Watching Their Steps

by Alana Terry

  I swallowed and dropped my head. “Two years ago, when I was waitressing in Pennsylvania.”

  “And he hurt you when he found you.”

  I tried to keep the painful memories from haunting my voice. “Is that a question, Detective? Because you’re out of questions.”

  “No, Ms. Holly, unfortunately that is not a question.” He stood and walked out of the bathroom without another word.

  I closed my eyes and sighed. It was over. No more questions. At least for a while. I rested for a moment before pushing myself to my feet and turning on the faucet. I splashed my face with water and rinsed out my mouth to erase the bitter taste of bad memories.

  Bickering voices rose from somewhere nearby, followed by a loud, reverberating clang. I flinched.

  “What in the name of all that is holy,” Detective Marx grumbled. My kitchen window let out a loud shriek as it popped open. “What is goin’ on?” he demanded.

  A voice I didn’t recognize replied hastily, “There’s an angry woman out here. She demanded we step aside and we asked her to leave. She picked up a large stick and started spearing the door.”

  Another deafening clang. “Let. Me. In!”

  I recognized Jace’s voice instantly. She was furious. She hit the door again with increasing force. Good grief. She was going to dent my door.

  I stepped out of the bathroom to see what was happening. The younger of the two officers was crouched outside the kitchen window, and Detective Marx was watching the situation through the screen with a bemused expression.

  “You should probably lower the drawbridge and let her through before she starts spearing people,” I suggested.

  Detective Marx glanced back at me. “You know this young lady?”

  “That’d be Ms. Effervescent.”

  Recognition dawned on his face, and he gave the officer a small gesture. The officer disappeared, and the front door opened a second later.

  One of them must have tried to help her down the steps, because she snapped, “Don’t touch my wheelchair.”

  “Ma’am, we’re just trying to—”

  “If you like your fingers, keep them to yourself,” she warned.

  She must have poked at the nearest officer with her stick, because Detective Marx groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Disarm her before we have to arrest her for assault.”

  I bit down on my lower lip as I tried not to laugh. If these men couldn’t handle a woman in a wheelchair armed with a stick, I didn’t have much confidence in them fending off a psychotic killer.

  “Hey!” Jace shouted when they wrenched the stick away from her.

  Detective Marx frowned. “How exactly does she get down the steps?”

  I smiled and shrugged. It was more amusing to watch them figure it out themselves. Detective Marx gave me an unhappy look and peered back out the window. “Gentlemen,” he said, tapping on the window frame. “The board.” He had finally noticed it resting against the side of the building.

  I heard the board smack down a moment before Jace came rolling into the apartment. I stepped into the kitchen to meet her and had to leap back to protect my toes when she barreled into me. The force of her impact knocked me back a step, but she still somehow managed to wrap her arms around my waist in a freakishly tight hug.

  I stiffened for an instant before patting her awkwardly on the back. “I’m fine, Jace.” She grumbled obscenities against my stomach. I glanced at Detective Marx, who was watching the display with mild curiosity. I arched my eyebrows at him.

  Yes, I had friends. Well, one.

  Jace pulled back as abruptly as she’d grabbed me, and I stumbled to find my balance again. Her relief at finding me alive gave way to a rush of anger and fear. “I drove past the café and there were police, and police tape, and there was blood on the patio where I left you. I thought . . . I thought something really bad happened and . . . I called you, and I heard your stupid whistling ringtone. Your phone was still there on the patio.” She was so angry with me that she was shaking. “Did we not just talk about this phone thing!?”

  I winced at the shrillness of her voice.

  “I thought you died!”

  Well, I’d stepped up from being abducted then.

  “I wasn’t kidnapped and the police aren’t drawing a really unflattering chalk outline of my body on the pavement,” I said. “Everything is okay.”

