by Beth Aldrich
Barely able to put my seat belt on and grabbing the side door handle for stability, I scream, “What is it?”
“I saw the S.O.B. walking outside the building!”
“The stalker? Where? Are you sure it was him?
“Coming out of the building, right behind you! I don’t think he realized that I was in the car, because right when you waved to me, he took off running to the side of the building. Let’s go around the block and see if we can find him!”
“What did he look like?”
“It was hard to see him. He had a dark hat and jacket on. His face was looking down. I don’t know if he was our stalker, but once he saw me, he took off running.”
“What? No! Misty, let’s just go home.”
“We have to show this jerk that you mean business and that you won’t be pushed around. I personally won’t stand for it.”
Misty aggressively turns the steering wheel to the right, flinging me to the armrest in the center of the front seat, then she hits the gas; whiplashing me back into my headrest.
“Slow down, Misty. You are going to hurt us.”
Not seeming to realize her own strength, Misty taps the brakes, looking left and right, searching for the assailant. For a minute, I think I see him crouching down between two cars. I alert Misty, and she instantly puts the car in park and leaps out of the car, gun in hand.
“Stay there, Betsy. Keep the windows up and lock the doors. I’ll be right back.”
I fight off the strong urge to pee my pants, so I do a quick Kegel squeeze to try and halt the urine in its tracks. Trying not to think about urine, I scan the parking lot for Misty.
I can’t see much, but I think Misty is crouching down, walking in between rows of cars to find our masked man. I feel foolish for not even realizing that anyone was coming out of the building behind me. How could I not hear him? My only thought had been to motor out of there and get to the car as quickly as possible.
Could it have been Dr. Deller or someone else targeting his office waiting for me to leave my appointment? Maybe they broke into his office and figured out when I’d be there, and stole my personal information? That’s almost ten years of facts, dates, and intelligence on my family and me. People nowadays give out their information handily to doctors, dentists, and others, not thinking they could be a victim of identity theft or abuse.
Without warning, Misty runs up to the car and flings open the door.
“Jeez-us, Misty, you scared the snot out of me! What happened? Did you find him?”
“Nope,” she grumbles. “But whoever it was left this on the ground. Do you want to open it?”
The white envelope has specks of dirt on it. It has the same size, shape, and scribble as the other envelopes I’ve received. As I hold it up to the light, I can make out the little pink slip inside the envelope. I slowly rip it open, hesitating to look inside. I exhale and close my eyes. “Give me a minute, Misty.”
She patiently sits next to me in the driver’s seat with the motor running. I know Misty would rip this message open, run after the madman, and shoot him down if I let her, but I need to think straight and be realistic. I know the police have had their hands tied in helping me identify who the stalker is, but perhaps this envelope will have better fingerprints or clues?
Misty places a gentle hand on my arm. “Betsy, I know we’ve just tried to track him down, but I think we should drive home and look at the letter there. We’ll be more secure and we can call you parents and discuss next steps. I don’t want someone catching us off guard here in the car.”
At home, the dim living room has an eerie, ominous feel, so I flick on the switch and flood the room with light. Barney wakes up from a nap and steps forward to lean into his two front feet, and then he gives his back legs a good stretch. Next, he leans his rear end back and up as he lowers his outstretched front legs to do the stretch, in reverse. As a final wake-up ritual he twists and shakes his head, flopping his ears, making them slap against the top of his head and the bottom of his chin simultaneously. Now, sitting in a ready position, he stares at me. If more people did these stretches every time they woke up, we’d have fewer wars.
I ask him, “Do you want to go outside?”
He cocks his head to the right and widens his eyes, as if to say, Huh? Me? Yeah! This form of communication, I can understand.
He’s been giving me that quizzical look ever since I could remember. Evidently, he’s understood me for years; I’m sure he’s wondering what took me so long to understand that he gets me. I continue my imagination, A-hem. Yes, Mom, I do want to go outside. I heard squirrels chasing each other around on the roof this morning. I think I need to go and look.
