Chapter 3
Greer
“And you didn’t tell me any of this was happening. Why?” Allison scolds, looking up at me over her reading glasses from my phone in her hand.
“Well, at first, I thought I was crazy. It seemed like I was being watched, but then, when the police never found anything, I thought I was losing it. Then, the notes started.”
Allison’s eyes waft toward the shoe box I’ve kept every little scrap of paper my stalker’s left behind in the last two years.
“This is…” Her head shakes at me in disbelief as her mouth gapes open.
“I know. The longer it went on, the more I didn’t want to tell you because of… well, that look on your face right now.” Even though she’s my best friend and has been since elementary school, and I know she will help me through this, I’ve put her through enough already.
I shift in my seat, wringing my hands in my lap as I fight the urge to pick at the sides of my nailbed.
“G, you can come to me with anything.” Pity fills her eyes, and I hate to see it.
“I know. I’m sorry. I wanted it to end, but then they escalated last night…” I sigh, closing my eyes.
I cleaned the mirrors this morning, but the messages are etched in my memory and will likely remain so forever.
“The cops dusted for prints?” she asks.
I nod. “Yes. They also took the lipstick and the marker they used to write the messages.”
“The locks weren’t broken? No sign of forced entry?”
I shake my head, swallowing over a burning lump in my throat. “No. It’s the part that bothers me the most.”
She hands my phone back to me. “You’re staying with me in town.”
“But Bear—”
“Bear can come, too. I’m not leaving you out there with some fucking psycho peeking in your windows and sneaking inside your house, Greer. I’ll be damned if I’m staying in the sticks with you, so it’s our only option.”
Even though she grew up in Georgia, Allison hates the locale and would run if she could.
She stayed with me. For me.
“Fine. I’ll stay with you.”
“I’m going to talk to some contacts in the department and see what I can find out. See if they’re taking this seriously.”
I bite my inner cheek, tasting blood. “Okay.”
For some reason, Allison being on the case makes me feel more at ease.
For the next hour, we eat and review anyone I’ve encountered who I think could be stalking me. However, being a recluse means there aren’t many suspects.
Once we finish our food, I hug her before heading to my house to pack a bag and get Bear to spend the night at her place.
It’s closer to work, I tell myself. Trying to find the silver lining might help me feel better about running away from my problems.
But when your problems want to kidnap and possibly kill you, you should run away, I logic.
When I get home, the door is unlocked, and it makes me stop dead, holding the knob as my body quakes with renewed fear.
Having Allison in on what’s been going on in my life had given me a sense of hope. Now, that’s dashed.
Bear barks behind the other side of the door, letting me know he’s ready for me to open it, but I’m worried about who could be inside with him.
He clearly didn’t mind whoever broke in yesterday and wrote on my mirrors, so who’s to say this person hasn’t befriended my meathead dog and is sitting in my living room in wait?
I think about calling the cops, but then, if no one’s inside, I risk looking like an idiot all over again. Even though I never leave my door unlocked, I left in such a hurry for lunch with Allison. What if I did?
These are the circles I’ve been running myself in for two years, every time something happens.
Bear’s taken to whining now, and my stomach tightens as I grapple with opening the door to see who’s on the other side a moment longer before growing the gall to do so.
One. Two. Three.
Pushing the door open, I’m nearly knocked over by Bear sprinting outside. I’m left bereft in the fissure, my eyes scanning the interior of my home.
It’s small—a brick house built in the sixties. It’s dated, but it was affordable, and I liked the idea of slowly fixing it up and making it my little corner of heaven.
“Hello?!” I call out, stepping inside as Bear heels and follows me in.
I leave the door open behind me in case I need to make a quick exit, and I pull out the pepper spray Allison gave me before I left the restaurant.
I don’t know how to use it, but it’s better than nothing.
After searching my entire house, I find nothing.
I lock the door before sitting on the couch and dropping my head into my hands.
My heart is racing a mile a minute, and I know this stress isn’t good for my body. I don’t know who’s fucking with me, but I wish they’d stop.
For the first year, I honestly felt like it was karma. For what I did ten years ago, I deserved whatever was coming to me. I knew Allison would say that was crazy talk, so I kept her out of the loop.
I thought either the person was going to kidnap me, kill me, or eventually get sick of stalking someone so dull, but either way, I knew I brought it on myself.
I never thought I’d still be dealing with it going on over two years later.
I shoot Allison a text that I’m home and will be over in a couple of hours, and I decide that before I leave the comfort of my home, I’m going to shower and get into something comfortable.
Leaving Bear sprawled on the couch on his back, I move into my room and get undressed as the shower heats. Slowly, I pack a bag with enough things for at least five days, leaving my shower bag for last.
