The Follower

by Jason Starr

“Bullshit! I saw the pictures! He had his tongue down your fucking throat. I know you had his cock in there, too!”

  Katie was thinking, Pictures? What pictures?

  Then she noticed Peter was reaching down to his left for something. A moment later he was holding the knife.

  “It wasn’t supposed to end like this,” Peter said. “Creative visualization is bullshit. I visualized the ending. I visualized it a million fucking times and it didn’t go like this.”

  “P-p-please,” Katie stammered. “Just put the knife down. You’re wrong. I’ll show you how wrong you are. Just put the knife down.”

  “It’s too late,” he said. “Everything’s too fucked up now.”

  Peter waved the knife, the blade inches away from her neck, and she grabbed his forearm. She had to get the knife; it was her only chance. But it was hopeless—he was too strong. He jerked his arm back and she let go, and then the car swerved. They were going very fast downhill, around a bend, and the brakes screeched as they went off the road, onto the shoulder. Then they were tumbling, the car upside down, and Katie’s head crashed against something.

  When she opened her eyes, she didn’t know what was happening. She was confused, dizzy; her head hurt like hell and her left arm killed, too. She couldn’t move at all and it took her a few seconds to realize why. The air bag had deployed and she was wedged between the bag and the seat. There were flames coming from the car’s front end, which was mangled. The car was on its left, so Katie, on the passenger side, was suspended several feet off the ground.

  Katie was starting to struggle to free herself and get out of the car, then she looked to her left, or really down, and saw, in the flickering light from the flames, that the driver’s air bag had also deployed, but the damage was much worse on Peter’s side. The door was pushed in and mangled and he seemed to be wedged in worse than she was. There was blood on his face and he seemed dead or unconscious.

  Then Katie smelled gasoline and feared the car might explode. She searched around for the door handle. Finally she found it, but the door wouldn’t open. She continued trying, with no luck, and thought this was it, she was going to die. She yanked and pulled the handle several more times, but it wouldn’t budge, and then she tried the window switch. She did this out of total desperation—she didn’t think there was any way it would possibly work, but remarkably the electrical system in the car was still functioning and the window opened all the way.

  Now all she had to do was free herself. As she was undoing the seat belt, she saw why her arm hurt so much. Two jagged bones were jutting through the skin below the elbow. Using her other arm, her right one, she was able to wriggle her body enough to create some room between herself and the air bag and was able to inch her way toward the window. But the flames seemed to be getting more intense and she didn’t think she’d be able to make it out.

  She was dazed, disoriented. She had no idea if she had been struggling to make it through the window for one minute or ten minutes, but she was finally able to hoist herself and, by grabbing onto the roof of the car with her good hand, she made it partway out.

  “Wait.”

  She looked back over her shoulder and saw Peter. His eyes were starting to open.

  “Help me,” he said weakly. “Please…p-please…help me…”

  Katie’s instinct was to go back, try to save him. He would die if she didn’t, and she couldn’t let another human being die.

  The pain in her arm was nearly unbearable; it was hard to think straight. She started to go back toward Peter, when she thought about the people he’d killed—Andy, Will, and God knew who else. She didn’t know if Peter really had killed Heather’s boyfriend, but he probably had. And what about his own parents?

  “I’n sorry,” Peter said. “I’n so, so sorry. I didn’t mean anything I said before…I was just angry because…because you hurt me…but I won’t hurt you…I promise I won’t.”

  He held out his hand toward her. She was about to grab it when her better sense returned and she thought, He’s so full of shit. She started to pull her arm back when Peter lunged toward her, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward him.

  “Where the fuck were you going?”

  He didn’t sound so weak anymore.

  “Noplace. I was just g-gonna help you.”

  “Bullshit. You were gonna leave me here.”

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Stop bullshitting me!”

  In his other hand, he was holding the knife.

  “I’ll help you,” she said. “Just let me go.”

  “You think I’n a total idiot? If I let you go, you’re gonna run out of here and let me die.”

  “I won’t. I swear.”

  “How could you do that to me? How could you just leave me?”

