by Charlie
She was getting into her car now, pulling out of the parking lot, and heading towards the Foodland grocery store. He followed at a discreet distance, parking two lanes over. Briefly, he debated about following her inside; watching her bite her lip as she debated the merits of grapes over cantaloupe, but he’d done that last week and she’d almost noticed him staring. Luckily, a mother with two fussing children had come down the aisle and she’d looked away, no doubt forgetting about the dark haired stranger who had been watching her.
No. He couldn’t risk it. The timing had to be just right. Everything had to be perfect. For ages, he’d been planning this and the cheap thrill of watching her buy groceries wasn’t worth it. Instead, he’d bide his time. He’d watch from afar, comforted by the knowledge that soon it would be time for her to meet her fate.
“I’m waiting for you Stephanie,” he whispered as she exited the grocery store and put her purchases into her sensible grey car. “I’ve been waiting a very, very long time.”
Chapter 2
Stephanie finished packing her groceries into the car and returned the cart to the store. As she walked back to her parking spot, she glanced around frowning slightly. Her skin prickled and a vague sense of unease was plaguing her again, almost as if someone was watching her. There was no one in sight, but then again, there never was. She stood by her car and slowly turned in a complete circle, scanning the vehicles around her. The glinting afternoon sun made it difficult to see, but to the best of her knowledge the parking lot was empty except for a few harried shoppers hurrying in and out of the store.
Giving her head a little shake, she climbed in and started for home. Feelings of déjà vu often plagued her, but this sense of being watched was new. No doubt it was her own overactive imagination that was causing her to start at shadows lately. Her recent string of bad luck was playing on her nerves and she was tense, just waiting for the next irritating occurrence. The hot, humid weather wasn’t helping either, making sleeping difficult. Then, to top it all off, the allergy medication she’d just begun taking was causing her head to be a bit muzzy. Strange dreams, filled with voices calling her name, punctuated what little sleep she managed to achieve, leaving her groggy during the day. Surely that in itself was enough to put one’s equilibrium off a quarter turn, she reasoned.
Pulling into the driveway of her small house, she parked the car, lugged the groceries up to the door, and fumbled for her key. Inside, Coco was meowing away, sensing her presence and eager for dinner. The door opened and the feline tried to slip out, but months of experience had Stephanie deftly blocking the cat with her foot and pushing her back inside.
“No you don’t. You’re an inside cat now, remember?” She spoke sternly to the feline, which she’d rescued several months ago. While Coco was undoubtedly grateful for her steady diet and comfortable home, she still wanted to roam freely through the neighbourhood.
Stephanie pushed the door shut with her hip, put the groceries on the table, and pulled out a can of tuna for the cat. Tuesday was treat night both for her and her pet. Coco jumped onto the counter, whirling and twirling in front of her mistress.
“You’re not helping any by doing that,” Stephanie laughed as a tail brushed across her face. She gently pushed the cat to the side and talked to the beast while dishing out her food. “See? If I’d let you outside, you’d be missing this wonderful dinner. Instead, you’d be eating scrawny sparrows and garbage from the cans in the alley.” She picked up the brown tortoise shell cat and looked her in the eye. “Besides, I took you to the vet. You’ve had all your shots and absolutely no need to roam about looking for male companionship anymore. All that would happen outside is that you’d probably get in fight, dig up someone’s flowers, and terrorize the wildlife.”
Coco blinked at her as if to say, ‘And what’s wrong with that?’
Setting the cat down and placing the dish of food in front of her, Stephanie went to change into something more comfortable. She kicked off her heels, stripped down to her bra and panties, then padded into the bathroom to splash cool water on her face before grabbing a pink tank top and grey shorts. The air conditioning was still broken and the house was warm. After debating for a moment, she ditched her bra. After all, she was home alone; no one would see her anyway. Feeling much more comfortable, she headed back to the kitchen.
Having finished her meal, Coco was now vigorously washing up. Stephanie smiled as the cat froze, mid-lick and watched her cross the room before determining nothing of importance was happening and resuming her bath. Coco had been rescued, soaking wet and half starved, from the backyard in the middle of winter. Stephanie had had no intention of keeping her. She’d planned to warm the cat up, feed it, and then make a stop at the local animal shelter the next day. Coco, however, had had other plans. In the morning, the ungrateful beast had hid under the bed and Stephanie had been forced to leave for work with the cat still in the house. That night, when she come home determined to rid herself of the unwanted guest, the cat had greeted her at the door, rubbing against her legs and rolling over for a belly rub. After years of coming home to an empty house, Stephanie found herself intrigued with the idea of some companionship and had made one of her rare impulsive decisions. She was going to give the cat a trial run. Now, six months later, she couldn’t imagine not having the animal about. It was nice to have a family again, even if it only consisted of one four-footed member.
Coco finished her bath, walked by Stephanie, and flicked her tail as if to say, ‘I’m off for my nap now. Please don’t disturb me. I’ll see you later.’ The cat seemed to know when it was salad night and never stayed around to beg for tidbits while the meal was being made. Briefly, Stephanie wondered if it was a good thing or not that her life was so predictable that even a cat could follow the pattern. Giving a shrug, she decided that it didn’t matter. Her life suited her. It was unexciting, but stable and stable was nothing to sneeze at.
