Stalk Me

by Richard Parker

  “Nobody who could look after me as well as you have.” Her brother’s features softened, but she knew she hadn’t placated him. “I think I just need to get away from everything here.”

  He nodded slowly, his disapproval obvious.

  Beth knew what he was thinking. “OK – run away for a while,” she admitted.

  “I understand that, Beth...”

  It was strange to hear him use her name. She wasn’t sure of the last time he’d done that. Probably when they were kids. She remained in his doorway, unsure of whether he was comfortable with her venturing any further inside. It was the first time she’d invaded his cluttered workspace. There was a piano keyboard in front of two slim screens and stacks of dusty mixing desks weighing down the shelves behind him. The floor was carpeted with a mass of tangled wires. A plug-in cinnamon air freshener barely combated the smell of body odour.

  “But why as far as LA? I can speak to the agency about the condo, but couldn’t I just drive you somewhere here? At least then I can pick you up when you’re ready.”

  Her emotions prickled and she felt her resolve waver. But she couldn’t let Jody’s obviously protective gesture deter her. “I just need a complete change of scene. Plus, all the Californian sunshine will be a good source of vitamin D.” She was using the baby as an excuse and they both knew it. Beth could see he suspected she had another agenda. “Trust me. I need this trip.”

  He took a sip from the bottle so he could break eye contact. “Look, whatever you want. You have to tell me exactly where you go though.”

  It was what she’d hoped for. Jody clearly thought she was still emotionally unstable. Probably envisaged her wandering onto a freeway. But she did want someone to be looking out for her, even from thousands of miles away.

  “When was the last time you were there?”

  She’d been to Universal Studios in Hollywood. Had worked her way around the major US cities when she’d been a penurious student. “Stop worrying about me. At least you’ll know exactly where I am.”

  He seemed slightly reassured by that.

  “My next antenatal appointment isn’t for nearly three weeks. I’m going to spank some plastic, relax by your communal pool, and maybe go to Beverly Hills for some pamperage.”

  Jody nodded his disapproval again.

  Chapter 36

  “Don’t wave it at me!” Marcia covered her mouth with one hand and stifled a laugh.

  Tyler gripped the dead raccoon using one yellow rubber glove. The bottom half of its body had rotted clean away. Only one leg remained, and that was hanging off by a sinew. “I think it’s dead. What do you think?” He held it inches from her face now.

  Kevin took a snap of the attack with his iPhone.

  “I’m warning you, Tyler.” She tried to keep her expression straight. “Take it outside.”

  “Want some, skidmark?” Tyler swung the raccoon carcass in Kevin’s direction.

  He’d been standing behind his brother, looking through his phone, but his expression turned to abject horror. He stumbled back and knocked the box of groceries off the kitchen table. Cans scattered and tomatoes rolled.

  “Tyler, that’s enough.” But Marcia couldn’t deny she’d enjoyed seeing the sadistic glee on Kevin’s face evaporate. “I’m serious. Put that in the trash and help your brother clean up or we won’t be going to Elkhorns.”

  They’d all detected the smell as soon as they’d unlocked the front door. It had happened on more than one occasion. Raccoons were great climbers. The animals got trapped in the attic crawlspace and died there. It was a familiar aroma to be greeted by. Bizarrely, it had become a “your vacation starts here” ritual.

  Tyler lunged once more at Kevin with the animal, but Marcia knew it would be the last gesture of defiance. He reluctantly butted the screen with his shoulder and carried the raccoon outside.

  “Kevin, they’re rolling under the refrigerator.”

  Her youngest pocketed his iPhone and started gathering up the rogue groceries. Ted had always drilled the boys, while Marcia had concentrated on feeding them and making sure they looked presentable. Now she was responsible for all three.