  She puffed out a breath, and as her nerves began to settle, I noticed the sparkle of clarity return to her eyes. Jace was sharp when she wasn’t frightened. She took in my appearance with brisk efficiency. “Okay? Really? Because you weren’t wearing scrubs when I left you at the café. And your hands . . .” She snatched one of my hands before I could react and examined my scabbed and bruised fingertips. “What happened?”

  I tugged back my hand and curled my fingers into fists before folding my arms uneasily. “It’s not a big deal.”

  “Not a big deal?” she asked hotly. “You look like you got in a fight with a nail file and lost, and there are cops guarding your front door. You’re not telling me something.”

  “I don’t tell you a lot of things.”

  “Please, Holly.”

  I shifted guiltily under the weight of her gaze. I had tried to protect her by keeping her in the dark, but in hindsight that really hadn’t been my decision to make. I looked at Detective Marx.

  He gave a small shrug. “It’s your decision, but if she’s your friend, it’s probably safer if she knows.”

  Jace froze at the sound of his voice, and her eyes widened to the size of golf balls. “Sexy accent guy?” she whispered to me.

  Detective Marx overheard the comment, and a very peculiar expression crossed his face. Jace gave him a quick once-over before returning her attention to me. I had a feeling we would be having a very disturbing conversation about him later.

  Chapter 10

  THREE UNEVENTFUL DAYS passed, and I felt like I was going to crawl out of my skin. I hadn’t left my apartment, and I was beginning to doubt the detective’s theory of a stalker.

  I leaned against the kitchen counter as I sipped my hot tea and finished my plate of scrambled eggs. I tapped my fork against my lips and watched the officer on the front lawn through the kitchen window. Despite my vehement objections, Detective Marx had assigned two officers to watch over me: one during the day and one at night.

  We’d bickered in circles for nearly an hour about whether or not they would protect me from inside my apartment. It was my home and he couldn’t legally force his officers inside if I didn’t want them. And I didn’t want them.

  I had a one-bedroom apartment with a curtain instead of a door. I would never be able to relax, let alone sleep, while a strange man sat in my kitchen or lounged on my couch.

  But apparently I had no say in whether or not they stood watch outside. Detective Marx had informed me that it wasn’t my property, and he could post his officers on the premises without my permission. He could be insufferably pushy.

  The officer outside now was young, but his age was difficult to gauge. He was probably in his twenties, but he had a baby face that made him look eighteen, and his big brown eyes were full of innocence. I was pretty sure his name was John. No, that wasn’t right. James, Jobe, Jack . . . Jacob, that was it.

  The officer who worked the night shift looked Hispanic, but he didn’t sound Hispanic. Sam, I think. He was probably the most boring individual I had ever met. He almost seemed robotic in the way he spoke with scarcely any inflection, and he had a very limited range of facial expressions: mostly he was just a big wall of blank. He was nice enough, though, so I couldn’t really complain.

  He’d brought my phone back last night when he came on shift, so at least I could text Jace when it felt like the walls were closing in. I was honestly surprised she was still talking to me. She hadn’t taken the news of my attack in the park well, and she was even more upset that I’d kept it from her.

  She’d stopped by every day to check on me and to make sur
e the officers were doing their job. She had texted me earlier this morning: “Library is a snooze. Visiting Scott later. Wanna come?”

  Yes, yes, I did. It was pathetic that going to the hospital would be the highlight of my day. Jace tried to visit her brother every week, and I knew how much she hated to go alone.

  I noticed Jacob shiver a little in the front yard, and guilt gnawed at me. It was a bitter autumn day; I could feel the cold air seeping through the old seals of the windows. I set my tea on the counter and fixed him a mug of hot chocolate. I wished I had coffee or pastries to give him, but this would have to do.

  Icy air cut through my jeans and hoodie when I opened the front door, and it was almost enough to make me burrow back into my bunker, as Detective Marx had so eloquently described my home. I clenched my teeth so they wouldn’t chatter and walked up the steps onto the lawn.

  The corners of Jacob’s lips dipped into a frown when he saw me. “Is everything all right?” I hadn’t come out in days, so it was no wonder he thought something was wrong.

