7. Sophie
Chapter seven
Sophie
“ D amn it,” I muttered under my breath in a moment of sheer frustration, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. The blank document on the screen seemed to mock me, a stark reminder of the creative block that had taken hold ever since that last time with Ben.
I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples in a futile attempt to coax inspiration from the tangled mess of thoughts crowding my mind. It was no use; every time I tried to focus, my thoughts drifted back to him, to the warmth of his touch, the intensity of his gaze, and the abrupt, cold ending that had left me reeling.
I glanced around my makeshift workspace: a small desk by the window, cluttered with notes of half-formed ideas. Early-morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room, a stark contrast to the turmoil within me.
I tried again, typing out the beginnings of various intros, each one faltering before it could truly catch hold of my imagination. Then I typed: Sophie Wright, renowned author, struggles to find her muse. I let out a bitter laugh and deleted the line. If only it were as simple as a lost muse.
My thoughts wandered, unbidden, to my last book. The words had flowed effortlessly from my fingertips, each sentence a steppingstone on the path to a climax. The characters had been vivid, alive, their stories intertwining in a dance of plot and passion that had captivated my readers and satisfied my creative soul.
I remembered the satisfaction of typing the final words, the sense of completion that came from having told a story worth telling. It had been exhilarating, a stark contrast to the muddled attempts that now littered my desktop.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed away from the desk, the chair scraping against the floor in a sharp, jarring sound that echoed my internal discord. I needed to clear my head, to escape the confines of these four walls and the oppressive weight of my own expectations.
Madi and my dad were at work, and my mom was out running errands, so I was on my own. Pulling on a jacket, I stepped outside, the fresh air a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of my room. The neighborhood was quiet, the early hour lending a sense of peace and solitude that I increasingly found elusive within myself.
As I walked, the rhythmic sound of my footsteps on the pavement provided a simple, grounding beat, a counterpoint to the chaos of my thoughts. The familiar houses and yards passed by in a blur, my mind still ensnared by the events of the past few days, by the unresolved tension and the unanswered questions that Ben had left in his wake.
The frustration with his seeming indecision, the anger at being left vulnerable and exposed, warred with the undeniable pull I still felt toward him. It was a maddening, intoxicating mix of emotions that I couldn’t seem to shake, no matter how hard I tried.
I walked without direction, my steps leading me on a winding route through the neighborhood, each turn taking me further from my desk and the unwritten words that awaited me there. It was a temporary escape, a break from the demands of my personal chaos.
I halted in surprise when I saw the woods looming ahead of me and stood there indecisively as I remembered my promise to Ben. There was an easy path that led back in the direction of my parents’ house, and it didn’t go deep into the trees. I could probably call out and be heard by anyone outside in the yard of any of the houses along the edge of the woods. Heck, I could even see a house through the trees from that path occasionally. How dangerous could it possibly be to go back that way? Not dangerous at all, I decided, and it would be a nice change from the residential area I had been walking in.
I stepped happily onto the path when I reached it, glad to be among the trees, their leaves dappling the sunshine that penetrated to the ground which hosted a multitude of ferns, shrubs, and the occasional shade-loving wildflower.
My worries and frustrations disappeared as I let the lush growth around me, the birdsong in the tree branches above me, and the scent of fir fill my senses. Oh, how I had missed these woods in New York!
Knowing that I was completely alone, I stretched my arms out wide, as if to embrace the forest, and twirled around in a circle like a happy child. I had gone into the motion so swiftly that I made a full circle, even though I had seen something behind me that would have frozen me in place if I hadn’t been twirling so fast. Someone was behind me on the path—someone who had ducked behind a tree when I spun around. A neighbor who happened to be taking the same path at the same time would never have done such a thing.
My first thought in the rush of fear that filled me was to act as though I hadn’t seen anyone, and I forced my feet to begin walking again at the same pace. Ever so slightly, I lengthened my stride—just enough so the increased speed wouldn’t be noticed, swinging my arms as though I were strolling along.
My mind was frantically trying to remember the exact route of the path, while I listened hard for the sound of footsteps behind me. Nothing yet. Oh dear God, please, please keep them as far back on the path as you can.
When I saw the path curve to the right ahead—a curve that memory told me was leaving the woods and returning a walker to my neighborhood—just two blocks from my parents’ house, in fact, I gave up all pretense and ran for my life.
