The Stranger's Obituary

by Jessica L. Randall

  Her brisk stride improved her mood, working the stress out of her system, and the sound of the rain calmed her nerves. The familiar city limits sign waited for her up ahead. She reached it, her toes lining up beside the weathered post, and stared off into the horizon.

  Sometimes she imagined there was an electric fence or invisible barrier here, preventing her from crossing. She'd stand here and imagine what would happen if she were to make it to the other side; where she'd go, what she'd see. She didn't really think one step would be the end of her. It was just a game she'd played since high school. As for going on a wild adventure, the kind she used to dream about, she didn't know if she really still believed something terrible would happen to her, or if she was like a tree growing crooked from long exposure to wind, and it was too late to change now.

  “What happens if you cross the city limits? Will you turn into a pumpkin?”

  Mina sucked in her breath and spun around, stumbling as she tried to keep her feet from crossing the invisible line. If she left town, it would be by her own choice, not because of him or anybody else.

  He stood several feet away, hands in his pockets. He looked casual as always, but she could see he was short of breath. He must have hurried to catch up with her, and she wondered why she hadn't heard him. Sometimes when she was lost in her thoughts there was no rousing her.

  Mina realized she should probably be concerned that a man who had been watching her every move had followed her to the edge of town in the middle of the night. He definitely made her pulse race. Whether that was because he made her nervous or angry or something she would never admit to, it wasn’t fear. Besides, Gladys had cleared him. Regardless of the havoc he was wreaking, he wasn’t dangerous.

  “Where's your camera?” she asked, her tone clipped.

  “I had it surgically removed from my hand.” He shrugged. “So I could blend in.”

  Mina scowled and headed back toward home, keeping her distance from the man who'd sent fierce waves crashing into her peaceful life.

  When she heard him following after her, she called over her shoulder, “Why'd you come back? Was there a shortage of suffering among the elite? No bones to be picked dry?” As soon as she'd said it she was sorry for her choice of words.

  “Looks like I got back just in time. No shortage of bones here.”

  The rain began to pick up speed. Mina whipped around again, but found he was closer than she'd estimated. She was inches away, looking into his dark eyes.

  The sirens began to wail, and Mina reveled in the unease that crept into his smug face. She turned back toward home. It would only take fifteen minutes if she walked fast. The sirens didn't make her that anxious, but she preferred to err on the safe side. While enjoying a Nebraska rainstorm was one of the best benefits of staying put in Auburn, a soft blanket, a book, and a cup of cocoa sounded like a good alternative. The reporter and blaring sirens had ruined her walk anyway.

  She kept her eyes on the road ahead of her, trying to ignore the clip-clop of oxfords beside her.

  “Mina.”

  Whatever he wanted, he'd have to find a quieter time to extort information from her. She imagined him waiting outside her house in that Honda. Then she pictured a funnel picking the Honda up, and depositing him somewhere far away. Her lips turned up.

  “Mina!” The alarm in his voice almost made her feel bad for him. She stopped short, turning toward him.

  “What?”

  “We need to get out of this storm.”

  “Don't they have tornadoes in California or wherever you're from?” she teased. “I'll walk you to your car, but then you're on your own. That thing looks like it'll hold up alright.”

  She smiled, flipped her wet hair behind her, and walked on. The rain had torn clean through the clouds and poured down on them unrestrained.

  He grabbed her arm.

  Mina went to great lengths to avoid being touched by strangers. And yet she didn't jerk away at the sensation of his fingers on her arm. The image of his face the first time she saw him, his eyes looking right into her, flashed to her mind like lightening. Her own reaction only made her more flustered.

  She was about to turn on him, and tell him if he didn't like the weather here he was welcome to leave town, but something made her pause. Her breath caught in her throat, and the two of them stood as still and quiet as the world, apart from the blaring sirens, had become. It was an unnerving stillness.