  “Fine. Here,” I said stiffly. I held out the cup of hot chocolate.

  His face brightened. “Thanks. I could use a little warming.” He took the hot mug and clamped it between his red fingers.

  If I were kind, I would invite him inside so he could keep warm, but he would have to settle for hot chocolate. “How much longer before Detective Marx accepts that he’s wrong and pulls you and Sam off protection detail?”

  Jacob smiled and bounced a little to warm his cold arms and legs. “You really don’t want us here, huh?”

  No, I didn’t. I had finally managed to scrape together some semblance of a normal life for myself, and I didn’t want my every movement shadowed and my every decision scrutinized. “Not particularly, no.”

  His smile broadened, accentuating the boyishness of his features. “Yeah, I get that. But we’re not here to make things difficult for you. Marx will catch your stalker-slash-killer. We’re just making sure nothing happens to you in the meantime.”

  “He’s wrong about the stalker.”

  Jacob considered it a moment before shaking his head. “Marx isn’t often wrong. Don’t tell him I said that, though.”

  I folded my arms as the cold air sucked away my body heat. “Nothing’s happened.”

  “I read the report. From what I understand, you’re pretty lucky to be standing here.”

  “I meant lately.”

  “One of your attackers just died three days ago. I’m not sure what you consider lately, but that seems pretty recent to me.”

  I sighed in exasperation. “I don’t need bodyguards.”

  He smiled as he took a sip of his hot chocolate. “You mean you don’t want bodyguards.” At my flat look, he grinned. “You made Marx really cranky when he suggested protection detail and you lifted your chin and declared ‘I don’t want them here.’ He grumbled for hours. It was actually pretty hilarious.”

  I blushed with embarrassment. I hadn’t realized we’d argued loudly enough for the officers to hear us from outside the apartment.

  “I can take care of myself,” I explained. Although recent events contradicted that statement, I was going to stick with it. It made me feel better.

  Jacob cocked his head, considering. “Maybe, but it’s safer this way.”

  “I can’t hide until Detective Marx finds this guy. I won’t do it.” I’d spent too many years in hiding, and I just wanted to live my life.

  “No one said you had to hide. Just limit your extracurricular activities and take Sam or me with you for protection.”

  “I don’t want anyone else dying because of me.”

  “I’m sure we can all agree on that.”

  A silver Prius skidded up to the curb in front of us and parked. Jacob’s free hand went to his gun. Surely, he recognized Jace’s car by now, but he kept a hand on his weapon until she rolled down the window and he could see her face.

  “You ready?” she shouted.

  Jacob glanced at me.

  “We’re going to the hospital to visit her brother. He’s in a coma,” I explained. Scott, her older brother, had been mugged two years ago, and the men had beaten him and left him for dead.

  “I’ll follow you.”

  We spent the evening at the hospital, and I lingered awkwardly in the back of the hospital room as Jace held her brother’s hand and filled him in on the events of her week.

  She told him about my stalker and the cute police officers, who had stepped up to protect me. I was pretty sure I saw Jacob blush and grin in the doorway before he melted back into the hall to stand guard.

  Scott looked thinner and weaker than he had last week, and it pained me to see how his body was withering with time. I was afraid Jace would lose him completely in the near future, so I never begrudged her the visits that stretched well into the night. The nurses all knew her by name now, and they let her stay as long as she wanted.

  It was nearly midnight before I arrived home. I crawled beneath my covers with a tired yawn and drifted easily to sleep.

  Chapter 11

  SOMETHING ROUSED ME a couple hours after I fell asleep. I blinked groggily at the purring bundle of fur on the pillow beside me until a strange tapping sound drew my attention. It sounded like a tree branch bumping against a window.

  I sat up reluctantly and rubbed the tiredness from my eyes. One glance at the windows told me something wasn’t right. Moonlight should have been filtering into the apartment, but there was an irregular line of darkness that bisected each one of the windows.