  He was crying.

  “Please,” she said, “just let me go. I’ll get us both out of here, I prom—”

  He swiped at her right arm, the one that wasn’t broken. The blade tore through her sweatshirt, into her skin.

  “I didn’t want to do this to you,” Peter said.

  Peter swiped at her arm again, higher up this time, closer to her shoulder. She made no attempt to stop him; she didn’t even flinch.

  “Maybe it’s better this way,” he said. “We can die together, like Romeo and Juliet. It would be tragic, but romantic. Yeah, I kind of like that.”

  “Please, don’t,” she said.

  “I have to,” he said. “Don’t you get it?”

  He would kill her now. He would come at her with the knife again and this time he’d slash her throat.

  But when his arm moved, she grabbed it with her right hand and held it back. She was surprised she was able to do this, especially with the gashes.

  She continued to hold his arm back, as the blade remained poised, ready to go into her neck the instant she stopped fighting.

  “Give up,” he said. “Dying doesn’t hurt. Trust me.”

  “Fuck you,” she said.

  She continued struggling, but he was too strong. Even in his awkward position, it was getting harder and harder to hold him back. In the light from the flames, she saw the blade, getting closer and closer to her neck. Then she leaned in and bit his face as hard as she could. He screamed in her ear and there was blood in her mouth and she kept biting, knowing this was her only chance. He tried to push her away, but her teeth remained clenched and then she felt the knife drop onto the seat. She went for it right away, releasing her bite. He was in shock and couldn’t defend himself as she drove the blade into his neck. She kept removing it and sticking it in again, and then she totally lost it and started slashing his face. Even when it was clear that he was dead, she continued to attack him, wanting to cut him to shreds.

  Finally she stopped, staring at the bloody mess. Then the strong gasoline odor and the flames reminded her she needed to get the fuck away. She managed to hoist herself out and then she fell to the ground. She got up and started running as fast as she could, away from the burning car, into the darkness. Then she heard the explosion, looked back and saw the red fireball and all the smoke. She was exhausted, in agonizing pain, and very disoriented. She ran along a grassy area, then she saw headlights to her left, and veered in that direction.

  She screamed and waved, but no cars stopped; none even slowed. Staying on the shoulder, she continued running and shouting for help.

  Eventually, she reached a house. She banged on the door. A girl, a teenager, answered. Katie fell onto the floor, clinging to the girl’s legs and sobbing.

  THIRTY-SEVEN

  John Himoto felt a tug on his line and the guy next to him said, “Looks like you got a big one.”

  It felt big all right. When he was reeling it in, he had to give it some slack to run with, and the way his whole rod was bent, it seemed like he was going to pull in a twenty-or thirty-pounder. Everybody on his side of the boat was looking over, watching, and the guy with the net was waiting, ready to scoop up the sucker as soon as John lifted i
t out of the water.

  John, sweating and breathing very hard, was finally able to reel the fish in at a good clip. And, yeah, it was a biggee—a striped bass that looked about three feet long. People were applauding, and it was by far John’s biggest catch ever.

  Too bad it wasn’t his catch.

  As the guy was taking the fish out of the net, John noticed that his line was tangled with another line that seemed to be attached to a rod on the other side of the boat. When the lines were untangled, it was discovered that the other guy’s hook was in the fish’s mouth, not John’s.

  The other guy, who was out fishing with his young son, was cool about it. He suggested that he and John cut the fish in half, split it fifty-fifty, but John didn’t think that was right.

  “No, it’s yours,” he said. “It was on your line.”

  “You sure?” the guy said.

  “Positive,” John said. “Enjoy it. Take some pictures with your kid, knock yourself out.”

  John caught a decent-size fluke later on in the morning, and that was good enough for him. He went home, fired up the grill in the backyard, and cooked up the fish with some salty vinegar fries. The Yankees were playing the Indians and he kicked back and listened to the game on the radio as he ate lunch with a couple of ice-cold brews.