I arrived home, completely out of breath but unharmed. A ten-minute collapse on my bed restored me sufficiently to get back to my laptop. I decided to check my email accounts and then try again to make some progress with the new book. Yes, I had been scared shitless, but I resolved to keep my promise to Ben in the future and never go into the woods alone again.
I responded to a couple of emails in my personal account and went to check my author account. There was an email from my agent, asking about my progress so far, which I ignored for now. Hopefully, I will have written something by the time she really starts pestering me for a response.
I opened another email, one whose source I didn’t recognize, but this was my business account, and I often heard from strangers on topics related to writing and publishing. The fear I had felt in the woods returned in spades when I read:
Sophie,
You belong to me and to me alone. Do not spend any more time with the
man I saw you with at Grumpy’s or I will be forced to punish you. Besides,
you should be writing not cavorting around town with other men. Get busy
darling girl. I eagerly await your next book, and my patience tends to run thin.
All my love,
Wouldn’t you like to know who?
My first thought was to show this email to the police, but it might be a good idea for Ben to go with me, since he had seen the stalker, and I hadn’t. I hadn’t been super worried when he had told me about the person in the hoodie, but with the arrival of this email, nothing could be overlooked now.
I called Ben but got no answer, so I ran outside and checked to see if his car was parked next door. No Ben.
The only other thing I could think of to do was to drive by his house and see if he was at home by any chance and just not answering his phone for some reason, so I got into my car and headed for the outskirts of town.
When I reached Ben’s estate and saw the long driveway up to the four-car garage, I realized that I couldn’t expect to find his car in the driveway; it might very well be parked inside the garage. I had only been here once before and it had been late at night, so I guess I hadn’t remembered the layout accurately. I decided to park in the driveway and go knock on the front door to see if I could find him at home.
As soon as I got out of my car, I heard voices coming from the back of the house. Relieved that he was apparently at home, I took a path that headed back in that direction. The closer I got to the back of the house, it became clear that one of the voices was that of a child. That was curious, as Ben was a widower with no family, as far as I knew.
Rounding a corner of the house, I saw that an extensive covered patio extended from the back of the house with a large swimming pool beyond it. The pool was surrounded by concrete with plenty of space for lounge chairs. Beyond that, there was a very large area of mowed grass bordered by a wide strip of shrubs and flowers with a strip of grass right through the middle of it that extended all the way down to the river that runs through the valley. It was simply beautiful and would have held my attention but for the sight of Ben playing soccer with a young boy who could only be his son.
Granted that it hadn’t been that long since Ben and I began talking, but we had had hours of conversation over the course of the time I had spent with him. Why had he never once mentioned that he had a child? Why would any parent keep a secret like that? It was unfathomable. And, even worse, if he could so easily keep a secret of that magnitude, what else was he hiding from me?
I turned around and went back to my car and left. I was stunned. So much so that I couldn’t deal with this development in addition to the email I had received. I resorted to a movie quote and told myself, I’ll think about it tomorrow, fully intending to do no such thing. I was done with Ben and would just give my time and attention to my family and my work until my visit ended.
I still needed to go to the police about the email, and now I would have to go alone. The Finch Valley Police Station was a block off Main Street. I parked in one of the slanted spaces in front of the station, pulled up the email on my phone, and went inside.
I’ve never needed to visit a police station in Manhattan, but I’m pretty sure that it’s a lot easier to get into the police station in town here and meet with a detective if you need to. I was seated at the desk of a middle-aged, female detective in next to no time at all. Detective Roberts was tall, slender, and struck me as professional but kind. She listened to my story and read the email I showed her, looking very serious as she did so. She questioned me thoroughly but in the end told me that she really wasn’t going to be able to do much about it.
“We look for a pattern in these kinds of cases. One email could just be a prank, but a series of emails like this one is a lot more likely to be a serious threat. Also, you didn’t see this person in the hoodie yourself, and the man who did isn’t here to give us a detailed description. I’m so sorry, but all I can do at this point is to have the officers on patrol swing by your parents’ house a lot more often, both day and night.”
“I understand. I’ll be sure to let you know if I receive any more emails like this or see anyone suspicious lurking around our house,” I said.
“Absolutely. It’s important that you do. Here’s my card. I hope that’s the end of it though,” the detective said.
By the time I got back to the house, everyone was home. I was exhausted by the stress and the events of the day, but I helped mom make dinner and managed to chat with my family over the meal as though I had spent a peaceful day writing. I wasn’t about to worry them unless I had more proof of a real threat against me, and I hoped to God that I never would.
I held it together until I got up to my room for the night, and then I cried myself to sleep.