  She’d always thought she would be the one to buckle under the pressure of what the boys demanded from her every day, but when Ted had split, Marcia had no choice but to assume his duties. She’d been surprised at how little he’d contributed bar his salary, but she knew they still needed a father figure. Despite her being a Montana native, Ted was the one who’d used to take them hunting and out onto the river in his motorboat. He’d always filled their vacation with boys’ pursuits, enjoying the fire-building, cookouts and canoeing as much as they had.

  Whispering Brook, the vacation hunt lodge with the increasingly flea-bitten animal heads in the den, belonged to her folks, but they were getting more infirm, so the six-room property on the edge of the Flathead was empty most of the year. She liked to come stay in the fall or early spring. With fewer vacationers, they got the place to themselves. It wasn’t exactly wilderness. West Glacier village was less than a mile away and Martin City only ten. But it was sufficiently removed from civilisation to feel like a getaway.

  Despite her upbringing, Marcia never liked the idea of renting somewhere too isolated, didn’t want to be far from other people. There were so many ways for the boys to endanger themselves. She couldn’t think about that too much. But, as Ted had pointed out on their first family vacation here, there were probably more immediate dangers in Auburn.

  Ted was out of the equation now, though. No tree-climbing, trap-building or target practice. His guns had been locked away, and the boys weren’t allowed to take the boat out without her being present. The keys to both were always in her pocket.

  Marcia pushed the screen and looked down the jetty to the afternoon sun coruscating on the dirty blue water. She tried to breathe in the chilly serenity, but Tyler was scraping his gloved hand on the edge of the trashcan with a look of disgust. He glanced up at her and was obviously mortified to be found looking as repelled by the carcass as his mother.

  “Raccoon fudge,” he said, trying to salvage his image.

  Marcia wrinkled her nose for his benefit. “Come and get washed, squirt.” She didn’t know why she suddenly used the term. It was Ted’s and she’d always hated it.

  Tyler grinned uncomfortably and it reminded her of the way he’d smirked when they’d had the conversation about the porno stars on his laptop.

  He scuffed past her and into the lodge. He was nineteen next month, and Marcia was sure her parents would have been shocked to know what she had at that age. Besides, where did she get off lecturing him about exploitation? She was the one who encouraged Tyler to upload his phone clip of the British couple to his YouTube channel. Had she thought about their dignity when she’d seen an opportunity to make a fast buck?

  There had been so much online interest in that woman’s assault on the crowd. To begin with, she’d squared it by telling herself she’d been pissed because her son had been on the receiving end of her fists. Tyler hadn’t got as much as a scratch from the episode, though. He shouldn’t have used his phone to shoot something like that. But some of his friends had. Peer pressure. It was how the world operated today. Everything got recorded and sometimes it was a damn good thing. It was like another form of insurance.

  Marcia had seen how one of the other YouTube clips had attracted advertisers, and decided her own family’s precarious financial predicament overrode any issues of privacy the couple would have expected in that moment.

  When she got Tyler to upload the clip, she certainly hadn’t known the woman’s husband had died. Not immediately. It had happened in France, and the couple was from the UK. It had taken weeks for that to filter back. But she still hadn’t told Tyler to take it down.

  She’d never been to France or Europe. It had cost her a small fortune for Tyler to go on that student exchange. Ted had said it was way too expensive. But her oldest had wanted to go so much, and she’d known he
might never get another opportunity. That and Ted’s opposition had made her mind up. They were still financially recovering.

  And if it wasn’t for the revenue generated by the clip, they wouldn’t be on vacation now. Tyler liked dinner at Elkhorns, and she wanted to take him there every night if he wanted. She followed him back into the lodge and wondered how her older sister Jess was doing back home. She’d jumped at the chance to house-sit. Marcia’s brother-in-law Tim was drinking again, and when he hit the bottle, looking after Marcia’s place was her only safe haven from it.

  Chapter 37

  Beth was a hopeless international flier. Time dislocation wrought weeks of bad sleep long afterwards. Her gastric and respiratory health usually deteriorated as well. She thought it might be something to do with the air con on long haul flights. It was why she and Luc had stuck to Europe for the majority of their trips.