  It had been five months since John had walked away from his job, and he didn’t miss it at all. When he packed it in, he’d thought there was a good chance he’d regret the decision. Louis had told him, “You’ll be on your hands and knees, begging me to take you back, you’ll see,” and John had known a lot of cops who’d had trouble moving on. They missed the constant action, the buzz of being on the force. But, so far, John had been very content to spend his days fishing, going to the racetrack, or just hanging out at home, doing absolutely nothing.

  Of course, once in a while, John had a rough time. It was usually in the middle of the night, after he woke up from a nightmare. He’d think about a case from the past that had slipped through his fingers, and he’d obsess about all the would’ves, could’ves, and should’ves. The one he thought about often, probably because it had been the most recent, was the Peter Wells case. He beat himself up pretty good about how, if one or two things had broken differently, he could’ve caught on sooner and prevented the death of William Bahner.

  But John tried not to let the negativity affect him too much. Every detective fucked up from time to time and every detective knew that the trick to maintaining your sanity was to not let your failures haunt you. At some point, you had to put it all behind you, move on, forget about the past, and that was exactly what John intended to do.

  As Katie approached the north entrance to the Central Park Sheep Meadow, she spotted Amanda, waiting, reading a copy of Time Out New York. She hadn’t seen her in about six months and she couldn’t believe how amazing she looked. She was wearing tight jeans and a tight black V-neck top. She seemed to have lost about ten pounds and her hair looked great, too. She was growing it out, and it looked full and shiny in the bright sunshine.

  Amanda saw Katie coming toward her and smiled widely. After they hugged and kissed each other on their cheeks, Katie stood back and said, “Wow, look at you. You look amazing.”

  “Thanks,” Amanda said. “So do you.”

  “Please,” Katie said, knowing Amanda was just trying to be nice, returning the compliment. Katie had put on about ten pounds, and she knew it showed because none of her old jeans fit anymore.

  “I’n serious,” Amanda said, keeping the fake, yet socially appropriate, sincerity going. “Have you been dieting?”

  “No, actually, I’ve been gaining weight, but who cares? I can’t remember the last time I weighed myself. You look incredible, though. I love your hair.”

  It was the first beautiful day of spring and the Sheep Meadow was jam-packed. Guys with their shirts off were tossing footballs and Frisbees, and girls were lying on blankets, reading or just hanging out with their friends. Katie and Amanda found a spot in the shade and sat down on a picnic blanket that Amanda had brought.

  “So I want to hear everything about this new guy,” Katie said. “You said his name’s Steve, right?”

  Amanda had e-mailed Katie and talked to her on the phone, going on about her new boyfriend and what a great guy he was. They’d met at a party, had been seeing each other for almost three months, and were talking about moving in together.

  “He’s incredible,” Amanda said. “He’s smart, he’s generous, he’s supportive, he’s interesting, he has a great career…He’s the real deal.”

  “What does he do again?”

  “Lawyer—well, tax attorney. I know, it sounds dull, but he’s not that way at all. If you saw him you’d never guess he was a lawyer. You’d think professor, journalist, something like that. He’s really down to earth, loves just staying home, watching TV, going to movies. He’s a really good skier. In the winter we went up to Vermont a few times and next year we’re gonna go to Colorado.”

  “That sounds great,” Katie said. “I’n really happy for you.”

  “Thanks,” Amanda said. “So tell me about you. What’ve you been doing? What’s going on? You look great; how’re you feeling?”

  “Pretty good, actually,” Katie said. “Knock on picnic blanket.” She laughed, then said, “I’n almost done with physical therapy.”

  “Congratulations,” Amanda said.

  “Thank you,” Katie said. “Yeah, I’n feeling pretty much back to normal, believe it or not. I still get some pain in my arm sometimes, but I can live with it. Lemme see, what else? I’ve been seeing someone, a therapist, and, I have to admit, it’s been helping a lot.”

  “That’s great,” Amanda said. “In college, after I was date-raped, I didn’t talk to anybody about it for way too long. And I know some people who’ve been through some really traumatic shit, but not nearly as traumatic as what you went through. I mean, like, car accidents, muggings, things like that. They didn’t get help, and it really screwed them up, so, yeah, it’s great that you’re seeing somebody.”

