12. Anna
ANNA
My stalker knows I spoke to Darcy about him, but how? The question haunts me the entire day, and I’ve yet to find an answer. Hell, I’ll settle for learning how he found out who I am, period.
The longer I think about it, the less likely Darcy seems to be in cahoots with this guy.
Why would she have told me what he looked like if she is?
Why would she have admitted to seeing him in the apartment at all?
He could be an acquaintance, someone she casually mentioned me to.
Maybe a fellow student or someone she works with…
Perhaps that’s how he figured out who I was, where I lived.
I’ve been checking at least half a dozen times a day to make sure my name has been left out of the press, and so far it has.
If Darcy simply mentioned that her roommate was part of a recent jewelry heist, it wouldn’t take some master skills of deduction for him to figure it out.
Hell, even if she mentioned it to a friend of his friend, word could still get back to him.
And why would Darcy immediately cast suspicion on herself if she was feeding him information about me?
I already had enough experience in this department to know she wouldn’t. Either she was being her usual, gossipy self and let the cat out of the bag, or he had other means…
The last possibility is one I don’t want to even consider, but it’s looking more and more like I’ll have to.
Pulling out my phone, I begin researching. There are a few different options for handling this, but the simplest method requires only one thing.
Darkness.
Once again, I hang out with Darcy in the living room and try my best to act normal, but it’s not particularly easy when you may or may not be on The Truman Show .
I’m all too relieved when evening falls and Darcy heads out for the night, allowing me to retreat to my bedroom.
Breaking out the flashlight on my phone, I begin my inspection, coming up empty.
Thank.
God.
That doesn’t rule out the rest of the apartment, but it’s good to know I’m not being spied on in my sleep.
I check out the bathroom and hallway next, still finding nothing.
At least he’s not a pervert.
The foyer also comes up clean, but it’s harder to tell in the kitchen.
With all of the appliances, there are far too many reflective surfaces to really know for sure.
Keeping up my ruse, I continue examining the floor and surfaces as I move my way into the living room.
Initially, there’s nothing to see, but as the phone illuminates the tall plant in the corner, a small, circular piece of glass reflects the light back to me on an otherwise plastic product.
It’s a camera lens.
Motherfucker.
I can’t be sure if it has night vision, so I continue acting like I didn’t see anything, scouring the rest of the room until I “find” the earring I intentionally dropped on the carpet earlier. I make a show of being relieved and head back into the bathroom to clean it off.
When I go into my bedroom, away from his prying eyes, I click on the “Place Order” option open on my laptop. This asshole thinks he has the right to spy on me? Yeah, well, two can play that game.