Stephanie’s parents had died when she was ten. With no living relatives willing to take her in, she’d ended up in foster care. At ten she was too old for anyone to consider adopting her. People wanted infants or toddlers, not a shy, awkward child on the threshold of becoming a rebellious teen. Not that Stephanie had been in the least rebellious, but the myth of the troubled teen was too ingrained in society for anyone to notice.
As a result, she’d moved from family to family. With each move, she’d become more withdrawn and more wary of forming attachments. She’d also learned to dread change and the uncertainty that came with it. Every house was different. The rules were different; what was acceptable was different. Eventually, she’d become an expert at hiding her real thoughts and feelings, having found that being a quiet observer was the best way to stay out of trouble. Finally, at age fourteen, Mrs. McCreedy had taken her in.
Mrs. McCreedy was one of those people who never seemed to age. With her grey hair and trademark house dress, the woman had boundless energy, the patience of Job, and a wealth of wisdom that she was willing to bestow on anyone who wanted to listen. She was a career foster parent with a rambling old house that always seemed to have room for one more. Dozens of children had passed through her doors over the years and there was very little that fazed the older woman who listened to Big Band music, but was also as likely to break into her own strange version of rap when the occasion called for it. The whole house had been in hysterics when Mrs. McCreedy decided to cut loose.
Stephanie had stayed with her until she became of legal age. The woman was as close to a mother as she’d had in years, and her time there had been a welcome respite from the insecurity of constantly changing houses. Under her roof, Stephanie had finally started to relax and open up, realizing that she’d finally found a place to call ‘home.’ Even after all these years, Stephanie still kept in contact with Ella, as the woman had asked to be called.
“Mrs. McCreedy is too formal, and Momma McCreedy is too much of a mouthful to say, and anyways, I ain’t your momma, but I’ll be your friend. I’
ll care for you and keep you on the right path. You follow the rules, show respect and we gonna get along just fine.” Even now, Stephanie could hear the woman’s voice in her head. Every new kid at Mrs. McCreedy’s got the same speech and almost all thrived under her roof. Stephanie only knew of one teen that Ella hadn’t been able to reach. Jarrod Simpson had come with an attitude that no one had been able to deal with. He’d repeatedly broken curfew, skipped school and disregarded all house rules. The boy had only stayed for three months, but in that short time he’d made Stephanie’s life a misery.
Stephanie had been a quiet, studious teen. She’d considered herself plain, with her straight hair, pale skin and serviceable, yet unfashionable, clothes. Her unstable life had made her shy and Jarrod had taken delight in taunting her, taking her lunch money, ripping up her homework, or stealing it and then handing it in as his own. Stephanie hadn’t wanted to cause trouble. She’d ignored him and took pains to try to never be alone with the boy, but Jarrod had always sought her out. Her lack of response seemed to spur him on, and his rude comments about her began to take on more threatening undertones.
Jarrod would watch her with his cold, blue eyes, studying her, analysing her, muttering away under his breath. He was always standing outside the bathroom when she came out of the shower, commenting on her scrawny legs and lack of a figure. “Ever been kissed?” He’d asked and laughed when she’d blushed. “You got nothing for a man to grab onto,” he’d taunted. When she tried to walk away, he would block her path and leer at her, stepping closer until she was backed up against the wall. “I should show you what it’s all about ‘cause no other guy will ever want to.” Her stomach would clench in fear and her skin crawled as she was forced to brush against him to get away. At night, she started putting a chair in front of her bedroom door, while during the day she tried to become unnoticeable, standing quietly in the shadows, slipping out of rooms whenever he entered. Jarrod warned her that if she ever told anyone, she’d be sorry, and Stephanie was sure the threat would be carried out.
Eventually, her usually good grades started to suffer. Not only was Jarrod taking her homework, but she couldn’t concentrate in class. Her mind was constantly occupied with Jarrod’s latest veiled threat and trying to plan ways to avoid him. Finally, she was sent to a school counsellor and the woman’s kind, caring manner had caused Stephanie to break into tears, sharing her fears. She’d felt better after unburdening herself, but hadn’t realized that the counsellor’s next move was to inform Ella.
That night, Jarrod had broken into her bedroom. He’d been furious with Stephanie for getting him in trouble. Ella had given him a tongue lashing and Social Services were coming in the morning. Of course, Jarrod felt it was all Stephanie’s fault. She should have kept her mouth shut. Grabbing her wrist, he had pulled her out of bed, twisting her arm behind her back. She’d struggled and he’d slapped her across the face. Stunned, she’d lost her balance and fallen to the floor. Jarrod had pinned her down, grabbing her hair and kissing her roughly. To this day, she could still recall the feel of his lips crushing hers against her teeth, the taste of her own blood, his thick tongue in her mouth making her gag…
She’d had enough presence of mind to fight back, biting him and then trying to knee him in the groin, while screaming for help. Jarrod had hit her twice more and ripped her pyjama top off, by the time Ella had come running in, followed by several other of the foster kids. They pulled him off and held him until the police arrived. Jarrod had been taken away; she never did find out what happened to him. Ella had fussed and soothed, insisting Stephanie see the doctor for her cut lip and bruises. Visits to a counsellor had also been arranged and she’d reluctantly attended, only wanting to forget the incident rather than relive it under the watchful eyes of the worker assigned to her case. After just a few sessions, she’d turned eighteen and, being of legal age, had exercised her rights and stopped going. The event had been traumatic for the quiet teen that she had been. She still carried around some of the emotional scars to this day.