  The storm she didn't mind, but the sudden calm felt like the inhale before a mighty powerful exhale. She glanced down the road. The Parker's house wasn't far, but their car wasn't in the drive. She didn't know how much time they had to go looking for a place to take cover. The old Parker barn was just off the road. It wasn't her first choice for shelter from a tornado, but it had stood strong for seventy years. She was willing to take the chance on it surviving one more night, even if it was a rough one.

  The reporter's brown eyes were fixed on her face, as if he was waiting for her to tell him what to do. The thought briefly crossed her mind that he might do anything she instructed him to, and that now might be the perfect opportunity for some misinformation that would take this tall, dark problem out of her life for good. But she didn't have time to entertain the thought, enjoyable as it was.

  She grabbed his arm, jerking him off the road, and ran toward the barn. As soon as they were inside, with the door latched behind them, the wind roared again outside, beating against the weathered wood like an angry poltergeist.

  She stepped back from the door and turned around. It was almost dark inside, but the scent of old hay and decaying wood enveloped her. It was comforting and still inside as the wind shook the walls and rain pelted the roof. As her eyes adjusted to shapes in the darkness she tried not to imagine them crashing down on her if the barn was ripped apart.

  In the aftermath of chaos, she nearly forgot that a man she didn't even know, the very man who threatened to send her own life crashing down around her, was sharing the enclosed space. But then she felt warm breath on her ear. The scent of soaked wool and a faint whiff of cologne wafted toward her. She stiffened and faced him, backing toward the wall.

  “Don't worry, I'm not going to touch you.” His warm voice sank into the dusty air.

  She stared hard in his direction. “I wasn't worried. But maybe you should be.”

  He chuckled, and Mina felt the storm that had been brewing inside her break free as well.

  “I'm not joking,” she shouted. The words filled the space, bouncing off the walls. “You stand outside my house for weeks, watching us like a creeper, invading our privacy. You don't see anything wrong with that?” Her chest burned, and her pulse quickened.

  “I never said I was proud of what I do, but I'm good at it.”

  “Congratulations.” Tears stung her eyes as her anger ignited. “You got what you wanted. You have enough information to end my life as I know it. Maybe they do things differently where you're from, but here we don't play games. So just tell me what you want to know. Let's get this over with.”

  He took a step toward her, and she backed up again, feeling the rough planks scuff her back.

  “I'm not going to blackmail you. I don't want anything.” He spoke smoothly enough to make her certain he was a snake.

  “Sure. That's why you bothered digging up information about me.”

  “That's my job. Information. But I don't intend to use it against you. I'm ... intrigued by you. I have been ever since I saw your face in that window.”

  It might have been sweet if it hadn't come from a stranger and a stalker. Yet, she sensed honesty and sincerity in his words. Which only meant he was good at his job.

  “That's supposed to make you sound less creepy?” she yelled. “If you didn't want anything you'd be gone by now.”

  “I still have a job to do. My boss isn't ready to let me off the hook. Some of us actually have to go out into that crazy world and work and interact with other people.”

  She made a disguste
d noise. “Stop acting like you know me.”

  There was a loud crack outside. They both jerked their heads toward the sound. A heavy thud followed, just outside the barn.

  “I'm sorry.” He took another step toward her, and her fingers clenched into fists. As her chest tightened she reminded herself to take a big breath.

  “The thing is, I'd like to know you, Mina. What I said the other day, I was just trying to draw you out. Get you to talk to me.”

  “I'm sure you were. And quit saying my name! I don't even know who you are!”

  “My name is—”

  “I don't need to know. You're name's Sweater Vest Stalker as far as I'm concerned. Just stay away from me!”

  A powerful gust shook the barn. The old wood creaked, fighting back as it had done through countless storms. There was a crash above them as a large board broke free and burst into the barn. The still nameless reporter flew at her, blocking her from the blow, and they both tumbled to the packed dirt floor.

