15
Sailor
Haunted and Hunted
“GOODNIGHT, LILS. CONGRATULATIONS AGAIN!”
Lily gave me a wobbly wave as she headed down the drive to the Uber waiting on the street. She’d closed a deal on a million-dollar house yesterday. With the commission she’d earn, she had enough to buy the piece of land she’d been eyeing up ever since she decided to scrimp and save every penny to become a developer and not just a real estate agent.
She hiccupped and whisper-shouted, “The night is young. You sure you won’t come with us into town? Steph and I will look after you. Find you a nice, respectful boy who will treat you right.”
I laughed and went to close my front door. “Nah, you guys have fun. I’ve had enough drinking for one night.”
Which is true.
We’d made mojitos with fresh mint and basil from the garden, plenty of crushed ice, and far, far too many shots. I was tipsy and while Lily had been here, it’d been fun, but now she was leaving, the house settled silent and empty around me.
In the shadows, the nightmares got ready to swarm.
Brushing down my jeans and blossom printed blouse, ignoring my still tender bruises, I needed her gone before I revealed just how badly I wasn’t coping.
“Byeeee!” I waved as she slipped into the Uber. “Be safe.”
“Talk to you tomorrow!” She slammed the door. I waited until her ride pulled away. Only once the taillights rounded the end of the street did I back up, lock up, and pad barefoot through the house.
I avoided the living room and refused to look at the carpet between the couch and the coffee table. Already, Milton’s phantom fingers squeezed around my throat, stealing my newly healed voice and making me wish I hadn’t drunk at all.
The house cracked as it cooled for the night.
I jumped so high, I bumped my toe on the skirting board.
“Ow, ow, ow .” Hissing between my teeth, I stood in the spine of the home and did my best to remember only good times. Of Nana baking apple pies and Pops doing a jigsaw puzzle at the dining room table. Not Milton kicking me from room to room or his sick laughter as I bled from his punches.
It’s in the past.
He’s not here.
You’re fine.
I should’ve been better by now.
But I had a horrible feeling I was getting worse.
The house creaked again.
A shadow caught the corner of my eye. A shadow that looked horribly like Milton stalking me from the living room.
Get out.
Now.
With a cry, I spun on my toes and bolted out the front door.
Without thinking, I ran down the street, not looking back, not able to think about anything but getting far, far away from…
He’s not real.
It’s in your head.
Calm the hell down .
Slowing at the end of the road, I eyed up the manicured pathway leading between two houses to the park beyond.
Before Milton covered me in pain and left me barely able to walk, I used to jog around Firefly Park most days. It was as familiar to me as my back garden, but right now…the dark alleyway seemed full of teeth and terror.
The alcohol in my blood made me stagger.
What am I doing?
Get a grip, Lor!
I shouldn’t have left my house. I was tipsy and barefoot and an absolute fool.
My nerves snapped and I sprinted back home.
I ran so fast, I grazed the soles of my feet and hurled myself through the front door as if the entire street was populated with axe murderers.
Slamming the door, my hands rattled as I did up the lock and threw the deadbolt into position.
The house pressed around me, heavy and ominous.
My knees gave out.
Collapsing against the door, I had my first ever panic attack right there on the rug. My lungs seized, my heart skipped, and all I could do was roll into a little ball on the floor and cry.
I didn’t know how to stop it.
I didn’t know I was capable of being this weak.
It made no sense.
I was fine.
No one had threatened me. Nothing bad had happened, yet my entire nervous system acted as if Milton had beaten me all over again.
I’m alone.
I hated so much that I was alone.
But the thought of calling Lily and letting her see me like this?
I couldn’t.
I could never tell her how my thoughts were full of despair, or that I no longer knew how to be happy. I didn’t want to be that person. Didn’t want her to look at me and judge me because what the hell was I so sad about? I was alive. I had no worries. No hardships.
God!
My head stuffed with tears. The mojitos threatened to come back up.
I-I need…
I don’t know.
I just needed something. Someone. A hug without needing to explain. A kind word without pity.
I huddled deeper into my ball. My cell phone fell out of my jeans pocket, clunking against the rug. My chest ached with pins and needles, and fresh fear filled me that perhaps this wasn’t panic but a heart attack.
A shimmery figure glittered in my peripheral; I swore I heard Nana whisper, “Call someone, Little Lor. Quickly now. Just in case.”
My entire body jittered as I reached for the fallen phone.
Fresh sobs choked me at the thought of what my neighbours would think if another ambulance pulled up outside my house for the second time this month.
