His heart pounded as he opened the door, only to be greeted by the sight of her, hair brushed and twined into a braid, smiling, and wearing a yellow dress. He remembered that dress from the summer. It was too cold out for it now, but she'd paired it with tights and a gray cardigan. He'd forgotten about his offer to take her to get dinner that evening. She looked...healthy. His heart broke to look at her.
“Ready now, or..?”
“Yeah, let's go.” He offered her his arm, her small hand coming to rest on the crook of his elbow. “Is that sweater warm enough?”
She assured him that it was and, as he led her back down to the road, she started towards the alley to the back of the shop where he parked his car, but he stopped short.
“Let's walk,” he said. She used to walk everywhere, but lately any time they went anywhere further than the grocery store, he'd taken her in the car. Just another way that he'd enabled her downward spiral.
"Oh. Okay," she said casually, but there was fear in her eyes and she held him closer as they started off down the sidewalk. Her side was glued to his and he had to remind himself not to enjoy her closeness and the warmth of her body against his.
"How was your day?" she asked. There was something uncertain in her voice.
"It was fine."
She didn't speak again the entire walk to the chinese restaurant and he wondered if she knew what was coming. Maybe she had come to the same conclusion and it would be easier than he thought.
They ordered the same things they had ordered their first dinner together. He noticed, but chose not to read any romance into it since there wasn't a great deal of variety available at the small restaurant.
They walked home in darkness, their bag full of white cardboard takeout boxes. The wind picked up, whipping at her hair and he felt her shoulders shake. By the time they were back, ensconced in the warm orange glow of his apartment, her face was white and she looked strained and exhausted. Maybe he would wait to talk to her until the morning.
Without words they sat down on the couch and unfolded the boxes, laying out the feast on the coffee table. He watched her pull her legs under her, making herself small as she ate.
"You've been cleaning," he said, breaking the long silence.
She nodded. "I just wanted to help a little. If I can."
"You don't have to. You don't owe me anything. In fact,--" he cleared his throat and put his fork down "in fact, Sparrow, I think that I may be the one who owes you.
"Oh, don't start that again." She said with a wan smile, leaning over to kiss the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes slowly, letting himself feel the warmth of her breath on his skin for a moment.
"I think, perhaps, it may be better if you stayed with Paula for a while," he said, ripping off the bandaid.
"Why do you say that?" She asked, her eyes on his relentlessly.
Diedrich cleared his throat and noticed his hands shaking, so he clasped them together between his knees. "You know that I care very much about you."
"Yes."
"But I think, right now, I can't give you what you need most. Um." he paused, wishing he's planned this better. He knew what he needed to say, just not exactly how. "You need a friend, someone who can get you out and save you from...from yourself."
"You are my friend," there was a horrible, awful crackle in her voice and he stared down at his knees.
"I know. I'm not saying we aren't friends. Just that, maybe I'm too much like you? How can I help you to get out and continue on with your life in the face of difficulty when that's something I could never do even for myself? Paula is fun, and social, and she can give you a boost in a way that this quiet apartment can't."
"Diedrich--"
He shook his head. "No, I really must insist this time. You've changed since you stopped working. I really do think you’d be better off with someone like Paula, for now at least."
He paused, waited, but there was only a deathly silence from the other end of the couch. He steeled himself to look at her and wished immediately that he hadn't.
Her eyes were wet but there were no tears on her cheeks. She was staring right at him, her eyes wide. But the worst part of it was her jaw. Her lips were set into a taut line and her jaw was flexed. She looked hurt, worse than he'd imagined, but beyond that, she looked furious.
"Say something," he finally begged.
"Do you expect me to apologize? I'm sorry for being lazy? I thought you understood I'm just...I just have to get past this...this obstacle." Her words came out in a staccato as she searched for words and reigned in the watery tenor of her voice.
"I do understand."
"You're disappointed in me."
"I'm not. I'm not. I'm just scared."
"I'm scared too!" Finally there was strength in her voice and it was almost a relief to see a tear roll down along her nose.
“I can't be what you need me to be,” Diedrich said quietly. “I'm sorry.”
“So that's all?” She asked, her feet sliding off the couch and onto the floor. She looked away from him, wiping at her face with the back of her hand. She sniffed once, then raised her chin. “Just, get out, huh? You said I could stay here as long as I needed. 'Indefinitely,' you said.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” He couldn't say anything else as he watched her stand up and head toward the back of the apartment. She knocked around in the bedroom for a minute and returned with a backpack slung over her shoulder.
“Sparrow, no.” He stood up, meeting her at the door. He pressed his hand against it as she tried to open it. “I'm not letting you walk out into the dark on your own. It's not safe.”
“You just told me to leave,” she said dryly.
“Not right this second. Come on. Give me a little more credit than that. In the morning, the sun will come up and you'll see that I'm right. You'll--”
“Okay.” She slid the backpack off her shoulder. “Yeah, I get it. I do.”
“We’ll talk to Paula in the morning and see if she wouldn’t mind having you at her place for a while. If she can’t, we’ll figure something out.”
“Sure.” She had closed herself off now, and he knew that he’d hurt her feelings, but he could only hope that he was making the right decision.
