Chapter 2
Greer
NOW
“I’ll work on the discard list tonight. Are you all set in the children’s section for enrichment night?” My eyes watch as Melody turns her chair toward me.
Her curt look tells me I’ve asked her if she’s ready too many times, but I hate leaving her alone if she needs my help. She’s been my assistant for six months and hasn’t dropped the ball once, but there’s still time.
“I’m ready, and it’ll be fine. Go on the date. You’re not using me as an excuse.” Her blue eyes narrow at me over the rim of her thick-framed reading glasses before she returns to her computer screen.
“I wasn’t using you as an excuse…”
“You’re right because I wasn’t allowing it. Now, shoo. Go home and get ready.”
Snatching my bag a bit aggressively, I turn and grab my water bottle. “Fine. But please call me if you need me.”
“I won’t. I’ll call Bill.”
“Bill doesn’t know his ass from a hole in the ground,” I argue.
“You hired him.”
“You’re a snarky little shit, you know that?!”
“You also hired me. You’re zero for two.” She turns, and her shit-eating grin lights up her pudgy, twenty-year-old face. “Goodnight. Have fun! Drink one for me!”
The comment hits me dead center, and I freeze. “I don’t drink.”
It comes out rather cold, and Melody’s brows knit together.
“Okayyyy.”
“Sorry. I just…” I sigh. “I’m leaving now.”
The winding Georgia roads lead me back to my place through the woods. I go slow, and my grip on the wheel is intense. Ever since that night, I have remained alert. The radio is off, and my phone is silent. It doesn’t make up for what I did, but ensures it won’t happen again.
I haven’t drank outside of my house since the accident.
For months after, I fought with myself in an inner war that nearly ate me alive. I wanted to tell someone, but couldn’t take Allison down with me. Her livelihood was on the line, too.
I lost weight, nearly lost my job, and I almost dropped out of school altogether, thinking myself unworthy of the opportunity.
I don’t remember exactly what happened, but one day I woke up and decided not to squander the life I still had. So I chose to live in the man’s honor, no matter how dark that sounded, being that I killed him.
I swallow as I pull up to my modest home. The only neighbors are a field of cows off to the left and the ranch house opposite the field. I’m thirty minutes outside of Columbus, and there’s nothing but solitude and Georgia clay to keep me company.
Going through the motions, I get inside, shower, and get ready quickly before heading back to my car.
Allison set me up on yet another blind date, and even though I had high hopes the first time she did this, I no longer do.
I go so that she’s appeased, but I’m still too plagued by self-loathing to get out of my own way.
I enter the address to a small bar and grill on Broadway, The Loft, and buckle my seatbelt.
Before I know it, the silent drive through the pines and oaks bleeds into the bustle of the city, and I find myself calming down a bit. The town, I can do.
It’s almost like how my ADHD brain thrives in chaos. But give me the conditions of the night I killed that man, and I’m a panting, sweaty mess on the side of the road, fully paralyzed and unable to get myself home.
“Greer?” a man calls when I enter and speak to the hostess.
I nod in his direction and thank the hostess for trying to assist me.
He already has a small booth on the wall that blends into the shadows of the busy restaurant, and I’m thankful.
Even if no one knows me, I feel like I’m notorious. Like my crime is written all over my face in bright red ink.
The date starts fine, except for his ordering my dinner for me. That’s annoyingly pompous of someone to do.
“So what do you do?” he asks, and I swallow my soft drink when he does.
“I’m the librarian in town.”
“Here? In Columbus?”
I nod. “What do you do?” It’s an attempt to get the topic of conversation off me and back onto him.
“Over the road truck driver.”
How the hell did Allison even meet him?
“Well, that’s interesting.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s not really. I see yellow and white lines all day.”
“But you also see places I’ve only witnessed in books.”
He perks up at this, sitting straighter. He doesn’t have the stereotypical body of an over-the-road trucker. He’s very fit with lean muscles bulging in his arms and thighs.
“I never thought about it like that.”
“In a way, you’re a part of the network that keeps this country running. The blood in its veins.”
His eyes narrow as he sits forward. “I really like that. I guess I am.”
The conversation flows, and we exchange numbers at the end of the date. He’s a gentleman and doesn’t try to get me to come to his place or ask to go to mine, so instead of tossing his number away, I save it this time.
It’s a step in the right direction, but I’ll never call.
I don’t deserve love.
I don’t deserve the happiness I already have.
On the way home, my phone rings.
I already know it’s Allison before looking.
“Answer,” I tell CarPlay.
“Sooooo,” her interested voice croons as the call goes live.
“He’s… It was fine.”
“Fine?! Brent is the cream of the crop, girl. He’s got a good job, good values, and morals.”
“Where did you even meet him, anyway?”
Allison is a partner in a local law firm and is doing very well for herself.
“He was a witness in a vehicular manslaughter case I was on a while back.” Silence permeates the air as I swallow thickly. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
“It’s fine.”