Stunned for a minute by my vivid thoughts, I catch a little chuckle in my throat. I can’t believe I’m having everyday thoughts about my cocker spaniel this way. It’s cool, but very peculiar.
Setting her purse on a chair at the kitchen table, Misty crosses the room to grab an apple from the fruit bowl and stands next to me at the kitchen counter. I mentally take note that Misty does appreciate my fruit choices, regardless of whether she enjoyed my gorgeous fruit display the other morning.
In between bites, she says, “Okay, let me see that envelope.”
Her vivid green eyes practically match her tunic top, which accents her gorgeous hair. All the working out and beauty routines she’s been doing have paid off. I’d love to set her up on a date with one of Steven’s friends. It would be fun to double date.
As she pulls the pink slip of paper out of the filthy envelope, I say, “I’ve been thinking, Misty. He must’ve accessed my personal records somehow. Earlier, I was trying to narrow it down. My medical and dental offices have my contact information; heck, even the exercise studio has some of that stuff in their files. But they wouldn’t know about my spotting or get a note to the kids’ school.” I shake my head and look to the ceiling—maybe for answers or just a way out of this mess. “Amazing how we are all so exposed. One crazy loon can spy on files and learn so much about people’s identities.”
She nods in agreement.
“Well… what does this threat have to say?”
Misty replies, “He says, and I quote, ‘Your husband is next.’” She slaps the kitchen counter. “I am blown away by this guy’s nerve. It’s almost as if he’s trying to see how far he can go. He knows you’re going to the police, so he must also know that we’ve hit a dead end there. He also knows that you probably have video surveillance of him from the Village Hall. He also knows about Steven, the baby, and the boys. Jeez, what doesn’t he know?” She’s rambling on, which means she’s trying to distract me from the weight of this threat.
My heart sinks into my chest as I respond, “This guy is sick. He doesn’t have compassion or logic—he’s just plain sick. The scary thing is, I did get an instinctive twinge that the stalker was with Steven yesterday.” I shift my weight and lean on the counter as I continue, “That’s why I raced over there last night. And when I pursued it with Steven, he alluded that someone strange had been in his room.” My mind begins to race. What should I do? How can I stop him? “People won’t believe ‘mother’s intuition’ any more than a comatose husband talking.”
My rant is interrupted by a tiny sound over by the patio door. We look over and see my dog. Barney has a way of scratching the screen door, ever so slightly, just to get my attention when he wants to go outside or just sit on the porch. He loves our fenced-in yard, but I don’t always like picking up the doo-doo in the grass, so I prefer taking him for walks. But paying attention to the little things, like his gentle scratch on the door, seems to be one of the ways I’m able to cope with this menace.
While I open the door to let Barney outside, I call over to Misty, “I completely forgot, I received an email from the Village Police Department earlier today while I was at the doctor’s office. I flagged it as important so I could read it when I got home. Let’s see what it says.”
While waiting for my computer to start
up, I can’t help but think how much of a distraction email is. I think back to a few years ago, when I worked in the Cranstons’ kitchen and dreaded taking time away from the busy prep area to answer emails. Given that I had to be at work so early, I would wait until at least 8:00 a.m. to open and reply to purchase order disputes, vendor contracts, and any other nonsense that ended up in my mailbox.
I would plan emails precisely when I had a break from the action, once each morning and afternoon. Typically, I would prep the ingredients and dough for fresh-baked bread. While I was waiting for the yeast to activate and prove, which takes about forty-five minutes, I’d run over to my laptop and whip through a few messages. I’d remain standing so I wouldn’t get too comfortable in the chair, because work would be waiting for me back in the kitchen.
Now, back in my own cozy kitchen, I scroll down the various messages in my overstuffed email box, finally pinpointing the message from the Village Police Department. I start to feel a rise in my heart rate and sweat starts to form in my underarms. My hands are shaking slightly, which is visibly noticeable as I move my mouse over the mouse pad.