  She’d tried different approaches – sleep medication, the anti-jet-lag diet and knocking herself out by drinking copious Tanqueray-and-tonics to try and blindside her body clock. None of them worked, and she always woke in the early hours feeling oddly removed. Maybe as that feeling had attended her since opening her eyes in hospital, she would feel normal when she got to LA. She doubted it, particularly as her very reason for flying there was so surreal.

  She wondered if the person who had emailed her really expected her to rise to the bait. Was it merely a piece of amusement for them? She envisaged being stood up at the Crescent Bay Oyster Shack. But there was no way she could live with herself if she didn’t at least attempt to make contact with the person who called himself or herself Allegro.

  She thought of Jody waving her off after he’d dropped her in departures and the uneasiness on his face as she’d left. It was the same expression he’d had when she’d arrived home with her hair shorn. He still didn’t believe she was thinking straight. Had brain trauma impaired her rational thought and left her unstable? Her old logical self wouldn’t have been on this flight. She’d concealed her reasons for the trip from him because she’d known exactly what he’d say. Was this what Luc used to do – running hard to forget who he was?

  The stewardess arrived at her aisle seat. Thankfully, the middle one was unoccupied, so she had plenty of elbow room. A woman in her sixties slept soundly at the window. Beth had thought she was going to chat to her the whole way, but her grunting snooze started before take-off. Three hours later, she still hadn’t woken. Beth felt slightly jealous.

  The stewardess looked over to Beth’s companion and thought better of it. “Refreshment?” she softly asked.

  “Just a soda water.”

  The stewardess handed her a can and a fresh cup full of ice, and moved to the row behind her.

  Beth had quickly researched flying when pregnant online and discovered that there were no major disadvantages, unless she had blood pressure issues. Her morning sickness might make the trip even more uncomfortable than usual. She was frequently nauseous on flights. Perhaps one would cancel the other out – or, more likely, join forces.

  Should she really be subjecting her baby to more upheaval? It had already been exposed to enough traumas, and she dreaded that the crash, her hospitalisation and the suspended sense of bereavement she felt had already had a deep-seated effect on the fragile life inside her. But the truth was, she felt as disconnected from the child as she did from everything else. She hoped that would change soon.

  She didn’t want to countenance the idea that a new life would replace Luc’s, but considered how its arrival would shift the spotlight from her. She wanted that more than anything else. But was it fair to give a person a life that could be wrenched away – in a manner she could already envisage?

  If the baby arrived safely, she knew she’d be asking herself the same question thousands of times in the future. But life would throw up plenty of other obstacles and dangers from the moment it left her womb. She couldn’t safeguard against any of those, and that wouldn’t be an argument for not going through with the pregnancy.

  When would be the right time to tell them? Luc’s parents had kept the condition from him until he’d been eleven years old. He’d resented them for that, said he felt he would have handled it better had they sat him down when he’d been a much younger child. That he would have been more receptive to the revelation when he didn’t fully understand it. If he’d grown with the knowledge, Luc said he would have been better equipped to gradually accept it.

  As it was, his mother had dropped the bomb just after his father had died. Barely had he got to grips with the concept of losing him when he was told he might suffer the same protracted agony he’d witnessed first-hand.

  But Beth felt like she already understood why she’d waited. When was the best time to present a ticking clock, to remove innocence from your child like that? Would she persuade them to take the test when they were eighteen? Not knowing had acted like a spur with Luc. He’d achieved so much in his life because of the potential restraint that had been put on it.

  She imagined herself sitting with her son, his arms folded. Sitting with her daughter, Beth’s hand on hers. Whoever was waiting to fill that moment, she couldn’t allow their father to become obscure to them – or her. She wanted to be able to tell them everything about who he was, and until he’d whispered things she didn’t understand at the roadside, she thought she could. Now Beth had questions she had to answer.

  She kept her hands where they were, palms resting gently on her stomach, and slowly breathed the cooled, processed air in through her nostrils. Sickness lurked on the fringes of sleep, so she kept her eyes on the screen in front of her and watched the plane’s progress across the Atlantic.