“I wish it were, G. But it’s not. I wish you’d get past it, you know? You lost so much of yourself that night.”
“I killed someone. I should be behind bars right now.”
She sighs. “It’s the past. Shit happens in people’s pasts. You live and learn. You’ve changed so much; it’ll never happen again. Why won’t you let yourself be happy?”
“I don’t deserve it.” My whispered words hang heavy as Allison sighs.
“Listen, I’m almost home. I’ll talk to you tomorrow, okay?” I tell her, pinching the bridge of my nose.
“Sure. Whatever. Hug Bear for me?”
I smile. “I will.”
Bear is my very overprotective but loveable pitbull mix. I rescued him from a shelter two years back, but honestly, I think he rescued me.
When I first moved to the solitude of Oakland, Georgia, I felt like I was being watched, and not long after, I received confirmation. So, I got Bear.
What I didn’t realize was that Bear was more of a couch potato, a lovable fur-ball more than anything.
I call out for him as soon as I open the door and feel the space behind me on the porch like a weight against my neck.
He dutifully comes and bounds past me to do his business.
My yard is gated, all two acres of it. He finds his favorite spot by the front tree, pees, and then runs back for me.
I smile at him as I look around, searching the darkness for prying eyes.
Even though the night seems still, I know better.
“Good boy, Bear,” I mutter, still watching as I shut the storm door and the inner door, turning all four locks on the inside as I pivot and drop my bag on the table.
I move into the kitchen and make a cup of tea. Camomile, to soothe my nerves.
After taking my vitamins and watching some late-night television with Bear, I walk into the room to get ready for bed.
I change into my pajamas. Yawning, I head into the bathroom. Clicking on the light, I almost miss it. Almost.
I turn toward the mirror and gasp as my heart nearly stops beating. I back into the shower door behind me, fingers digging into the glass in unadulterated fear.
“No,” I breathe.
On the mirror, a handwritten note is scrawled in red. A tube of my red lipstick is uncapped and lying askew on the counter.
You’re spoken for.
I try to pretend I don’t know what it means. I try to explain it away. But I can’t.
He knows I went on a date, he was watching, and he’s pissed.
Or she?
I don’t actually know who my stalker is. I only know that I’ve thoroughly pissed them off.
My illusion of safety is shattered now.
They’ve never come into my house before.
I ignorantly thought it was Bear’s presence that kept me safe, kept them away.
Now, I know that no part of my life is off limits.
At first, it was just feelings. I’d get this prickle in my spine like I wasn’t alone—the distinct feeling someone was watching me.
Then, it turned into notes I’d find on the property or in my mailbox. Sometimes, they’d be on my car.
Always threatening. Always riddled.
Nothing like this, though.
I’ve called the cops, but nothing’s ever come of it. Whoever it is has never been found. Now, the local police look at me like I’m insane when they come to take reports, like I’m the one doing it to myself for attention.
I consider calling them again, my eyes wandering over to the lipstick tube that might garner the stalker’s fingerprints.
My phone is on my bed. I tossed it there on my way to the bathroom. I rush into the room and click the light on to search for it. I’m dialing and listening to the ring on the receiver when my mouth gapes in shock.
My dresser has a mirror. This one also has a message on it. This time, they used a permanent marker, now lying uncapped on the dresser’s top.
You’re mine!
“Talbot County 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” a woman answers, but I’m dumbstruck, my eyes still glued to the mirror. “Hello? Do you need Police, Fire, or Ambulance?”
“P-police!” I finally get out. “Please, send someone fast. Someone’s been in my home.”
The call drags on as the dispatcher refuses to get off the phone with me until help arrives. When it does, it’s Officer George. We have known one another well over the last two years I’ve lived here.
“Greer, what happened?” he asks, but his tone is exasperated.
I show him the two mirrors, and he takes it seriously, taking the lipstick tube, marker, and dusting for prints.
“Don’t get your hopes up about this. It’s rare for stalkers who are stealthy enough to get in and out of your house to leave prints behind,” he tells me.
“What more can I do? Now I don’t feel safe. They can get into my home!”
“You have a gun?” he asks, to which I shake my head.
“I’d think about getting one.”
That’s it. That’s all he does before he snaps some pics, gives me a copy of his report, and leaves.
Half of me wonders if he thinks I staged it. Once he’s gone, I get into bed with all the lights on and Bear, opening my phone to start looking at guns online.
When the guy from my date texts my phone to see if I got home alright, I look around the room and toward the two massive windows in my bedroom, wondering if I answered if they would know.
Deciding I don’t want to chance it, I block his number and then lie down, letting the first of many tears fall.
I know this isn’t the end of my troubles with whoever is stalking me, and I worry how far it’ll go.
My phone pings again, and I quirk a brow, grabbing it off the wireless charging dock and nearly knocking it over. I definitely blocked him, but maybe it’s Allison?!
I know your secret.