“Wait, Bets, it’s right there.”
Click.
“‘Dear Mrs. Ryan… We regret to inform you that the fingerprint sample that accompanied evidence #R35466 has an insufficient or unreadable sampling. Please resubmit additional evidence for further review.”
“Wait, so it didn’t work?” I shake my head and reread the email. “I don’t understand… they have the originals. How can they not have prints on them?”
“I bet he used latex gloves, or they got smeared.”
The mention of latex gloves makes me sit up. “I know it sounds silly, Misty, but my doctor used latex gloves today during my exam. I know you can get gloves like that from any drugstore, but when you put together the pieces, it kind of fits. Where is Jessica Fletcher when you need her?” Misty slips me a smile, probably because she knows about my TV crime and mystery obsessions. “Do you think I should go over to his office again and see if I can find any other clues?”
“I think it’s worth a shot, but remember, latex gloves are not enough to prove your case. I’m sure the madman wouldn’t dare follow you there again after our little chase scene.”
“Let’s hope. It’s almost like the universe is telling me something—like the answers are out there, glaring me in the face, yet I just can’t see them—even if the gloves aren’t the key piece of evidence!”
Misty nods in agreement, smiling as she hands me my cell phone. “Why don’t you give the hospital a call and see if there’s anything new going on with Steven.”
“All right. I’ll text or call you later with any updates. I didn’t hear anything from them throughout the night—no news is good news, I guess, but the threat about Steven from the new pink note should be taken seriously.”
I watch my very best friend sashay back across the room, confident and bold, ready to take on the bad guys. As for me, I’ve always held my head high, regardless of the adversity that comes my way, but not as confidently as Misty. I’ve always believed you get in life what you’re capable of handling. I guess this whole sordid mess is just a test. I need to figure out this problem and begin to shed my fears and insecurities; meanwhile, hopefully Steven will come home to us, safe and sound.
I tiptoe over to the couch to snuggle up with my dog so I can relax for a minute before calling my parents. Even though the hospital didn’t have any new information on Steven, it’s nice to know that he’s in good hands over there.
As I rub Barney’s belly, I quietly sit with him and think about what an amazing job he did today at the beach. I really want him to know that. I trust that he’ll understand how grateful I am, but a new rawhide should do the trick. I go and get him one and come back to the couch.
As he hops down to the floor, then sits politely waiting for his treat, I tell him, “You know, Barney, I’m so proud of the way you reacted today when the bad man was chasing us. You protected me and kept me safe.”
He lets the bone rest at his feet while sitting in silence, gazing into my eyes with the little end of his tail lifting and dropping against the floor—almost as if a puppeteer were pulling a string attached to the end of it. I love that little nubby tail.
My imagination kicks in again as I envision him saying, I was so scared when I saw the man chase us. If you would’ve let me, I know I could have scared him back. I may not be as big as the German Shepherd down the street, but I can hold my own, Mom.
I’m glad no one knows how crazy I’m acting right now, but to keep my sanity, I need to believe he’s connecting with me on some level—even if I’m creating both sides of the dialogue. Knowing just how dramatic and emotional today’s events were, I want to try and meet him emotionally, but where do I begin? I have no way of knowing for sure if he even understands me, but I know I’ll feel better if I at least try.
“Barney, the man who chased us at the beach this morning came after me again today at my doctor’s office. I wish I knew who he was so I could alert the police.”
Barney shifts his weight and then stands up, alert. A thought comes into my mind. Mom, the man who was at the beach has been outside our house before. He put the bird there. He sees you all the time.
I close my eyes and lower my head to think. Why did I just think that? It seems as if I’m using my dog as a sounding board to think things through. Whatever the case may be, it’s working so far. I should keep following this thought process. Somehow the thoughts and answers are coming to me.