  Chapter 10

  Calvin's Song

  Mina lay on the floor under the weight of The Sweater Vest Stalker. His hair brushed against her nose. That same scent; something woodsy with a linen note. She blew it out of her face and scrambled to get out from under him.

  “Are—are you okay?” she asked, prodding him.

  “Yeah.” His breath hitched.

  Mina pulled at her cell phone until it dislodged from her wet jeans pocket. She pressed the 'on' button and found the flashlight app, then pointed it at the man on the ground. He looked up at her, squinting in the bluish light. Blood trickled down his temple.

  She moved closer, placing her fingertips on his jaw and turning his face gently. It was strange, touching someone in a way that felt so intimate, when she'd kept a healthy space bubble between her and the rest of the world for so long. Even stranger than having the man lying on top of her.

  “Am I going to live?” he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up.

  “I think so. But it's bleeding pretty badly. Give me your tie.”

  His brow creased, and he hesitated. Then he loosened the knot and slipped the silk strip through. He handed her the tie with a frown.

  “I like that tie.”

  She shook her head. “You're as vain as Bernie. Hold this.” After handing him the phone, she wrapped the tie around his head and tied it tightly, then taking the light, stood back to admire her work.

  “It's a good look for you,” she said, the awkwardness of the situation palpable.

  “Thanks.”

  Mina noticed the sirens had stopped and the wind had slowed enough to take a peek outside. She unlatched the door and pushed. It only gave a couple of inches. She threw her weight against it, but it barely budged.

  “Something's blocking it,” she said.

  Mina checked her cell phone. No service. Probably some damage to the tower. She wandered back to the side wall and slumped to the ground, leaving a couple of feet between her and the reporter. She sighed heavily. It looked like getting out of this barn would be a two person job, and one of them was injured. In a few minutes she'd see if he was up to helping her get out of here.

  But maybe being shut in with him wasn't the worst possible scenario. Whatever this guy's plans were, he was keeping his cards close. Maybe she could get him to talk. Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing.

  He squirmed beside her, pulling off his sweater.

  “What are you doing?” she said, her tone sharp.

  “Sorry,” he said in a muffled voice. “Ever worn soaked wool? Weighs a ton. But I'll leave my shirt on if it makes you more comfortable.”

  “Thanks,” she said, the sarcasm heavy. She'd love to take her wet sweater off too. She scooted an inch further away from him instead.

  Mina squeezed her eyes shut, pressing down her pride and discomfort at the idea of starting up a conversation. It was hard enough with people she knew and liked. She had no desire to speak to this man, but she wouldn't make any progress with him if she didn't try. She glanced at him, with the tie wrapped around his head like an 80's fashion throw-back, and was reminded of the blow he took for her. That was as good a way to start as any.

  “Thank you. What you did was very chivalrous.”

  He unbuttoned the top few buttons of his shirt, pulling it away from his chest, before taking out his phone and turning on the light. He seemed easy and comfortable in this situation, while she felt like there was a plastic bag over her head, leaving her panicked and gasping for air.

  He turned to her. “You didn't expect a man who watches women through their windows, waiting for the chance to expose their deepest darkest secrets to be chivalrous?”

  She laughed, but the words sunk in deep, turning her sour inside.

  “But you haven't exposed them. Not yet.”

  “I have a feeling I haven't even scratched the surface yet.”

  Mina stiffened. He was waiting to crack open a bigger story.

  “I already told you I won't tell anyone your secret,” he said. “The really sensational one about the agoraphobic travel blogger. Has such a nice ring to it, too.”

  For him, it wasn't a huge gesture. The story probably would have garnered him only a little splash of attention. If she weren't Bernie's sister, no one would care about a woman hidden away in a small Nebraska town who lied about traveling the world, except maybe those who read her travel blog and supplied her livelihood.

  He was patiently waiting, line in the water, hoping to reel in the big one. She'd throw him into the water and hold him under before she let that happen.

