Chapter 15
With my apartment door wide open, I lean against the cold metal frame in my fluffy robe, rhythmically tapping my bare foot on my entryway’s cold ceramic tile floor, waiting for the concierge of my building to step out of the elevator. He called me a few minutes ago–waking me from my nap–to inform me that a package had just been dropped off for me. But I don”t remember ordering anything in the last few weeks. I perk up at the familiar ping of the elevator, and sure enough, the concierge, dressed in his usual gray uniform, steps out with a package in his hand. I smile and push myself away from the door as he approaches and hands me the package. ”Thank you, Markus.” Looking at the package I notice that it has no shipping label on it. ”May I ask who dropped it off?” I look back at him.
”Sorry, the man was wearing a motorcycle helmet with a tinted shield,” he says, his face wrinkling into concerned lines. ”Is everything okay?”
I nod my head. ”Yeah, I was just wondering if it was a certain someone.”
”Oh, a secret admirer perhaps?” he asks with curiosity. ”The only thing I noticed was that the man was quite tall,” he adds.
He’s tall, of course, but he”s not the only tall man in this city, but I don”t know anyone else as tall as him who would drop off random packages unless I have a new stalker I don”t know about. I sigh and flash Markus another smile. ”Thanks, I think I know who this is from. Thanks for accepting the package.”
”Of course. Have a nice day, Miss Black.” Markus nods, turns, and goes back to the elevator to return to the building’s lobby. I let the door fall into its lock and return to my apartment, heading straight for the kitchen and place the package on the island counter. My attention shifts to the building across the street. Squinting my eyes to get a better view, I check to see if anyone is on the balcony, but as far as I can see, there is no one. I would be surprised if he was. He has never been here during the day, although he watches me all night long; as soon as the first warm rays of sunlight spread over the city, lighting up the busy streets, the silhouette on the balcony disappears, and the eerie feeling of being watched fades. He has become more persistent since my little show. Before, he used to skip nights, but now he is here every night. Doesn”t he have anything else to do? Any other jobs he needs to do?
I sigh and turn my attention back to the box. It isn’t a shoe box like last time; it”s a simple postal box with nothing particularly suspicious about it. I’m tempted to just throw it away and not bother with what he has sent me, but whatever it is could be important.
Grabbing a kitchen knife from one of the drawers, with a quick slice of the blade, the tape that seals the box is cut. I lift the lid and am surprised to see a beautiful flower arrangement of bright red sweet peas paired with fresh eucalyptus resting on soft, smooth white silk fabric. I pick the bouquet out of the box, the stems of the flowers bright green, as if they had just been freshly cut. It’s stunning, the red of the soft petals vibrant and full of life.
Setting the flowers down, I’m careful not to damage any of the fragile petals or leaves. I will put them in fresh water in a moment. My attention returns to the box and I pick up the small black carton that was hidden by the bouquet. Pushing the latch open, my eyes widen at the sight of its contents: a pistol resting in a perfectly shaped foam pillow. It is the exact same model that was in his holster at the hotel that night, a semi-automatic pistol. His was all black, but this one in my hands has a creamy white frame with a pitch-black barrel. I pick it up and push the button on the side, allowing the magazine to slide out of its well, revealing that it’s fully loaded. It makes no sense that he would send me something like this. He is giving me tools to fight him, to actually kill him.
I sigh and push the magazine back in until it clicks into place, and I set the pistol aside. I move on to the soft fabric resting in the box. Reaching inside, I run my fingers over the silky material; it is smooth and soft to the touch. I own many silk dresses, but I”ve never touched anything as soft as this. When I lift the white fabric out of the box, I realize that something is wrapped up in it. Noticing the straps, I hook my fingers into the strings, taking a step back to get a better look as the dress smoothes out. With a subtle thud against the tiled floor, what was wrapped in the fabric hits the ground.
I jump back, unable to hold back a high-pitched scream, as I see the motionless white dove on my kitchen floor. Letting go of the dress, I kneel down beside the bird. Carefully picking it up, I flinch when I feel its body still warm against my fingers. It hasn”t been dead for long. He must have killed minutes before he dropped off the package. Poor little thing. I run my fingers over the fluffy white feathers of its belly. As twisted as it may sound, I can justify killing people. There are many bad humans among us, myself included. But to kill an innocent creature for something as useless as this stupid game of his fills me with rage.