  “What else?” Katie said. “I don’t know, things have been pretty boring, I guess. I’ve been really into my job.”

  “Do you still have that horrible boss?”

  “No, Mitchell left, thank God. I have a new boss, Jenny, and she’s great. We’re friends—not friends friends, but we go to lunch sometimes, go out for drinks, stuff like that. I really like her a lot.”

  “It’s great you have a boss you get along with.”

  “I know, it makes a big difference. Coming home every day, pissed off at the world, starts to have an effect on you after a while. It seems like you’re dealing with everything, but you’re really not, and before you know it, things start blowing up in your face.”

  Katie made a mental note to discuss this issue with her therapist at her next appointment.

  “Have you been seeing anybody?” Amanda asked.

  “No, not really,” Katie said. “There was one guy. Remember Dave, that guy I went out with senior year?”

  “Oh, right, where’s he now?”

  “He’s going to grad school in Florida. Anyway, he was in the city a couple of months ago and he called me. We went out and kind of, like, hooked up one night, but that’s it.”

  “Hey, there’s nothing wrong with old-boyfriend sex,” Amanda said. “God knows I’ve been there, done that. But Steve has a lot of very cute friends. If you want me to—”

  “Thanks,” Katie said. “That’s nice of you, but I’n just not into a relationship right now.”

  “It doesn’t have to be a relationship.”

  “I know, I’n just not ready for anything. In a few months I’n sure I’ll be back out there and be a dating machine again, but right now I’n just focusing on my job and getting my life back together.”

  “So I guess you don’t care that that very cute guy’s been checking you out.”

  Katie turned to look in the direction Amanda was looking and saw a guy with wavy blo
nd hair sitting on the lawn on the other side of the tree. He was a surfer-dude type, but very good-looking, like he could have been a model or an actor. He smiled at Katie, but she looked away quickly, back toward Amanda, and said, “Yeah, he is kind of cute.”

  “Kind of?” Amanda said. “The guy could be an underwear model. I saw him with his shirt off before, and it was washboard city.”

  “He’s probably gay.”

  “A gay guy wouldn’t be staring at you the way he’s been staring. Should I tell him to come over?”

  “No, really, I’n just not into it right now,” Katie said. “But thanks for looking out for me. That’s really sweet of you.”

  Katie and Amanda hung out for about an hour, and did some more catching up. Then Amanda said she had to go, to get ready to meet Steve for dinner, and Katie walked her back out to the path.

  “It was really great seeing you,” Katie said.

  “Yeah,” Amanda said. “We have to hang out more often. I know—you want to go to a movie next week?”

  “That sounds awesome,” Katie said.

  They agreed to talk sometime during the week. A few minutes later, Katie, wearing sunglasses and her iPod, listening to the new Pink download, was walking back toward the East Side. It had been great to see Amanda again, but now she was looking forward to returning to her apartment, changing into some comfy clothes and catching up on some work. Or maybe she’d blow off the work, and order in some food—she was in the mood for Indian. Then she’d get into her comfy PJs and watch TV or read a good book.

  At the bottom of the hill, she was waiting at a crosswalk for bicycles to pass so she could continue toward the East Side, when she turned to her right and noticed the blond guy Amanda had pointed out before. He was looking right at her, and she got a vibe that he’d been staring at her for several seconds, waiting for her to look in his direction. He smiled and she turned away, conscious that she wasn’t smiling or giving him any indication that she was interested.

  There was a break in the bike traffic and Katie walked quickly across the road where all the skaters hung out, and then continued along the path and, veering right, passed the Bandshell. At one point, she looked back over her shoulder and felt a jolt in her stomach when she saw that the blond guy was following her. He could’ve just happened to have been walking in the same direction, but she didn’t think so. They had passed several paths and he could’ve headed in a lot of different directions, so the odds seemed slim that he just happened to be going the same way as her. He was also only about ten yards behind her, which was weird, because since she had spotted him on the road, she had increased her pace and was walking at about a jogging speed.