Chapter 7
Chapter
Seven
HER
I feel like I’m going crazy.
At first, it was just small things. I’d come home from work and find my favorite mug drying in the dish rack, even though I know I had left it on the counter. One day, the TV remote was on top of the fridge, even though I always put it on the coffee table. It all seemed innocuous, and I almost excused it as my sleep-deprived brain playing tricks on me. Especially since I was working double shifts.
But then things became increasingly noticeable.
My books were on the wrong shelf. A few shirts had been folded differently. And when I woke up this morning, my toothbrush was missing. I searched everywhere but found no sign of it—until I returned to my bedroom and discovered it on my nightstand. I couldn’t believe it. My blood boils just thinking about it. I was so furious that I nearly left the apartment with stinky rage breath.
I’m not sure what to do. If I tell someone, they’ll probably think I’m nuts. So I’ve kept it to myself, doing my best to ignore it and put everything back in its proper place. I’ve also started documenting all the strange occurrences in my journal. But I’ve become increasingly paranoid that someone was in my apartment, moving my belongings and doing who knew what. The possibilities make me shudder.
“Yo,” my co-worker Nick says, waving a hand in front of my face. “Did you hear what I just said?”
I blink. “Sorry, what?”
“I asked if you wanted to go out for drinks tomorrow,” he repeats, before quickly adding, “As friends, of course. You look like you could use a night out.”
I hesitate. I’ve been so preoccupied with the things that have been happening in my apartment that I haven’t really thought about anything else. Nick Campbell attends Liberty Grove University like Jen and also works at the video store. He’s a bit of a jock type, but he’s also funny and kind. I never looked at him romantically, but it’s obvious Jen has a thing for him. Too bad he’s oblivious.
And clearly enamored with Zoey.
“I don’t know,” I say, returning to arranging the video cases on the shelf. He’s been a good friend to me, and I don’t want to seem like I’m blowing him off. But I don’t think I can realistically muster the will to push myself through a night of drinking surrounded by rowdy college kids. “I’ve been kind of tired lately. ”
He plucks Death Becomes Her from the cart and slots it between a couple of other titles. “I can tell. You look like you’ve been through the wringer.”
I cringe, wounded at the unintentional blunt jab. “Yeah, I guess so.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “I’ve been having weird dreams lately. About this figure, in the shadows. I feel like they’re watching me.”
“Sounds creepy,” he remarks, placing the last of the cases on the shelf. “If you’re feeling paranoid, you can get a weapon or something. Like a taser. They sell those over at the shady pawn shop near downtown. I can come with you if you wanna go that route.”
I look at him and give him a grateful smile. “A taser sounds like a good idea. Thanks for the suggestion, Nick.”
As I push the cart back to the register, the bell chimes, and Zoey enters. Her eye makeup is smeared, and she clutches the strap of her purse like her life depends on it. I raise my brow in concern as I stop the cart behind the counter.
“What happened?” Nick asks, forehead crinkling in worry.
Zoey shakes her head and tears up, taking a few steps closer to him. “My dad died,” she answers in a low, wobbly voice. She lets out a shaky breath before continuing. “They found him, all cut up. And it looked like he’d been there a while …”
Nick opens his arms. She races into his embrace, collapsing against his sturdy build as she lets out her emotions, heaving and sobbing. Eventually, she pulls away and wipes her tears on her leopard-print jacket. Nick gives her a sad but warm look, as if his own heart is also breaking into a million pieces.
I chew on my lip, trying to find the right words to say as I join them. “It’s going to be okay,” I tell her, squeezing her hand in reassurance. “We’re here for you.”
Zoey gives me a weak smile. “Thanks,” she says, her voice still unstable. “Actually, there is something you can do for me. I promised Jen I’d help her with her stand at the craft fair this weekend. Could you sub while I’m busy with the … funeral arrangements?”
Before I can point out that I have shifts this weekend, Nick pipes up. “Don’t worry about your shifts. I’ve got you covered. Brian can just deal with it.”
I suppose I have no choice; I can’t refuse when they’re both looking at me so expectantly. “Okay,” I say. “I’ll do it.”
