply.
"I want to be wrong, though." She sighed, full of melancholy.
"I want you to be wrong, too. Phillip seems like a genuine guy."
"He does," Sophie added, smiling a little. She thought about her personal experiences with him, all of them good. I've just got to be wrong, she thought, hopefully.
"Why don't you get some rest?" Rina said softly, interrupting her thoughts.
"Yes, I think I will. Night, Rina." She yawned as she walked to her room. "Make yourself comfortable. There are blankets in the linen closet."
"Don't worry about me. I can fend for myself. Night."
Chapter 15
You have got to be kidding me, Sophie thought miserably. She couldn’t believe it. Sitting on the desk in her classroom was another dozen red roses and an envelope leaned against the vase. He's not original, she thought, picking up the note and throwing it in the trash, unopened. "I hate you!"
"Don't hate me. Whatever I did, I didn't mean it."
She swung around, startled. "Dang, Phillip. Would you stop that?” She laughed nervously.
"Scared you again, didn’t I?" A lopsided smile hung lazily on his mouth.
She chose her words carefully. “You do. I wonder why?”
"I'm not sure," he said, walking over to stand next to her. "Maybe you should tell me why you hate me first."
"I don't hate you, although . . . well, never mind," she huffed, frustrated by her situation. Why can't I trust him? Why can't I tell him what's going on, she wondered.
"No, Sophie, I won't ‘never mind.’ I hope you realize I've come to care about you and I want to help. Tell me what's wrong."
"I'm good. Really." She moved away from him, putting the desk between them. She was able to think clearly when she wasn't close to him.
Phillip sat in one of the students' desks, saying, with resolution in his voice, "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on."
She walked over to the trashcan and pulled out the unopened envelope. Abruptly, she handed it to him.
He took it, still looking at her uncertainly.
"It's a place to start. You said you wanted to know what's going on with me. Open it. The envelope is where we'll begin."
He flipped it over and looked up. "It's not even opened."
"Believe me. I've received many of these. I'm sure I have a pretty sound idea of what it says. Open it."
He took out the note and read it.
She giggled nervously when he looked at her with frightened eyes.
"Sophie, you seem way to calm to know what this says," he exclaimed.
“It says something like: ‘You’re mine. I’ll have you. Watch out’. Am I right? They all say the same thing.”
“T
hat man in the school and that man at your house, does it all have to do with your husband?” he asked.
“Yes, Phillip. Apparently, my husband doesn’t want a divorce.” It suddenly dawned on her he knew about the man at her house. “Hey, how did you know about the man in my house? I didn’t tell you.” All of the uncertainties she had about him rushed forward. He is involved, she thought and quickly tried to walk past him.
He stood as she moved away from him.
“Rina told me. I asked about you earlier today and she told me what happened.” He seemed to figure out she was frightened, because he continued, “Sophie, what’s wrong? You seem scared of me. You don’t think I had anything to do with what’s been happening to you, do you?”
She shook her head, still moving away.
He gently touched her arm. “Sophie, I didn’t have anything to do with what’s been going on. Other than the man at the school and this note, I don't know what’s going on. Come here,” he said, trying to pull her to him.
When she wouldn’t budge, he said, “If you don’t believe me, you can call either of my sisters. I’ve been with them almost nonstop for the past week.” He dejectedly stuck out his cell phone for her. “Push the green button. I just got off the phone with Eve before I walked into your classroom.”
Sophie looked from the cell phone to him and believed what her heart had been telling her. He wasn’t involved; at least, not in the way David was.
“Phillip, I shouldn’t have doubted you. It’s just, I’ve had a hard time trusting anyone, including myself these past few months.”
Hopefully, he stood back up, smiling tenderly at her. “I’m glad you believe me. Will you let me help you now? I want to be a part of your life, if you’ll let me.”
“You asked for it. Sit back down. It’s lengthy.” After he sat, she slid in the one next to his.
Sophie started at the beginning, telling him all of it, except for the part where she was having David’s baby. She couldn’t get it out, although she tried several times.
When she’d finished, he asked, “He started sending you red roses because you told him your mother loved them? I’m just curious, do you love them?”
“I used to think they were pretty and I still do like roses. Although, if I never see another red one as long as I live, it’ll be too soon," she admitted.
"Don't hold back. Tell me how you really feel," he said, chuckling heartily.
Laughing along with him, she continued, "Looking back, he never asked what my favorite flower was. He just assumed it was red roses. He's been using them against me our entire relationship.” She stood, walking over to the vase.
He stood too, following her over.
“The truth is, I can’t stand the sight or smell of them.”
“This must be hard on you,” he cooed, softly stroking her hair.
She was still lost in her memories. Angrily, she went on. “When I look at them, all I see is him and I hate him . . .” She had to stop, her voice starting to tremble.
Phillip placed his hands on her arms and she crumbled into him. Like a caterpillar cuddling contentedly in its cocoon, she allowed herself to be surrounded by him.
After a moment, he turned her around. She looked into his eyes, as he asked,
“What is your favorite flower?”
Unable to help herself, she began laughing and crying at the same time.
Confused and concerned, he asked, “What’s wrong? Are you laughing or crying?”
“Both,” she replied, wiping the tears.
“It was a stupid question," he stated, worry still evident on his face.
“No, it’s a good question, a great question, in fact. It means a lot you asked me.”
