Stalks

by Sara Bourgeois

  When the window was half covered and I was hanging the sheet on the other side, I looked out and saw what I thought was a large dog moving through the corn toward the neighbor’s house. At that time, I’d shrugged it off. The thing looked a little strange, but it was dark and I was tired.

  As I stood on my porch and watched more and more police cars arrive at the house across the street, I wished I was brave enough to ask someone what was going on. A fire truck had arrived without its siren on, but there was no fire. As soon as the police and paramedics arrived, they left for another call. That much I could hear through the shouting.

  After a few moments, I realized I had my cup of coffee in my hand. I took a sip, and the hot liquid made me feel warm and safe. One of the officers looked over at me and gave me a friendly wave. For a moment, I was terrified. What if he came over and talked to me? What if Kurt came home?

  The cop turned back to his conversation with two other officers, and I felt a little disappointed. I’d never have admitted it, but I craved human companionship. I wanted a conversation with someone who wasn’t going to spend the entire exchange pointing out all of my daily mistakes. It was a bizarre duality. I knew that everything about my life was wrong, but at the same time, any time I would try to focus on that thought, it would disperse like fog in the midmorning sun.

  I didn’t know much about the woman who lived across the street. I’d seen her come and go when I was brave enough to look out the front window, but I never introduced myself. Kurt and I didn’t know any of our neighbors. We’d bought the nicest house on the block, and he basically acted as if the rest of the people who lived on our street were inferior. He had this attitude like they were lucky to live near us. “Just think about it, Mags. They have the honor of having one of the hottest up-and-coming authors and an award-winning salesman living amongst them. They should be paying us to live here.”

  Never mind that the award he’d won was five years ago and it was most likely his uncle that gave it to him. Yeah, Kurt sold used cars at his uncle’s dealership. He’d left law school to work there. He and Uncle Paul were convinced that he could make more money selling cars than practicing law. So far, it hadn’t happened yet.

  Anyway, the woman that lived across the street looked to be a bit younger than me. As far as I knew, she didn’t have a significant other but Chloe did appear to have a harem of insignificant others. I should clarify that I don’t know her real name. I called her Chloe because that name seemed to fit.

  I hadn’t seen her that morning, but one of her frequent insignificant other’s white BMW was parked out in front of the house. I called him Sven because he was tall and blond. Actually, he looked like some kind of Norse god. I imagined that he was a surgeon or something because there were parking passes for both of the local hospitals in his back window. Oh, and sometimes he showed up at her house early in the morning wearing scrubs. I figured he popped in after an all-night surgery for an early morning snog.

  Around the time I was going to go back in, a large police officer with a shiny bald head led Sven out of the house in handcuffs. He was dressed in gray sweats that were smeared quite obviously with large amounts of blood. In my mind, I changed his name to Sven the Butcher. That gave me an idea for the book I was working on, and that was good because Kurt would be texting soon to see how much work I’d completed.

  I left the front curtain open so that I could glance outside from time to time. About an hour after they’d carted Sven the Butcher off in a squad car, they wheeled a body out on a stretcher and put it into the back of a coroner’s van. I assumed it was Chloe, but I couldn’t see her because she was secure in a black body bag.

  It was sad, but I had work to do. I knew that when Kurt came home, he’d have a great deal to say about Chloe. Most of it would be along the lines of what a whore she was and how she deserved to die, but if I could get my work done and make a nice dinner, he might be in a good enough mood to spare me.

  My fingers had just begun to glide across the keyboard when, out of the corner of my eye, something caught my attention. It wasn’t the circus going on out of the front window. Instead, the corn stalks behind my house moved in a strange manner. It was just the ones that were right in my line of sight if I turned my head and looked out the patio door.

  The movement had started several hundred feet away from the house, but whatever it was moved in my direction. My stomach lurched so hard that I thought I was going to puke. Not because of whatever was in the corn, but because the smoke alarm in one of the upstairs bedrooms began to wail.

  I ran up the stairs and figured out which room the noise was coming from. The door was closed, so I pushed through it. My heart raced and I wished I had my phone, but once inside the room, I realized that there was no fire.

  The alarm must have been malfunctioning, but unfortunately it was wired in. I couldn’t just take the battery out to silence it. I’d like to say that I figured out how to fix it on my own, but eventually I had to call Kurt.

  Chapter Three

  Day Three

  Fortunately, I didn’t have to go anywhere the next day. I mean, it’s not like it was a real black eye. He hadn’t punched me or anything. Kurt was right. It wasn’t right of him to shove me, but I’d stumbled and hit my cheek. He hadn’t intentionally slammed me into the wall.