Moving through the motions of my typical shower feels robotic under the circumstances, and once I’m out and dressed, I feel like I probably should’ve waited until I got to Allison’s.
“Bear, we’re going to Auntie Allison’s house tonight!” I call out as I toss my bag over my shoulder.
Entering the living room, I find Bear sitting on the couch, looking toward the open front door, and I freeze at the sight.
“Bear, come.” I slap my leg, and he dutifully gets down and heels.
Fumbling in my purse, I grab the pepper spray and click the leather pouch open.
The inner door is open, while the glass storm door remains closed. However, a piece of paper is taped to the inside of the storm door.
No matter where you go, you’re mine. I’ll always find you.
Tears well in my eyes, and defeat prickles my heart. They knew I was leaving for Allison’s house. And doing so puts her in danger, too.
The knowledge has me shutting the door and leaving it unlocked before tossing my bags onto the couch, utterly thwarted.
Whoever this is knows my every move. I’ll never escape. I’ll never be free of this torment.
Again, my heart reminds me that I deserve it, and I pour myself a glass of wine and kick off my shoes.
Because if the stalker is going to find me wherever I am, I might as well be comfortable at home.
Come what may.
The morning is far too cold for Georgia, but it’s late October, and the cold fronts have come early this year. I can see my breath as I step out of my car and grab my coffee and bags.
Locking my car, I look up at the library as I head in for the day, forgetting everything that’s going on and breathing a touch easier. It’s my favorite place on earth—where all my troubles bleed away into the scented pages of historical tomes and romance novels.
Melody is already in, and so is Bill.
“How did the other night’s enrichment event go?” I ask them both, tossing my things down on my desk.
Letting my coffee warm my hands, I watch them both eye one another awkwardly.
“One of you has to tell me. Out with it.”
“One of the kids broke a table. We tried to fix it, but—”
I smile, breaking into an easy laugh. “That’s all? Did it go alright other than that?”
Melody beams. “It went amazingly other than that.”
A broken table is the last thing on my list of worries. Honestly, it might be the first. I’d rather deal with ordering a new table than speaking to Allison about where I was last night or what she found out from the police department.
“I’ll handle the table. Just toss the old one. How are we doing on the discard list?” Every year, the library cleans house and removes books that haven’t been checked out, making room for new books to purchase.
The small store in front of the library, run solely by volunteers, makes us a bit of money on second-hand books, which we then put back into the library.
Some of the books always end up coming home with me, so my spare bedroom is filled to the brim with shelves.
“I have three more stacks to pull from, and then this round of discard is done.” Bill drops his clipboard on his desk and turns toward me. “You had a request for some help this morning. I would’ve taken it on for you, but I’m a bit swamped now, as you know.”
I try hard not to roll my eyes. “Yes, I do know. Who is it?”
“Local college kid. Needs help with research on a serial killer paper she’s doing for psychology.”
I can’t help but be amazed by the thrill that races through me at the prospect of busy work. “Send me her information.”
I rarely get asked for help on things like this, but it does happen.
“Already emailed.”
“Thanks, Bill. Do you know what serial killings she’s researching so that I can get a jump on it?”
“The Oakland Nightstalker,” he says, and I quirk my brow.
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard of that one.”
“How could you not have?” Melody asks. “He’s been all over the news recently. Ever since he reemerged.”
“He?” I eye her narrowly.
“Well, the FBI profilers think it’s a man due to the strength it would take to dismember bodies the way the Nightstalker does.”
My intrigue is hard to hide.
“What do you mean, reemerged?” I ask as I head to my desk to open my MacBook.
Melody sips her iced coffee before waving her hand through the air. “The killings stopped around ten years ago. It wasn’t until the last two years that they started again.”
The timelines jar me, and I swear my heart stops in my chest.
“You alright?” Bill asks. “You’re really pale.”
“I—I’m fine. Got a bit dizzy for a second.”
“You girls don’t eat enough…” Bill continues his rant as my heartbeat fills my ears, tuning him out.
Once I log into my computer and check my emails to get them caught up, my bone-chilling moment is long gone, but the nagging itch to dig into researching this Nightstalker eats at me throughout the day.
I shoot off an email to the student, Penny Brown, letting her know I’ll begin pulling everything I can from our archives for her on my end, and asking her what angle she’s working from for her paper to get her the right material.
I wait around well past closing, awaiting a reply, but when it doesn’t come, I pack up and head outside to my car.
It’s dark and cold, and with the busy, mind-boggling day I’ve had, I forgot completely why I don’t leave after dark.
I’m reminded when I get to my car, and there’s a note beneath my wiper.
I wait to read it until I’m in my car with the engine running and the doors locked as if that’ll save me.
Drive.