Chapter 5 #2
The coffee station near the conference room was crowded, with several people grabbing a last-minute caffeine fix before the meeting. I hung back, waiting for my turn, desperately needing something to replace the cup I’d lost.
“Here. Take mine. You look like you need it more than I do.” Diane offered, pushing a Styrofoam cup into my hands.
“Thanks. Are you sure?” I asked, grateful for the warmth against my still-trembling fingers.
“Yeah, take it. Just don’t tell anyone I have a heart,” she joked, moving toward the conference room.
As I reached for a sugar packet, my hand froze mid-air. There, next to the sugar, was another paper crane. My vision narrowed as I stared at another fucking bird! I picked it up. This couldn’t be happening, not here, not in the safety of this office surrounded by people.
“You okay?” Someone, maybe Martinez, touched my shoulder, but their voice sounded distant, underwater.
“Just… need some air,” I heard myself say.
I turned away from the counter, abandoning the coffee, moving toward the exit on legs that felt disconnected from my body. The conference room door opened, and Langston and Tamika emerged, both looking at me with confusion as I pushed past them toward the back door.
“Meeting’s about to start,” Tamika reminded, but I was already shoving the door open, gulping at the outside air like I was surfacing from deep water.
The parking lot blurred before my eyes, as the ground tilted beneath my feet.
I staggered toward the dumpster area hidden from view of the office windows, needing a moment to pull myself together before I completely lost it in front of everyone.
My knees gave out as I slid down against the dumpster, the cold metal pressing against my back through my thin blouse.
My chest heaved with rapid, shallow breaths that didn’t seem to bring any oxygen to my lungs. Why can’t I breathe? Black spots moved across my vision as I gasped, fingers clawing at my throat like I could physically pull air into my body.
Sour garbage filled my nostrils, and fear coated my tongue. My hands pressed against the rough asphalt, tiny stones digging into my palms as I tried to ground myself. Everything was too bright, too loud, too close.
“He found me. He actually found me,” I whispered to no one. My voice a ragged thread over my gasping breaths.
Panic rose like a tide, washing over logic, drowning rational thought.
Leo was here in Goodwin Grove, in this building.
He’d been in my workspace, touched my things, and left his calling cards where only I would recognize their significance.
The violation of it, the absolute violation, sent another wave of dizziness crashing over me.
I pressed my forehead to my knees, trying to make myself smaller, invisible. How did he find me? I was so careful. No social media posts, no contact with mutual acquaintances, nothing that could lead him from Argentina to this specific town, this specific office.
Unless he had never lost me in the first place… The thought sent another wave of terror spiraling through me. Had he been tracking me all along? Watching me run from country to country, always one step behind, toying with me like a cat with a cornered mouse?
I was vaguely aware I was having a full-blown panic attack, something I hadn’t experienced since the night in Buenos Aires when I realized he’d been in my room while I slept. Knowing didn’t help me stop it, didn’t slow my racing heart, or ease the vice grip tightening around my lungs.
I closed my eyes; spots of color exploded behind my lids as I attempted to focus on anything but the paper crane I dropped on the ground.
Just take one real breath. My fingers dug harder into the asphalt, pain providing a small anchor to reality.
In through the nose. Out through the mouth.
Fuck why won’t air come? The world kept spinning, and all I could think was he found me, he was here, and there was nowhere left to run.
“Aven?” The voice cut through the fog of panic, deep and familiar, tinged with an urgency I’d never heard from Langston before.
Through tear-blurred vision, he approached, his frame blocking out the morning sun as he crouched beside me. Gone was the stiff, professional mask he’d worn since I arrived. Replaced with concern, brows drawn together as he took in my huddled form against the dumpster.
“What happened? Are you hurt?”
I tried to answer, but my breath was still coming in short, painful gasps. All I could do to respond was shake my head. Hurt? Not physically, but the terror pulsing through me was like a tangible wound.
“Breathe with me. In through your nose… count of four… hold for seven… out through your mouth… count of eight,” Langston coached, his voice dropping lower and steadier. He didn’t touch me. Instinctively, he understood that might make things worse.
He demonstrated his broad chest rising and falling in a deliberate motion. Something about the steady presence of him helped me catch a single breath. Then another. The black spots at the edges of my vision began to recede.
“That’s it. You’re doing good, Trouble,” he encouraged, still maintaining the measured breathing.
The old nickname slipped out, seemingly without him realizing it. I noticed, and something about the single word, a reminder of who we were to each other before all this, helped anchor me more firmly in the present.
When I could finally speak, my voice came out raw and small. “He found me.”
Langston’s eyes narrowed slightly. His head tilted. “Who found you?”
I closed my eyes, shame washing over me as I realized how crazy I must have looked, having a breakdown by a dumpster over an origami figure. My words tumbled out anyway, the secret I’d been carrying since Buenos Aires.
“His name is Leo. I met him in Peru, early in my trip. He was a tour guide at this historical site in Lima. He was charming, multilingual, seemed so worldly and interesting. We had dinner, and then …” I swallowed hard as heat rose in my cheeks.
“We spent the night together. It was a casual fling, you know? Or at least, that’s what I thought. ”
Langston’s face remained neutral, giving nothing away, but his jaw tightened slightly.