“Never mind that,” Nana’s ghost cooed. “You’re spiralling, dear. Best let someone help—”
Help.
Yes.
I needed help.
But not from anyone who knew me.
Snatching the phone that’d fallen out of my pocket, I laugh-sobbed as I caressed not my mobile but the one he’d given me.
A sign. A lifeline.
Hauling myself up, I reclined against the wall, brought my knees up, and typed with quaking fingers.
Me: Tell me something random. Anything. Quickly.
Time ticked. My tears fell. A text message pinged.
X: What’s happened? Are you okay?
The level of caring in that one sentence. The fact I didn’t have to hide to protect his feelings.
Me: No, I’m not okay. I’m having a panic attack. I think.
X: List your symptoms. Right now.
Me: My heart is racing. My mind is too. I feel stupidly overwhelmed, like the world is closing in. Which is ridiculous as I have no right to feel this way. But I can’t stop seeing the guy who hurt me.
X: First, it definitely sounds like a panic attack. Second, you have every right to feel that way. I don’t know what happened, but your bruises and black eye say something serious did.
Me: You probably think I’m being idiotic messaging a total stranger when I’m having a meltdown.
X: I offered, remember? And I can’t tell you how glad I am that you took me up on it. If it will help, tell me what happened. You can say as little or as much as you want. I’m good at keeping secrets.
I sniffed back my tears, my heart no longer colliding with my ribs. Taking a deep breath instead of the shallow pants that’d crippled me, I went to type but paused.
I hadn’t told anyone.
Not even the psychiatrist who’d visited me before I was discharged.
How could I even contemplate telling someone I’d never met the most terrible thing that’d ever happened to me?
Do it.
What have you got to lose?
Maybe that was my problem. I’d blocked up all those memories by not talking. If I shared them, maybe they’d vanish with no more power over me.
Me: I was blind and didn’t see the signs until it was too late.
Exhaling hard, I added.
Me: I look back now and have no idea why I agreed to let him move in with me. I hadn’t felt attracted to him or affectionate with him for months. But I felt sorry for him, I guess. He was good at making me feel guilty.
X: Did he beat you often?
Me: No, he only did it the once. He wasn’t doing it to hurt me. He wanted to kill me.
Sucking in a deep breath, I typed the part I would never be able to say aloud.
Me: He almost raped me on the living room carpet. If it hadn’t been for my elderly neighbour and his dog, I would’ve died all while he violated me. But that’s not even the part that haunts me. It’s the reason he tried to rape me in the first place.
My shakes slowly calmed the longer I focused on texts instead of memories. Putting it in black and white stole its power. The weight of the house lightened. The oppressive terror vanished with every word.
X took a long time to write back. He took so long, worry tiptoed down my spine and reminded me all over again why I hadn’t wanted to tell anyone.
Me: I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have shared that.
X: What was the reason? The reason he tried to rape and kill you?
I sat on the rug and saw a crossroads: tell this stranger the secret that kept tearing a hole inside me or choke on it for the rest of my life.
Me: On the other side of me—not the neighbour who saved my life—lives the grandson of my nana’s best friend. We’ve known each other most of our lives, but we’ve hardly ever spoken. Every now and again, I see him through his windows. I do my best to respect his privacy and look away, but the day Milton came home, I was looking into his place, my head in the clouds, thinking about work instead of watching. Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed my neighbour had come into view. He was in a towel. Milton thought I was gawking at him, and he got jealous. He accused me of cheating. He threw me down the stairs to teach me a lesson. He said he’d be the last person who would ever be inside me. I passed out with his fingers around my throat.
I stopped breathing as I reread what I wrote, my thumb hovering over the send button. Could I confess something like that? Could I risk not confessing?
My fingers shot over the keyboard again, adding to the long message: That part was awful, don’t get me wrong, but the real struggle is…I can no longer even look at my neighbour without feeling Milton strangling me. I feel guilty and ashamed like I truly did something terrible. The minute I see him, my entire system panics. All I can hear is Milton accusing me of cheating and how he’s going to remind me that I belong to him and only him.
Chilled and eerily empty after my panic attack, I scanned my deepest, darkest truths. I deliberated deleting them all. I almost erased every sentence. But…just the act of writing it down had helped. The thought of sending them away, getting the thoughts as far from me as possible?
God, yes.
I pressed send.
And then, I waited.
And waited.
I waited so long, I climbed off the rug and went into the kitchen for a glass of water. Grabbing a mug from the cupboard, I held it under the tap as my chin tipped up and my eyes cut through the window to the dark garden beyond.