Stephanie realized that she was standing at the kitchen table, staring at the makings of her salad. She wondered what had set off the trip down memory lane, and then recalled it was the predictability of her Tuesday night supper that had caused it. Mentally giving herself a shake, she got back to work. Predictable or not, she had to counteract the effects of her favourite chips and dip, and a salad was the perfect solution. Shredding the lettuce, she added some cucumber, peppers, tomato, and radish then laid a few carrot sticks on the side. Low-cal Italian dressing topped off the meal and she carried her bowl into the living room, flicking on the evening news as she passed by the TV set. Sitting down on the sofa, she propped her feet up on the coffee table and proceeded to munch away while watching the events of the day unfold.
The news anchor cheerfully announced that the hot spell was going to last the rest of the week, a rash of break and enters were plaguing the town, and property taxes were predicted to rise. The depressing news made Stephanie feel even more justified in indulging in her favourite snack. After all, when doom and gloom surrounded you, a little comfort food made the world seem less bleak. When her salad was gone and the news was finished, she turned off the TV, placed her dishes in the sink, then grabbed the bag of chips while flipping the lid off the dip. She set them on the coffee table within arm’s reach, and headed back to the kitchen for something to drink. Her hand hovered over a can of root beer, but then she grabbed a glass of water instead. Much healthier, she told herself, not daring to think of the fat content listed on the container of sour cream and onion dip.
Perusing the books she’d taken out of the library, she choose one, moved Coco to the far end of the sofa, then settled back, propping the pillows behind her head, With a sigh of anticipation, she grabbed a chip and carefully scooped up some dip with it. She bit into the crispy treat, enjoying the crunching sound, and savouring the taste that spread through her mouth. Her tongue snuck out and licked her lips, gathering in the salty crumbs. She felt a smile spread across her face. What more could she possibly want out of life than good snacks, a novel to read and a cat at her feet? Wiping her fingers on a napkin, she picked up her book, opened the cover, and escaped into the life of a fictitious heroine.
Chapter 3
He sat outside her home watching her move about inside the house. The large plate glass window provided an excellent view of her coming and going. She carried her snack into the living room, and was now moving the cat. He saw the book in her hand and wondered what she was reading tonight. If he knew, he could find a copy for himself and read it along with her. It wasn’t much, and she’d never know, but it would give him the impression of being part of her life, of sharing something together. Maybe tomorrow, while she was at work, he’d slip into her house and find out the title. No, he admonished himself. Enough snooping; she’ll become suspicious if you know too much. He knew the voice of reason was telling the truth, but he was becoming impatient. It had been so long since he’d held her, felt her body pressed against his, seen her eyes flash at him, her stubborn chin rising when he pushed the boundaries too far…
Chuckling, he recalled her temper. For someone who claimed to be so meek and shy, she could certainly lash out when provoked and he loved pushing her buttons just to see the fire rising within her. His Stephanie had hidden depths, depths she didn’t even know about. Depths he would have to teach her about. He hoped she could just accept him as her destiny. She was meant for him, as he was for her. That was all that mattered.
It was getting darker now. Through the window, he could see her stand, turn on a light and stretch. Her figure was highlighted by the interior lighting and he hungrily ran his gaze over her body. The pink tank top she wore clung to her like a second skin and he easily determined she was braless. His palms itched to cup her breasts, to feel the warm weight and smooth skin. He imagined running his thumb over her nipples and watching them peak. They would be stiff against his tongue.
As if sensing his
thoughts, she wrapped her arms around her chest and stared out the window. Sliding lower in his vehicle, he knew she couldn’t possibly see him, but decided to be cautious, just in case. She turned and began to draw the drapes. He sighed. It was a sensible thing for her to do, but it effectively ended his surveillance. It was time to go home. Reluctantly, he started his vehicle and began to drive.
The town was settling for the night. Street lights were just coming on and people who had been out walking were heading into their homes. Crickets were beginning to chirp and an occasional bat could already be seen swooping through the sky in search of an evening meal. Soon all would be quiet.
He loved the night time. The darkness hid his surroundings and he could imagine himself to be anywhere: in the Egyptian desert, by an ocean in England or on a mountain in Switzerland. He’d been to all of those places and many more as well. Each had their own distinct characteristics, but at night, in the darkness, there was sameness as well. The patterns of the stars, the phases of the moon, the sound of his breathing, the feel of his heart beating…