Zoey smiles gratefully. “Thank you. I really appreciate it.” She throws her arms around me. “I’ll let Jen know what’s going on. She’ll be delighted to have you as her company instead, anyway.”
I can’t help but chuckle. Zoey and Jen are complete opposites in terms of personality. I prefer being around the introverted Jen rather than the chatterbox Zoey. Admittedly, though, I’m anxious about the craft fair. But it’ll be an interesting experience to see what it’s like assisting with a stand.
As Nick escorts Zoey to the break room, someone enters the store. I look up to see Blake, a bag slung over his shoulder and a notepad in his hand, his face scrunched in concentration.
“Hey Blake,” I say, giving him a wave. “Renting any movies today?”
Blake looks up at me and smiles. “No, not today,” he replies. “Just returning one from the other day while I do some research.”
“Oh,” I say, failing to hide my disappointment. I’ve had fun recommending movies to him and was hoping to give him some new suggestions. He hasn’t been around the store lately, at least not when I’m on shift. And he never called me, either. “What kind of research?”
“For work.” He sets the bag atop the counter and pulls out the VHS tape. “I’m writing an article on the craft fair this weekend.”
I take the tape and enter Blake’s membership number into the register—not that I’ve memorized it by heart or anything. “Oh? What a coincidence. I got roped into helping my friend with her table. Maybe we’ll bump into each other.”
His face lights up with excitement. “That’d be great! My article is going to focus on the unique crafts and stories behind each vendor. You know, I don’t think I realized how much craftsmanship goes into so many things that may seem mundane at first glance.”
And I don’t think I realized how cute Blake is when he gets going like this , I think.
“What will your friend be selling? ”
Suddenly, I feel like a shitty friend. “I’m not sure,” I admit, rubbing the nape of my neck sheepishly. “But I’m sure she’ll be worth interviewing. Or getting a quote from. Matter of fact, it’ll probably make her happy if you showed an interest in her work.”
He scribbles something on the notepad and shoves it into his pocket. “I’ll take your word for it.”
I give him his receipt, and he smirks at me as he takes it, his hand brushing against mine. I can’t help but blush as I clear my throat and force myself to focus. “Well, good luck with your article. I’ll keep an eye out for you at the fair.”
“Thanks,” he says, turning to leave. “I’ll see you there.”
Not I’ll see you around . A definite I’ll see you there .
The thought of seeing Blake again preoccupies me for the rest of my shift, providing a pleasant distraction from the monotony of dealing with customer complaints. Particularly from Robert. He’s always griping about the available movies and claims he can never find anything good. No matter how many suggestions I offer, he rejects them and complains just for the sake of complaining.
And I swear he has a sixth sense about when I’m supposed to work. Like a radar so he can come in and annoy me in the last hour of my shift. He takes his time, scrutinizing the shelves. We’re four minutes to closing, and I’m about to lose my patience.
“We’re about to close,” I state, as firmly and as politely as I can.
Abruptly, he looks up and feigns surprise. “Oh, closing time already?” Glancing at his watch, he then turns around to select something from the shelf behind him with a satisfied smirk on his face. “Well, I suppose I’ll just have to take my time,” he remarks casually before continuing to browse.
I fight the urge to roll my eyes. “Sir,” I say, in a last-ditch effort to get him out of the store as soon as possible. “It’s almost closing time and I need to lock up.”
He looks over his shoulder, barely glancing at me before turning away again. “I’m sure you can spare a few more minutes.”
What’s with this guy? I think, busying myself with tidying up the shelves behind the counter to avoid looking at him. I can’t help but feel frustrated—and a bit unnerved—that he won’t leave. After a few minutes of tense silence, he finally approaches the counter, thrusting a small stack of movies toward me.
“Will that be all?” I ask, taking the cases. He flashes me a smug grin, and I keep my face expressionless as I scan his membership card and the barcodes on the cases. “That will be $5.50. With our special?—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he interrupts, hand waving to shush me as he slides a ten-dollar bill across the counter.