I screamed and dropped the cup. It clattered into the sink, spraying water everywhere.
Scrambling for my own phone, I went to call the police.
The burner phone chirped with an incoming message.
X: It’s just me. You’re safe.
My heart drummed with adrenaline as I darted to the back door and checked the lock was in place. Returning to the kitchen window, I narrowed my tear-stinging eyes at the dark masked silhouette standing in the middle of my lawn.
Fumbling with the keyboard, I typed: What the hell are you doing here? I thought you said you’d never approach me? That’s twice now. Stop breaking your word!
The blue glow of his screen sent garish light over the skull scarf covering his lower face. With the dark evening and the baseball hat pulled low over his forehead, I couldn’t tell if his hair was dark brown or black, nor could I see past the blue shadows of his phone to guess his eye colour.
Dressed all in black, standing in chunky boots with his legs slightly apart, he looked every inch a murderer.
Me: Leave! Get the hell away from me.
His shoulders tensed as he read my message and replied.
My phone buzzed. It took all my willpower to look down. I didn’t want to take my eyes off him, petrified he’d charge the house and break in.
What was I thinking telling him so much personal stuff?
You’re an idiot! Such a stupid, moronic idiot!
X: I know you won’t believe me when I say this was not my plan. I had no intention of coming so close, and I definitely didn’t want you to see me. But I couldn’t help myself. I literally couldn’t stop my feet from bringing me here.
His chin flicked up, his eyes cast in thick shadow from beneath his cap. He looked down again, his thumbs flying over his phone before mine beeped with another message.
X: I’m not a violent man. In fact, you could safely say I’m the opposite. But reading your message? Knowing what he did to you? And why he did it?
He broke into a pace, stalking over the grass all while he typed with furious stabs of his thumbs. His every muscle looked tense and ready to snap.
X: I want to kill him. I want to break him into tiny pieces and destroy him. I want to kill your neighbour for being the reason you got hurt. I want to kill myself for thinking I could help you when I’m in motherfucking awe of you.
He looked up, catching my stare through the window.
His screen glowed brighter, etching his eyes with icy light, highlighting sleepless shadows as if he slept about as well as I did.
He finished typing. My phone buzzed.
X: Not only do you have every reason to feel the way you do but you’re also so strong to still live in the house where it happened. I can’t imagine what that must feel like, how talking to your neighbour must hurt.
New tears rolled softly as I read his message.
Catching his eyes again, he shrugged and cocked his head as if he truly was speechless.
The moment stretched.
Neither of us looked away.
Goosebumps covered my arms as he sighed and slouched, sending me another message.
X: I know I shouldn’t be here. I know I said I wouldn’t. But…I can’t leave. Not yet. You said you could tell me anything. Can I tell you something in return?
A shiver rolled down my spine as I swept my thumbs over the keyboard. I should tell him to go. I should be terrified. Yet having him here…? I couldn’t explain the calmness slowly slipping over me, just like the blanket he’d given me the other night.
I didn’t want to examine my feelings. I doubt I’d ever understand. Instead, I trusted in the safety he delivered and replied.
Me: You know the worst part of me. It would help to know the worst part of you.
His shoulders hitched; his eyes dropped to his phone.
X: I have a complex where I find self-validation in helping others. I’ve never told anyone how bad that complex truly is. It’s something I struggle with on a daily basis. It’s an obsession. A visceral need. I can’t control it most of the time, so…I guess I need to warn you.
My heart kicked.
Me: Warn me about what?
X: I don’t want this to end. I don’t want you to stop messaging me, but I wouldn’t be protecting you the way I said I would if I didn’t tell you that the more you lean on me and the more you let me help you…the harder I’ll find it to stay away.
I backed up from the window, clutching my phone.
I tried to get my fingers to behave and message him back. To demand a less cryptic reply. Only he vanished into the dark, leaving me staring at an empty garden.
A final message came through.
X: I’m not going to make this about me. This is about you. This is about you moving on, and I want you to tell me anything and everything that you feel or fear or do. I’ll be watching over you, Lori. I’ll behave and keep my distance. You won’t see me again. You have my word.
I didn’t know how I felt about that.
I couldn’t unravel why his vow made me frustrated as well as relieved.
But…as I checked the locks for the fourth time and headed to bed, my thoughts were of another man and not the one who’d tried to kill me.
My eyes saw X instead of Milton.
And for the first time in a very long time, I slept.