“Um, are you going to tell me what it is, then?”
She looked away from him, momentarily lacking the ability to handle the love coming from him, the kind of love she hadn’t had from anyone, except her parents. She thought the feelings she had for him didn’t exist.
“Sophie,” he said, gently putting his hand under her chin, lifting her face to him. “What’s your favorite flower?”
“Li-lilies,” she stammered. “Lilies are my favorite flower.”
“Good to know.” Leaning down, he kissed her tenderly.
She responded hungrily, moving her hands over his body, through his thick hair. The kiss ended and she looked shyly into his eyes.
He pulled out his wallet and handed her his card. “You can call me anytime, okay?”
“I will,” she responded hesitantly. A business card after a kiss. Strange, she mused.
“I’d like to take you out tonight. Is it possible?”
“Yes, very possible. What time?”
“How’s eight o’clock?”
She nodded and he continued, “Rina told me you’ve moved. I’ll need your address.”
She wrote it down and he left. Still in a daze, she sat at her desk, not hating the roses as much anymore.
#
Sophie was home. She wanted to go into her house, but couldn’t. On her porch were dozens of vases full of hundreds of red roses. More than she’d ever be able to count.
She felt like the bait in a shark tank, a nibble here, a nibble there and now she was in the midst of a feeding frenzy.
“Why is David doing this?” She cried. Picking up her cell phone, dialing his number. Nervously, she closed her phone. His number was no longer in service. What should I do? What if he's in my house? She decided to call Detective Oborn. She pulled out her card and dialed.
“This is Detective Oborn.”
“Detective, this is Sophie Berkeley,” she began, bravely trying not to cry.
“Sophie, hello. What’s going on? Are you okay?”
“Barely.” She explained what had happened.
“I’ll be right over. Don’t get out of your car and don’t touch anything. Stay right where you are. Are you safe in your car?”
“For the moment,” she responded lamely.
“Good. Stay put and my partner and I will be right over.”
She closed her cell phone and waited. Sitting there, she had the distinct impression she was dreaming. Am I, she wondered, pinching herself.
“Ouch,” she whispered, gingerly rubbing the place where she pinched her thigh.
After twenty minutes, she called Rina but got her voice mail and hung up. Should I call him? Her hands had already answered the question for her. Digging around in her purse, she found his card.
“Hello?” he answered kindly, his voice a rich tenor.
“Phillip?” she questioned.
“Yes. Is this Sophie?”
“It is,” she responded, laughing nervously. “I hate to call, but I hoped you would come over now, instead of later tonight. Something has happened at my house.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll be right over.” He hung up.
#
The police finally arrived and took her statement. Then they began the process of searching the house and fingerprinting.
“I doubt we’ll find anything,” Detective Mallory stated pessimistically, “But we’re going to try, which means we’ll be here a while. Is there somewhere you can go for the night?”
“Sophie, is there? You look exhausted,” Detective Oborn added, concerned.
“I,” she began, as Phillip pulled into her driveway. Relief rushed through her at seeing him. He calmed her and excited her at the same time.
“Do you know him?” Detective Oborn asked, pointing in Phillip’s direction.
“I do. I called him,” she replied.
He walked over to the three of them. "Sophie, what’s going on?”
Detective Oborn stepped in front of him. “I’ll let her explain later. Right now I want you to get her out of here; find her a place to get some rest. She looks like she needs some sleep.”
Sophie stood there, not sure whether to agree or take offense.
Phillip looked over at her.
“Of course.” He handed the detective his card. “If you need to get a hold of me, I can be reached at the bottom number anytime.”
“Very good,” Detective Mallory said. Turning to Sophie, she went on, “We’ll let you know when we’re done. Go get some rest.”
She nodded, walking over to Phillip. Her reality seemed to be taking on a life all its own. She didn’t disagree with what was decided, but it would have been nice to be consulted.
#
Sophie barely noticed when they arrived at his house. Wearily, she let Phillip lead her inside, and into a bedroom. When she was on the bed, Phillip asked, “Do you want your shoes off?”
Numbly, she nodded.
He removed them gently. Gratefully, she lay down.
“Are you cold?” he asked.
“A little.”
He took a blanket from the somewhere, covering her. “Get some rest. You’re safe now.” He soothingly brushed her hair out of her face before turning out the light and closing the door.
Sophie sighed inwardly.
I do feel safe, she thought, closing her eyes, finally succumbing to her weariness.
Chapter 16
“Sophie. Sophie, honey, it’s your mom. Can you hear me? I want you to come back to us. Please, honey, come back. Your dad and I miss you very much.”
“Mom,” she called, sitting up with a start. She had a moment of panic, as she looked around the room, unable to remember where she was. In the next instant though, she started to remember the whole ordeal.
“I came home to vase after vase of red roses on my front porch.” She remembered Phillip coming to her rescue and bringing her to his house. “This must be his bedroom.”
Lying back down, she snuggled under the blanket he’d given her. It smelled just like him, earthy, warm, and masculine. As she stretched, she saw the time and sat up again, confused. It said three-thirty. But it can’t be in the morning, she thought, because it’s light outside. I can’t believe I slept so long.
Pulling the blanket back, she stood up. Opening the door and called, “Phillip?”
After a big thump and the sound of shuffling papers, he came around the corner.
“Sophie, you’re awake. How are you feeling? Are you hungry?”
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