  I threw back the covers and slid out of bed. My bare feet hit the cold cement and a shiver passed through me. I staggered to the kitchen and flipped on the overhead light.

  My breath caught.

  Photographs were arranged across the rear windows like a film strip. They hadn’t been there when I’d fallen asleep.

  I fumbled blindly with the silverware drawer at my back until I found the handle of my knife. I gripped it with shaking fingers as I crept slowly forward. Horror and fear twisted through me as I recognized the faces in the photographs.

  The first photo was of me asleep in bed in my tank top and pajama pants from the night before. The second was of me stepping out of the bathroom with a towel wrapped around me. I was almost afraid to look at the other pictures. I saw myself frozen in a tank top and jeans as I brushed my hair, wrote in my journal, and mused about the officer in the front yard, sipping my morning tea.

  My entire morning routine was captured in five chilling photographs. The sixth was of Jacob and me talking on the lawn. I followed the sequence of events to the hospital, where there were snapshots of Jacob and me in the hall, of Jace . . .

  A tremor of fear made me take a step back.

  Someone had followed us every step of the way, and not one of us even had an inkling he was lurking in the background. The pictures were taped to the outside of the windows, which brought me some small comfort. Whoever had taken them hadn’t been inside my home.

  There was another quiet tap, and my gaze flickered over the windows frantically. The tap grew louder, and I followed it until I pinpointed the sound near my bed. I stood on my tiptoes to see through the sliver of uncovered glass.

  A gloved fingertip tapped the window in front of me, and I screamed involuntarily. I fell back on the bed and scrambled hastily off the other side. I skidded into the front door as loud, urgent pounding erupted on the other side.

  “Ms. Smith! Is everything all right?” It was Sam.

  “There’s someone outside my window.”

  “I’ll check it out. Stay inside and keep the doors and windows locked,” Sam’s muffled voice replied. I heard him mutter something into a radio before his voice faded away into the night.

  I huddled in the small corner between the counter and the door and watched the windows warily. The knife in my hands grew slippery as my palms began to sweat. I was safe in my apartment. I was perfectly safe.

  I listened for the sound of a fight
or gunshots, but all I could hear was my own irregular breathing. The seconds dragged into minutes, and then I heard the sound of footsteps on the patio. I waited for Sam to announce that it was all clear, or that there was no sign of danger, but no one spoke.

  The quiet scrape of a key in the lock sent my pulse skittering. The officers didn’t have keys to my door. No one should’ve had keys to my door. I shot to my feet and backed away through the kitchen.

  The first dead bolt snapped open.

  I looked around desperately. There was nowhere to hide. As Detective Marx had pointed out, my bathroom door was too flimsy to protect me. I had never planned for this scenario, because no one should’ve been able to get in.

  I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and dropped to my stomach on the cement floor. I shoved the knife and phone under the bed and wriggled after them.

  Sometimes being petite had its advantages; I managed to squeeze under the low twin bed frame where most people couldn’t. It was hard to breathe, and panic gnawed at the edges of my mind. I hated small spaces.

  They reminded me too much of the box. Only a single hole to breathe and not enough room to move. Like a coffin. I shoved that memory out of my mind before it catapulted me into a full-on panic attack under the bed. I could curse my foster brother for his sadistic games later.

  I gripped the knife and phone so tightly in my hands that the bones in my fingers ached.

  The front door opened with a metallic creak, and I held my breath. Heavy, slow footsteps echoed through the apartment, and I had to resist the urge to shrink closer to the wall. Even the smallest movement would draw attention.

  I watched a pair of black boots slowly cross the apartment, hesitate, and vanish from sight in the direction of the bathroom. A warm glow spilled out across the floor as the man flipped on the light. An intimidating shadow stretched out behind him, and I gulped down the whimper that climbed up my throat.

  Tricks of the light, I reminded myself. He could be five feet tall and his shadow might still appear massive. I heard the screech of the shower curtain being drawn back. He was looking for something.