I bite my tongue, ignoring his remark as I give him his change and grab his movies. “Thank you for renting with us,” I say evenly, bagging his tapes. “Have a good night.”
Without another word, he turns and strides out the front door, leaving me alone with my exasperation. Letting out a deep sigh, I lean against the countertop and press my hands to my face. It had been another long shift and I can’t wait to get the hell out of here. I finish up the cleaning and other tasks before shutting off all the lights and locking up. Walking back to my car, I can’t help but wonder why some people feel the need to be so rude.
As I drive away from the store, my mind is a tangle of thoughts and emotions. Days like today make me wonder why I try so hard to show kindness and courtesy when it feels like no one else cares about it anymore. It’s a constant internal struggle between understanding where people are coming from and being frustrated by their behavior.
I push the negativity out of my head and focus on getting home to enjoy some well-earned rest. Briefly pausing at a red light, I continue on my way and take in my surroundings. The streets are unusually empty tonight, and I can’t help but feel like I’m in some sort of dream world. By the time I pull into the apartment parking lot, I yearn to take off my shoes and relax. I’ll worry about calling Jen and getting the craft fair details tomorrow.
I exit my car—and see a silhouette at the edge of my vision. I squint, but I can’t see anything in the darkness. The hairs on my arms stand on end as the lights in the lot blink on and off. Looks like I’ll have to give Nancy a call tomorrow, too.
I’m just being paranoid , I tell myself. But I can’t shake the feeling that I’m being watched.
The feeling of being watched persists as I quicken my pace toward the front of the building. I turn around, but there’s nobody there. As I take a deep breath and start walking again, something darts past me, causing me to shriek—before I realize it’s just a cat. I sigh in relief, chuckling to myself. Too bad the complex has a policy against owning cats because I would love to adopt it. When I was a kid, I had a white cat named Alice, and I still miss her comforting presence.
My relief is short-lived when I turn the corner and see a figure standing in the shadows by the other side of the building. I freeze, my heart pounding as they move out of the shadows and come toward me. I can tell it’s a man, but I can’t make out his features because of the bizarre-looking white mask he’s wearing. Is this the same person who watched me in the park? The same one who committed all those murders?
Panic roots me to the spot. I’m indecisive, a million thoughts swirling in my head. Do I run? Call for help? But who will hear me? I’m unable to move as he takes yet another step toward me. “Who are you?” I ask, managing to find my voice. “What do you want?”
The figure stops for a second, then continues edging closer to me until we’re standing less than fifteen feet apart. He doesn’t answer, just stares at me through the empty voids of the mask. My stomach turns, and I feel like I’m going to be sick; the mask reminds me of my father and how he loved to wear them during his sprees.
“Please,” I beg, failing at keeping the fear from my words. “Just leave me alone.”
I imagine him smiling cruelly behind the mask as he brandishes something. It’s a knife—one used for hunting—and it glints menacingly in the moonlight as he scrapes it against the brick wall of the building. The unpleasant screeching echoes through the quiet night air, sending chills down my spine. I take a step back, my mind scrambling as I try to come up with an escape plan.
“I’m not going to leave you alone,” he says, his voice modified by some sort of device. “I’m going to watch you. I’m going to follow you. And I’m going to make sure that you never forget me.” He advances on me, slowly and steadily, like a predator about to pounce on its prey.
In desperation, I turn and run in the opposite direction as he speeds after me, back toward the parking lot. But I stumble over something—goddammit, those broken lights!—and realize it’s a rock. A decent-sized one at that. Grabbing it with both hands, I stand and turn to face my pursuer, raising the rock above my head.
He stops in his tracks, surprised by this sudden show of courage from what he had likely assumed was an easy target. His grip on the knife tightens as he stares at me. He is clearly weighing his options, but ultimately decides to flee and vanishes into the night.
I’m motionless for a few moments as my heart rate slows down and my breathing returns to normal. After finally regaining some composure, I quickly drop the rock and run into the building, never once looking back as I climb the stairs. But before I can process what just happened, I see a piece of paper stuck to my apartment door. Slowly, I peel it away and unfold it, my eyes scanning the page.
I’m always watching you.