Chapter Nineteen
I didn't want to get up. I laid in bed and listened as Diedrich moved around the apartment, he took a shower, he brushed his teeth, I heard toast pop in the kitchen and then the sound of the metal staircase vibrating as he went down to the shop. I understood why he wanted to get rid of me, I knew he felt guilty about not making me feel better. He was right that I was depressed, no matter how much I denied it. In a way, it was just proof that he cared. If it really was just a matter of depression or anxiety, I’d have agreed with him about thinking it would be better to stay with Paula. She was so vivacious and considerate, it definitely would have helped. I didn’t quite know how to explain to Diedrich the guilt that I had involving other people in this stalker business though. Adrien was unhinged and, frankly, I put Diedrich at risk by staying with him. It was bad enough to do that to one of my friends, let alone two. As it was, it was hard to think rationally though the hurt at having the rug ripped out from under me.
When I said goodbye to the apartment I'd come to consider home, I was alone. The first time I'd been in here I had been alone too. It seemed different than it had been before. It seemed like there was more space, the floor was more open and the light seeped in from the corners.
As I had fallen asleep the night before, I'd realized with a horrifying certainty that I was finished running away from Adrien, and now I had nowhere I wanted to hide. I wouldn't drag another person into this hellscape. I wouldn't go to Paula. Not because I thought she wouldn't help me, but because I knew that she would. She would worry about me and fret and sacrifice herself to make me feel safe. Just like Diedrich had. Just like mom had. Just like any of my friends would. In the end there was nothing that any of these people could do, no matter how much they loved me. I h
ad found the perfect hiding place in this apartment and this bookshop and this man, but Adrien was still just outside, waiting, like always. I could press pause on the inevitable, but it would never really go away until I forced it.
I wasn't afraid when I slipped noiselessly out of the apartment, tiptoeing down the stairs so that Diedrich wouldn't know that I'd left yet. So he wouldn't protectively watch me walk across the street to meet Paula at the store to ask for her help.
Instead, Athena and I made off down the road, towards my house, alone. I hadn't walked that way in weeks, but I remembered every crack in the road and every old stump along the way. Athena's tail was wagging enthusiastically behind her as she walked and my heart clenched with guilt for keeping her cooped up as long as I did in Diedrich's apartment. It was easy to forget that, despite her intelligence and patience, she was still just a dog like any other.
When we got to the house I didn't even approach the front door. We went around to the back where the car was parked and I sent Athena ahead of me to make sure it was empty. I tried not to look at the house despite the impulse to peek in the windows and see if he was in there. I watched Athena and she came back to me, tail wagging. The car was safe.
The trip into the nearest larger town was long enough that I'd only made it a couple times since moving to Washington. So when I got there it took me another twenty minutes before I could find the sporting goods store. Athena was ecstatic to be in a new place, I could sense her restrained energy even though she was calm and businesslike on the outside as I slid her vest on.
The fluorescent lights in the shop were an unwelcome change from the comforting half-light of the gray autumn outside. My shoes squeaked on the tiles as I wandered around, refusing help, and looking for the baseball equipment. I stood there for several minutes, an aluminum bat in one hand, a wooden one in the other. The wooden one was heavier, but I had the idea that the aluminum ones were faster. Maybe? I didn't know anything about baseball. I went with the heavier option.
“Cute dog,” the pockmarked teenager behind the counter said as I slid the bat across.
“Thanks.”
“You watchin' the Cardinals later?”
“Sure.” I lied on autopilot. I didn't actually understand that he was talking about a baseball game until I was back in the car again.
Back at home, it was hard to breathe when I walked up the stairs to the front door. Athena was on edge too, picking up on my body language, and her ears were back as she darted inside in front of me and ran through the rooms. She was only slightly more relaxed when she returned to the front door where I was and signaled that the house was empty. The paint he’d splattered over the walls was still noticeable despite our earlier attempts to wipe it all off.
I’d had a premonition. It didn't just start when I returned to the house, either. For days I had been feeling it, this gathering storm. I assumed that it was, at least partly, wishful thinking. This had been going on so long, and Adrien was so close to me again, it felt like the end of the story was coming. One way or another. I wanted it to be over, so I believed it.
That first night I didn't sleep. Not a wink. I brought a chair from the kitchen and positioned it a few feet from the front door and sat on it all night, the baseball bat across my lap, Athena snoozing at my feet. She had tried to get me to go to bed, whining and hopping onto the bed as if to demonstrate to her idiot child what she was supposed to do. In the end she just curled up at my feet with a guilt tripping huff and fell asleep. Every so often I nudged her with my toe. She would perk up immediately, tilting her head at me expectantly. I'd send her on her rounds to check the windows, but there was never anything to report.
Just after six in the morning, I was considering getting up to make a pot of coffee, when I heard footsteps approaching. One, two, three steps up to the door. My heart thudded in my chest with such force that it was nearly painful and my head felt dizzy. Someone tried the lock. My grip on the baseball bat tightened until my knuckles were white and I rose silently off the chair, taking two steps back. The door was locked, and after a moment the footsteps went back down the stairs.