I rise to my feet and place the dead dove back into the now-empty box before shifting my attention between everything he has sent me, trying to connect the dots of the message he is trying to convey. The dove: I know from the reports that if he sends the whole bird, he will drag out the death of his victim. The flowers: If I remember correctly, I once read that sweet peas mean something like goodbye or thank you for a good time in the language of flowers. But what is he thanking me for? The sex? For giving him a show? And the pistol–this one is easy: he wants me to use it against him; he wants me to fight for my life. But the dress doesn”t make sense to me. I slip my fingers through the straps and lift the dress once more. A beautiful, form-fitting slip dress in eggshell white, my exact size. I don”t think he wants me to wear it for his next attempt. There is no upcoming event where I would have the opportunity to wear something so elegant.
No, I think the dress is for after he kills me, for my funeral, or whatever he plans to do with my body after he finishes the job. I hug the fabric to my chest and look back and forth between the things scattered around my kitchen. That box didn”t help. I don”t know when, and I don”t know how. All I know is that I have to fight, and this time, I don”t know if throwing myself at him is going to work.
In sync, we slam our shot glasses against the restaurant table, and the whole group bursts out in cheerful laughter. I”m glad I didn”t cancel this night out with my friends. Most people would have locked themselves in their apartments or left town after the package I got this afternoon. And while I have considered pursuing both options, I know it”s useless. Instead, I decided that the best thing to do is to enjoy the time I have left. There is nothing to be gained by locking myself in my apartment and waiting for him. That”s what I did for the first few weeks; even after our night at the hotel, I spent days cooped up, much to his twisted satisfaction. But I”m done, I”m done playing his stupid game.
With a tipsy smile, I reach for the fries on the shared plate in the middle of the table and happily pop one of the crispy potatoes into my mouth, savoring the taste of smoked paprika seasoning. After having missed many nights out with my friends over the past few weeks, the chatter and lively atmosphere of the outdoor seating area of our regular restaurant fills me with happiness. I missed sitting out here, watching people walk by, cars passing by, and gossiping with my friends.
”Eve, did you finally get rid of your stalker friend?” Lily slurs, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me close to her. Her question draws a round of loud gasps from our group of friends. I hadn”t told them anything, and Lily seems to have kept quiet as well, up until now. I let out a sigh and wrap my arms around her middle to keep her from slipping out of her seat.
”You have a stalker?” Sarah, one of our other friends, asks with a raised voice full of concern.
”Not anymore. I think he got bored with me,” I lie and try to defuse the situation with a soft chuckle.
”Is that why you didn”t go out with us for a while?” One of the other girls throws in.
”I”m sorry I didn”t tell you,” I say, trying to sound reassuring. ”It was a really odd situation, and I didn”t want to drag anyone into it.”
”And you”re sure he”s not following you anymore?” Lily babbles, her head resting on my shoulder while she peers up at me with big puppy dog eyes.
”Yes, a hundred percent.” Despite the blatant lie, a broad smile spreads across my face.
”Then we must celebrate the sad asshole is gone!” Lily reaches for her next shot glass of tequila and urges the group to do the same. I hesitate, well aware that I have nothing to celebrate. After another round of shots and more superficial questions about my so-called stalker, the group moves on, and we fall into a light-hearted conversation while enjoying our drinks.
”I have an idea,” Lily blurts out, banging her fists on the solid wooden table. ”You know my grandparent’s cabin outside of town? How about we go there for a girls” weekend?” She suggests, her face beaming with excitement. There are still a few weeks of warm weather left, and we haven”t done anything this year in terms of a girls” trip. Everyone else was too busy with work, and I was, to put it mildly, preoccupied.
”But don”t your grandparents spend the whole summer up there?” I ask, remembering how we used to spend a couple of weeks every summer with her grandparents to get away from the city during summer break. At the time, it was a chance for me to get away from my parents.
”They usually do, but they came back to New York earlier than normal, and they told me I could go up there for the late summer if I wanted to.” Lily smiles. ”What do you all think about going this weekend?”
Getting away from all the chaos, even for a single weekend, sounds like exactly what I need right now. A change of scenery, a few days away from the city. A break from his watchful eyes that seem to be everywhere. There”s a chance it will upset him, but even if he notices I”m gone and comes looking for me. I”m with my friends, a group of innocent people. I doubt he would hurt them.
”I think it”s a great idea!” I say in a cheerful voice and wrap my arms around Lily. We both take a look around the group, who eventually agrees, and with that, the decision is made: We will go to the cabin for the weekend. The group erupts into another round of lively chatter, planning the weekend, what we will do, and what we’ll need. When suddenly, a loud, deafening car horn disturbs not only us, but everyone around us. I jump up in my chair and immediately turn toward the sound.