Chapter 19 #2
I stare at the thread of messages, rereading each word.
As if a tiny fire has been ignited inside me, I switch over to the thread of messages with “It’s Eamon Actually.
” I can’t find any similarities between the two.
Different pet names, conversations, mannerisms!
It’s viable that there are two different people.
Instead of turning my phone off or changing my number, I let myself be in charge.
I click the button to add the contact and save this number as: THE STALKER.
Whomever this may be, I’m not going to sit ideally by and let them make my life into some kind of sport.
Thanks to growing up with an older brother, I’m competitive. “Game, set, match,” I say aloud.
Tonight was a little unusual at The Black Sheep.
Connor wasn’t on the schedule, and I haven’t seen Eamon all night.
Not wanting my stalker to have an upper hand, I wore the damn earbud.
If more things seem to go wrong when I don’t wear it, perhaps having it in would be beneficial.
I manned the helm with Brittany, who seemed to be warming up to the idea that this position was thrust upon me, along with the two new girls who were hired recently.
They were friendly and attentive to the customers, while not too shy to ask questions if they didn’t understand something.
I believe they make a great addition to the team.
At some point during the night, Eamon’s buddies take up residence at the bar.
They keep to themselves after ordering a round from Brittany.
I was popping in and out of the back, keeping on top of Connor’s barback duties, when I hear an unusual commotion on the floor.
I emerge from the back to find one of the new girls, Leslie, arguing with a customer.
The large man’s face and shirt appear to be dripping wet with an empty mug lying on the table beside him.
The man, much larger than the new girl, towers over her.
Before I could think better of it, I quickly put myself between the two, since it’s my job as manager to settle these matters and protect my staff.
I didn’t plan on what I would do once I was here.
Standing even shorter than Leslie, I had to look straight up, to see the face of the brutish, beer drenched man.
“Bitch needs to learn her place!” the bearded man slurred.
Leslie yells back from behind me. “Slapping my ass does not make me get your drink faster, fuck face!”
Jesus! I liked Leslie, but shush! His face turns a deeper shade of plum from the slander, causing him to push toward Leslie. Placing my hands up and stepping back, I attempted to create distance between the drunkard and us, but instead he grabs my wrist in response and squeezes.
“This deaf little cunt won’t listen, either!” The grotesque man holds up my arm to his friends at the table, making them cackle. His hold on me was too tight.
Suddenly, I feel his hand release. I step back with Leslie in tow, attempting to make sense of what is unfolding.
Bodies moving, I was taken aback when the pig of a man was on his knees with Dax holding onto his contorted arm.
The vial man wailed like an animal caught in a trap, begging to be released.
Dax just held him like that, looking at me before he all but dragged the drunkard with him, out the front bar door.
Garron’s usual playful nature was long gone.
He commands the room, beginning by rounding up the horrid man’s friends and instantly escorting them out.
Luckily, they don’t object. Garron is intense when he’s like this.
Brittany and Leslie were soon on me, asking me if I was okay.
The other new hire, Maya, notices me rubbing my wrist and takes off to retrieve ice.
I am a little shaken up, but turn to Leslie to make sure she is okay, seeing how she was the one man handled on my watch.
There is still an hour til closing, however Garron marches back into the bar, flipping on and off the bar’s lights and hollering for everyone to go home. Can he do that?
Garron jumps right in, helping with closing tasks as if he’s done this before.
I wasn’t going to object, as it allowed the girls and I to close up in record time.
Dax didn’t return. I hope he’s okay. The belligerent drunk was the size of a house!
As we are getting ready to lock up, my phone vibrates.
I pull it from my bag and read the message.
It’s Eamon Actually: Are you okay?
I smile to myself, knowing that his friends are the ones who likely reported the incident to him.
Cindel: Yes, I’m fine. I’m glad your friends were here.
Another response follows immediately.
It’s Eamon Actually: Garron will be walking you home. No exceptions.
“Ready?” Garron appears at my side, just as I turn the key on the big red door’s lock. He walks me home, actually quiet and reserved for the first time.
When we reach my building, I finally ask, “How long have you known Eamon?”
He moves the signature toothpick side to side in his mouth before answering. “Since we were kids. My mom was a junky back then, so his family kinda took me in. He’s more of a brother to me than anything.”
I couldn’t imagine. That must have been hard. I didn’t have anything else to ask, but I appreciated Garron’s honesty. “I’m glad that you were there tonight. Where’d Dax go?”
He removes the toothpick and swipes his hand in front of his body. “Aaaah… Dax can handle himself, don’t you worry, Princess.” He flicks the toothpick to the ground, with a slight nod downward he wishes me farewell, and continues down the street.
Did I just hear him correctly? Did… he call me, Princess? I don’t even thank him for walking me home. I’m virtually frozen in place as he disappears just past the next cross-street.
As if on cue, the piece of technology comes to life in my ear as I stand on the darkened street, outside my building.
A harmonic guitar riff starts and the familiar lyrics from The Flys – “Got You Where I Want You,” play into my right ear.
I glance up and down both sides of the street for anyone possibly watching me, but there’s no one.
I rush into the safety of the building, taking two steps at a time, before pushing through my apartment door.
It’s vacant, empty… Andrea is most likely still working.
I go to the window and glance down at the street one more time.
Someone passes beneath the window walking their two dogs, while another hooded figure walks toward them.
When the shadowy man passes beneath my window, he stops and looks up.
Their features darkened beneath the hood of the jacket, but I swear I can see an unsettling smile.
My blood runs cold as I force the curtains closed and hurry to my bag to retrieve the phone. The song is over now and I’m left with only the ringing in my ears to keep me company. I open the message thread and quickly write.
Cindel: Where are you?
Do I chance another peek out the window? Instantaneously, a response buzzes through.
It’s Eamon Actually: Tied up at the Club. Did you make it home okay?
I send a thumbs up then switch over to the newest contact in my phone.
Cindel: Where are you?
I type out again.
Dots appear. Disappear. I shake the confounded piece of technology. “Come on!” The message comes through after what feels like forever.
THE STALKER: What’s your favorite song?
It was him.
I slide down the door, sitting right where I land on the entry rug.
With my back to the door, I let the words from the song dance through my mind.
He literally has me right where he wants.
Either Eamon has one fucked up sense of humor, or this is most definitely, two completely different people.
I had no intention of telling this psycho my favorite song.
I could barely sleep that night, my mind mulling over the messages, all the songs leading up to this one, and everything else that had been happening lately. My psyche was a storm of chaos with more questions than answers.
When the sun rises the next morning, my window coverings have trouble keeping out the piercing light.
I want nothing more than to go back to simpler times.
When all I desired was for my parents to take my brother and I to the park.
We loved to ride the carousel until we were green in the face.
Theo always ran faster, claiming the fiercest animal he could find, either a dragon or tiger.
While I enjoyed the stationary creatures like a giraffe or even the small little bench, nestled between the more thrilling choices.
Lately, I feel like I've been on a ride that I can’t get off. No matter how hard I hunt for something that holds still in the circling madness, I’m given no option. Making up my mind, I decide to clip the little belt along my lap and hold on for dear life.