When us dogs go for walks, we smell lots of things, like other animals, trash, and even an old sneaker to chew. We register who has been in the area, through our sense of smell. But, Mom—and this is very important—we communicate through our thoughts, like we are now—even with plants, trees, animals…
I sit up and regard Barney with intensity. “So, can I exchange information with the big oak tree outside, or even someone across town?”
Yes, Mom, but there must be some sort of intention. I can’t just ramble around and pick people’s brains. They need to connect with me in some way or be near me or our home. Barney tilts his head, as he looks deeper into my eyes, probably hoping that I get it.
“Oh, I see. So. if someone is mentally fixating on me, like the bad man, you might be able to pick up on those thoughts?” The butterflies in my belly are doing cartwheels next to Emmy Grace right now. The idea that I can have a microscope into Barney’s mind just warms me to my soul. I affectionately rub under his chin.
Exactly! But it’s not perfect because, as you know, I get distracted by squirrels, other dogs, and of course, food. He pulls his ears back and lifts his chin so I can get a better position to give him a good scratch.
“Thank you, Barney. This is very helpful for me to know.” Looking around my tranquil living room, feeling the warmth of Barney’s fur against my leg, I giggle and imagine what Mom would think if she were here; or even better, if she could read my mind. Whether I’m imagining this conversation or not, the relief that I may have some answers sits well with me.
Barney lowers his head and stares at me for several minutes, then shifts his gaze to the bone at his feet and licks his lips. A noise at the door causes his ears to pitch back. Spooked, I wonder what he hears. He jumps off the couch and runs to the side door.
“Hello? Hello, Betsy, are you here?”
Heavens to Pete! It’s only Dad. I must remember that he has a house key.
Hopping up, I make my way over to meet him at the door. “Dad, you startled me right out of my skin!” I giggle. “I was hanging and relaxing with Barney for a few minutes. I was going to call you. Come sit down, I have to fill you in.”
“Okay. Your mother is at home… she said to say hi and to ask if we can go visit Steven.”
I gesture to join me in the family room. “I spoke with the hospital a little while ago, but we can visit any time during ICU visiting hours.” I shift on the couch to get more comfortable and continue
. “Here’s where we’re at with everything.” Dad is fixated on me, more serious than I’ve seen in a long time as I share the morning’s events at the beach and the doctor’s office. He props his elbow on his knee and rests his chin on the palm of his hand. Intently, he formulates his thoughts.
“I think we need to drive over to that doctor’s office again,” he says. I nod in agreement. “Can you call them and say you’re having pain and you need to get back in? That way, maybe we can figure out these coincidences surrounding the doctor’s office. And we can pop in and see Steven. Let’s go get your mom.”
He gets up from the sofa and navigates his way into the kitchen pantry, calling out to my dog, “Barney, who’s a good boy?” Barney hops up and hightails it into the kitchen. “Do you want a treat from Grandpa?” Dad loves spoiling my first baby. Barney chomps down the freeze-dried lamb nugget in one chomp.
“Stay here, Barn, we’ll be back soon. Now that you’ve had two treats in one sitting, you should be content for a little while longer.” I’ve often wondered if I’m the only one who tells their dog that they’ll be back soon. I always feel like he might be upset when I leave him alone. Now my dog seems to understand me and perhaps realizes that I will be back soon. My mother-guilt lessens a bit.
Barney grabs his half-eaten rawhide and walks over to his doggy bed. There he sits, looks back at me, and appears to nod his head.
“Did you see that, Dad?”
“Huh? No, what?”
“Never mind.”
I don’t think my father has ever been to my OB-GYN office. After all, why would he? I guess there’s always a first time for everything. And this time is important; we’re on a mission. Mom has been here with me before, but she’s my mom; women do things like that. I’m glad she’s staying in the car to be on lookout from the parking lot. She may spot the stalker outside the building, like Misty did the last time I was here.