"Athena, come on." I hissed to the dog, who was standing next to me with her ears back and her hackles raised.
I took her to the corner of the living room, away from the back door because I knew he would try that one next. His shadow passed through the curtain of the living room window as he passed, making bile rise up in my tightened throat. The back door rattled. I flattened myself against the wall, baseball bat held to my chest.
"Shhh." I instructed Athena, who was now emitting a low growl from deep in her belly.
Suddenly, there was a heart stopping pounding on the window next to me, as if he'd punched it with force. The window didn't break with the first punch though, and Athena gave a startled yelp, then started barking in earnest at the shadow beyond the curtain.
If he'd meant to break in through the window, he hadn't anticipated a snarling dog on the other side. After that, there was no other sound. The shadow moved away from the window and for an eternity I stood there, rooted to the spot, unsure of where he would try to get in next. I'd often been of the opinion that this house had an abnormally high amount of windows. Never did that seem more true than in those minutes.
But nothing happened. Silence fell on the house. Silence and a sickening stillness that was, in a way, worse than the rattling of doorknobs and pounding on glass. At least then I'd known for certain where he was. Now he could be anywhere. He was in the air I gulped down into panicked lungs.
After an hour I attempted to convince myself that Athena had scared him off. She'd scared me. I'd never heard her bark like that and even then I had the presence of mind to be impressed with my sweet dog. My sweet murderous dog. I sank to the ground and patted the top of her head when she laid it on my knees.
I would have stayed there all day, it was a good spot, not visible from any windows, but round noon I got so hungry that I felt like I was going to throw up. The entire time I was in the kitchen throwing together a peanut butter sandwich, I was intensely aware that my back was to the door.
A part of me regretted coming home at all. I didn't even feel like I could bolt now, he was right outside, somewhere. Watching the house. Waiting for me to let down my defenses.
That was only a part of me, though. A larger, perverse part of me wouldn't allow me to call for help. I had my phone, after all. I could call the police. I could call my friends. But as much as I wanted to be safe, I wanted even more to be done with this. I could force the end of this story if I just stayed put and let what would happen, happen. I wondered idly, as I sat on the floor of the windowless bathroom eating a peanut butter sandwich with a baseball bat on my lap, if this would be considered Suicide by Stalker, in the end.
The sandwich sat like a boulder in my stomach and I regretted eating.
I was so tired that a headache was forming behind my eyes. I longed to rest my cheek on the cold tile floor and fall asleep. This was far from the first time I'd spent an entire day on the floor of the bathroom, in a way that floor felt like home to me. I wondered if I would sit there for the rest of my life. I thought about how this felt a lot like being sick, when you've been sick to your stomach all day long and you know you'll throw up soon so you just sit there over the toilet, waiting, feeling sorry for yourself, wondering if you should just shove your fingers down your throat and get it over with. Ironically, it was like I'd been training for this for years.
I began to have second thoughts when I heard my phone ring in the kitchen. It buzzed against the countertop three times. Then a pause. Then it rang again. The sound of the vibrating cell phone, the promise of a familiar voice in the horrifying silence of the house was a spark of hope. My courage had waned over the exhausted hours and when the phone was ringing, I thought, maybe I could still get away.
I followed the sound, my hand reached for the phone, the screen was still lit up and for a flash of a moment I saw that it'd been Diedrich calli
ng. I'd just missed him. I didn't have time to do anything before I heard a tapping on the glass back door.
It wasn’t the sound of skin knocking on glass. It was a metallic sound, crisp and short.
Adrien's hair had gotten long. I hadn't noticed before. The ends of those messy auburn locks just grazed his jawline and curled around his ears. He looked thinner where in my minds eye he'd always been fit. He was almost scrawny. His eyes were ringed with red as if he'd been crying, or as if he'd been up all night like me. I wondered if I looked as insane as he did.
He tapped the end of the gun on the glass again, pointing it at me.
"I can shoot the lock. Or you. Or both. Or you can let me in." His voice was muffled through the sliding glass door. He didn't raise it, he spoke as calmly and quietly as if he was standing right in front of me. I didn't have any trouble understanding him.
My ears were ringing when I crossed to the door, bending down to take the wooden rod out of the sliding door track before unlocking the handle.
He slid it open and crossed the threshold.
"Control your dog." He ordered, pointing the gun at Athena who was lunging and barking at him.
"Athena." I sobbed pathetically, reaching for her collar and holding it tight as she strained against it.
"Take her to the bedroom. Come on." The gun was raised at my face again as he walked us down the hallway and made me put her in my room and lock the door. She scratched and barked at the door wildly as he led me back towards the front of the house. I couldn’t believe my stupidity at buying a damn baseball bat now. A fucking baseball bat. I’d been thinking that he would be unarmed and I didn’t really want to murder him if it came to that. Just knock him out or whatever. I should have assumed he’d have a weapon.
"Your phone."
"Please." I sobbed, gripping it tighter, but I didn't resist when he leaned over and slid the phone from my hand. I watched silently as he placed it on the table and smashed it with the handle of his gun.
A Short Walk to the Bookshop Page 19