“The next morning, he left an origami crane on my pillow like that one.” I gestured to the crane on the ground.
Langston eyed the crane.
“I thought it was sweet at first, but then they kept appearing. In my new room after I switched. In my backpack when I left it on a beach, and inside my passport when I crossed into Bolivia.”
Langston grabbed the bridge of his nose. “He was following you.”
I nodded, wrapping my arms tighter around my knees. “At first, I thought maybe it was a coincidence. The backpacker circuit follows similar paths, and people run into each other.”
“Did he ever threaten you directly?” Langston’s voice had a controlled quality I recognized from when he was angry, but he managed to contain it.
“Not with violence. However, the messages became more intense, calling me his destiny, saying we were meant to be together. In Buenos Aires, I woke up in the middle of the night and found a crane hanging from the ceiling fan above my bed. He’d been in my room while I was sleeping, Langston.
” A shudder ran through me at the memory.
Langston’s breath hissed between his teeth.
“I literally ran to the airport that morning. Maxed out my credit card on the first flight I could get to Miami. I thought I’d lost him. I was so careful not to post on social media or have contact with anyone we both knew. Now he’s here and has been in this building.”
Langston scanned the parking lot with the vigilance of a security professional assessing threat levels.
“You’re moving to my office. This is not negotiable,” he said; his words left no room for negotiation.
“What?” I blinked at him, not processing.
“Your workspace. You’re not staying in the basement alone anymore. We’ll move your things now.” He stood, offering his hand to help me up.
I stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before taking it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. His palm was warm and dry against my clammy skin, the contact brief but steadying.
“What about the staff meeting—”
“Tamika can handle it. This takes priority.” Langston cut me off, already pulling out his phone to text her.
Twenty minutes later, we entered his office.
I carried files, while he carried my computer tower.
The contrast between my basement dungeon, with its artificial lighting and concrete floors, versus his sunlit sanctuary with its wall of windows, polished wooden desk, and actual living plants was crazy.
The basement wasn’t bad after my improvements, but this … this was what success looked like.
Langston motioned to a small desk in the corner that definitely wasn’t there yesterday. He must have had it brought in while we were gathering my things. “We’ll set you up here. It’s not much, but—”
“It’s perfect,” I interrupted, setting down my armload of files. The desk was positioned with a clear view of both the door and the windows, but most importantly, it was barely ten feet from Langston’s own workspace. Close enough that anyone entering would have to get past him to reach me.
“I had IT bring up a newer computer. This dinosaur belongs in a museum, not a modern office. We’ll have them transfer your files,” he continued, setting the tower beside the desk.
The casual joke, the first he’d made since I arrived three weeks ago, brought a surprised smile to my face. “Hey, the dinosaur and I have bonded. We understand each other’s outdated operating systems.”
A smile flickered across his face before he returned to business mode. “I’ll have security check the building cameras, see if we can identify anyone suspicious. When did you first notice these … gifts?”
“The first crane on my windshield was last night. Then another inside my desk this morning. I should have said something right away, but I thought maybe I was overreacting.” I busied myself arranging my meager office supplies on the new desk, avoiding his eyes.
“You weren’t. This is stalking, Aven, across international borders, which makes it even more serious,” Langston said firmly.
The matter-of-fact way he said it, no judgment, no suggestion I’d brought this on myself, loosened something tight in my chest. For months, I’d carried this fear alone, second-guessing my own reactions, wondering if I was making mountains from origami cranes.
“We’ll need to file a police report, and I want you to document everything, when you first met him, all the incidents you can remember, descriptions, and dates if possible,” he continued, moving to his desk and pulling out a legal pad.
I nodded, sinking into the chair at my new desk. It was ergonomic and adjustable, unlike the folding metal contraption from the basement. “Thank you for believing me … for not thinking I’m crazy.”
Langston looked up from his notes, and his eyes met mine directly.
“I know what it’s like not to be believed, Aven, to have people assume the worst about you based on circumstantial evidence.
I owe you this and more.” Our shared past hovered between the day with the sheriff, my lie that saved his future.
I replied automatically. “You don’t owe me anything, the envelope you left—”
“Was a fraction of what I owe you, and this isn’t about debts anyway. This is about keeping you safe,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument.
His simple declaration covered me like a blanket.
Safe. When was the last time I felt truly safe?
Definitely before Leo. Not since high school, sitting on Langston’s grandparents’ porch swing, watching summer storms while he pointed out lightning strikes and told me about the weather book he’d checked out from the library.
I looked around the sunlit office, taking in the clear sight lines to the entrance and the solid presence of Langston Black at his desk, a man who understood protection on a fundamental level.
My shoulders relaxed for the first time in longer than I could remember, and the constant vigilance I’d maintained eased slightly. Leo was still out there, a threat. I no longer had to face him alone. I had Langston in my corner again, just like when we were younger.
“Now, tell me everything you can remember about this guy— full description, habits, patterns. Leave nothing out,” Langston noted, oblivious to my emotional revelation, as he reached for a pen.
I nodded, straightening in my new chair, my hands no longer shaking. “His full name is Leonardo Morales. I met him outside the San Francisco Church in Lima three months into my trip…” I explained, the words coming easier now.