  Then it struck her. She’d been so seduced by the idea of escape and chasing one word, so misdirected by packing and booking the flights, she hadn’t stopped to consider how much of a coincidence it was that the place they’d asked to meet her happened to be where Jody had his condo.

  Beth remembered the phone call she’d received immediately after Rae had rung her in the car and the person hanging up. Was she being monitored? After all the Facebook subterfuge, she wondered if they were they capable of accessing the details of Jody’s timeshare via his computer.

  Whoever had arranged the meeting had certainly made it very easy for her to be lured from the UK.

  Chapter 38

  The air in LAX airport didn’t feel any warmer than the climate Beth had left behind her in the UK. As she passed along the blue rat-runs of passport control, she felt oddly alert. The other passengers shuffled through the process in a zombified state, and she was able to examine the faces around her without any fear of them meeting her eye.

  It was almost as if she’d woken from a refreshing sleep, which couldn’t have been further from the truth. She’d remained awake for the entire flight, abstractedly staring through the latest Ryan Gosling movie, only eventually realising she’d watched it twice as it completed its loop.

  She retrieved her single Samsonite case from the carousel and wheeled it to arrivals. She wouldn’t post on Eileen Froley’s Facebook wall yet. Beth wanted to check things out first. Then she would alert whoever it was to her presence. Even though she had the gate code details, she’d already decided to bypass Jody’s condo in Woodland Hills and book into a hotel.

  Warmer air blasted at her through the open window of the yellow cab she picked up outside the airport. Beth told her driver to take her to Santa Monica Boulevard. As the car turned off Century Boulevard and hit the San Diego Freeway Beth looked up at the tall green signs and glimpsed faraway palms between the buildings. It gave Beth the sensation of being in a Martian landscape. From her closeted life at Jody’s to suddenly being in the middle of such an unfamiliar urban expanse made her feel completely vulnerable. As they reached their destination, she asked the rodent-featured cabbie with the nicotine stripe through his silver moustache to drop her at the first hotel she spotted.

  The extra couple of dollars’ tip were scarcely in his palm
before the vehicle drew away and left her standing in front of the sliding reception doors of the Francisquito Boutique Hotel.

  The place clearly operated behind a thin veneer of respectability, but the warm welcome of the receptionist in the metallic purple bikini top at the desk dispelled her temptation to turn around and find somewhere else.

  “Checking in?” The words squeezed around the peroxide beam, but Beth noticed her dark green eyes looked exhausted. As she moved closer she realised that, even though the woman’s henna hair was braided in a circle around her head, she was probably in her late fifties. Beth said she hadn’t made a reservation and the receptionist consulted the computer for a vacancy. She squinted, put on her half glasses and then positioned her face almost flat against the screen.

  The low sucking noise of a filter directed Beth’s gaze beyond the desk to the tiny swimming pool set into the raised concrete platform in the cramped back courtyard. Nobody was using the two loungers positioned there, and two faded inflatable animals buffeting against each other took up most of the water space.

  As she blinked at the system Beth noticed the silver roots bisecting the centre of the receptionist’s scalp as well as scars on her deeply tanned arms. They looked like notches on a post, and Beth wondered what sort of trauma each one represented. She tried not to speculate if she was a self-harmer or if someone else had carved them there. The woman seemed to personify the place she was booking into. She looked up with relief to say she had a room for her, and her smile didn’t falter as her eyes briefly lingered on the flaws around the left side of Beth’s mouth. Looked like she was right at home.

  The receptionist got Beth a swipe key from a drawer. “You’re in room 234, one floor above ground; the elevator’s to your right. Sorry, left.”

  *

  Beth thanked the receptionist and examined the cracked key. The hotel didn’t look big enough to have 23 rooms, let alone 234. She picked up her luggage and got into a tiny clattering metal crate when it eventually arrived. She had to straddle her small case to fit inside.