  Her throat tightened as she forced out a question. “What about all that stuff you think is lurking under the surface?”

  “I can't make any promises.” He glanced at her, then lowered his gaze. “Your sister is big news, and big news is my job.” He looked back up at her, and she caught a glint in his eye. “But mostly I'm just looking to satisfy my own curiosity. I can't help being interested in people and their stories. I have a feeling you've got a heck of a story.”

  She sucked in her lips. “I'm a shut-in; the most boring person a guy could stalk.”

  He turned his body toward her and inched closer, his face fully engaged now. Mina leaned the opposite direction, trying to keep space between them.

  “Not from what I've seen. This whole town seems to think you have visionary powers.”

  “Because of that day when Susan Walters tripped on the sidewalk,” she said.

  “Did she trip?”

  Mina set her jaw in silence.

  “What happened that day? I got the idea it wasn't that you didn't know, but that you didn't want to say.”

  He was perceptive. But then he'd been watching people for a long time. Mina couldn't tell him that Susan Walters had been shoved—but it wasn't by Doug. She couldn't tell anyone that, because Doug and Susan were the only ones in front of the store. It was like an invisible force had slammed into Susan's back.

  “I get it. You have no reason to trust me. Except that I kept your secret. So I don't expect you to tell me about your mom, either.”

  Her eyes widened. What did he know?

  “Come on, that's no secret around town. I talk to people. Believe it or not, some of them find me charming.” He added a cocky grin. He was one of those men that wore cocky well, but she wanted to slap him anyway.

  “It's usually fairly easy for me to get people to talk,” he said.

  “You've been asking around about my mother? You know all kinds of stuff about me and I don't even know your name.”

  “It's—”

  “Don't.” She shoved a hand between them. “And you wonder why I don't want to talk to you; why I don't trust you.”

  “You can't blame me,” he said, inching closer again. “Cookies?” His voice brimmed with excitement. “A woman who can tell the future if she eats a cookie you baked? That's good stuff.”

  Mina shrugged. “She was creative, I'll give her that. But a story about a smal
l town con-woman won't fetch much, I'm guessing.”

  “Are you kidding? Bernadette Fairchild's mom a con-artist? No one will pass up that headline.”

  Mina bit her lip. She was just making things worse. Maybe not talking was a better idea.

  “But most of the people I talked to say she was legit,” he said. “And you had to get your gift somewhere, right? Either way, the story would be gold.”

  Mina felt like she'd swallowed a hundred bees, and they were stinging her all the way down and making a hive in her stomach.

  “There's no story here. Just a lot of crazy locals. Your story will be as credible as the horse with a human head. Yeah, that's right, I've heard about your paper. Was that one yours?”

  “You have to start somewhere in this business,” he mumbled. But her dig didn't dispel his excitement. He pressed on. “You're right. No sane person would believe that about the cookies. But then I have to ask, what's it gotten you? Those people practically dragged you out of your house. This isn't something you're exploiting. Why would you make it up when you definitely don't want the attention?” He paused. “I'm just trying to put the pieces together. The peculiar family of the famous Bernadette Fairchild.”

  “Bernie. Make sure to put that in your paper.” The idea distracted her and she grinned, thinking of the whole world catching hold of the name her sister considered herself outgrown. But her pleasure quickly faded. She didn't want herself or her mother under a microscope. How could she keep him quiet?

  “Bernie's just a girl who grew up in a small town, with an odd-ball sister and mother, and couldn't wait to get away from it all. I'll tell you who her first crush was, her most embarrassing stories. I don't care. We're not that close.” Despite there being some truth in the words, she felt guilty saying it. But what choice did she have? Bernie would be lucky if he hadn't already heard about what she'd done to Doug, and that wasn't all he could dig up. Mina had to get him out of here. “And the more attention Bernie gets the happier she is. It's a win for everybody. If only you'll leave me and our mother out of it.”