  It was just a slight bruise above my cheekbone and a small broken blood vessel in my eye. “You’d better not go out. People will think the worst.”

  I needed a few things from the store, but Kurt told me to get grocery delivery. He said to schedule the order for after he got home for the night and he’d get the door.

  Normally, after we’d had a fight, Kurt would be apologetic. I’d half expected to wake up that morning and find him already awake and making breakfast. But it had been a long time since he’d tried that hard after an argument.

  For a while after I started making money, he’d work really hard to get my forgiveness after a spat, but things had returned to what I guessed was baseline. He left that morning in a sour mood, and all I could do was hope that Kurt would be better by the time he got home.

  Sometimes after he got angry, he could stay that way for days. Those were the worst times. I shuddered as I thought about the last time. Unconsciously, my hands went to my belly. I covered it protectively, as if it wasn’t empty. My mind spun trying to come up with a way to make sure Kurt was happy when he came home.

  I thought that perhaps I could get more writing in that day. My anxiety was high, but sometimes I could use that to my advantage. I could channel it into my story. Another book would mean another influx of cash. Kurt had a lot of plans for our next windfall, and I knew he would start to get excited as I neared the end of the book.

  A half an hour into my work, I heard it. At first, I just thought it was the cat in the litter box, but it went on for so long that I took my earbuds out.

  “Howdy, cut it out!” I hollered at the cat.

  But I realized that she was lying on the sofa across from my desk. I’d startled her when I yelled. My next realization was that the scratching was still going on, and it was coming from the back patio door.

  I hadn’t opened the curtain that day, so I couldn’t see what it was. Standing frozen, I stared at the patio door. My mind flashed back to seeing something coming toward the house from the field. I just knew it was out there.

  Howdy screeched and ran up the stairs, but the scratching would not stop. “Who’s there?” I called out, wondering if anyone would even be able to hear me.

  From somewhere in the house, I heard my mother say my name. A cold chill passed through me, and I scanned the area to see if it was clean enough to meet her approval. Then I laughed at myself because my mother lived a thousand miles away. It had only been my imagination.

  But the scratching on the glass at the back door was not. I took a deep breath and straightened my back; anything I could do to make myself feel braver. It was probably just a racoon or stray dog, so I went to the la
undry room to grab the broom.

  The scraping of claws against the patio door didn’t abate. I steeled myself and reached out for the curtain. The sound grew more frantic as I wrapped my fingers around the fabric. It knew I was there.

  “Don’t be a baby,” I said to myself.

  Twenty-Five Years Earlier

  Maggie’s mother was in the spare bedroom, putting together a desk for her father. Father was out somewhere reading and drinking coffee, but that was okay with Mother. She liked her projects.

  “Go in the other room and get me that thing,” her mother said and stuck her hand out as if she actually expected Maggie to teleport it to her.

  “What thing?” Maggie asked.

  “The thing I need to put this part together,” Mother barked.

  “I don’t know what you need,” Maggie said as gently as she could. She already knew that she was in a no-win situation. Even if, as a seven-year-old, she knew what tool her mother needed, she wouldn’t have fetched it fast enough. Or she would have handed it to Mother the wrong way.

  “Don’t be stupid,” her mother said. “Just go get the thing I need.”

  Maggie didn’t ask again. She just hoped that she’d be able to figure out what Mother needed, or Maggie thought she could just bring her the whole toolbox. Then Mother wouldn’t need her to fetch tools anymore. Maybe she’d even let Maggie go outside and play with her friend.

  She went to the hall closet and pulled the long, green box out. It was heavy, and Maggie made sure to carry it from underneath. One time, she’d tried to bring it to Mother carrying it by the handle, and the ancient latch had given way. Maggie spilled tools all over the hallway, and Mother had berated her until she cried.

  “You don’t have the sense god gave an orangutan,” Mother said. Mother said that a lot. It always confused Maggie because she was a straight A student. Anything less and there would have been hell to pay.

  “I brought the box,” Maggie said cheerfully, as if she could infect Mother with a decent mood.

  “That’s not what I asked for, but give it to me,” Mother said. She rifled with the tools and then huffed. “It’s not in this one. Go get it from the other one.”

  At that point, Maggie still had no idea what tool her mother needed, but she also hadn’t seen the other toolbox in the closet. Why they had two, she didn’t know. Probably because Mother didn’t want to buy a bigger one when two worked just fine.

  “I didn’t see the other toolbox in the closet,” Maggie practically whispered.

  “That’s because it’s in the basement. I was using it in the laundry room yesterday. You’ll have to go down there.”

  That thought made Maggie sick to her stomach. The finished part of the basement was supposed to be her playroom, but she hated it. The only time it was fun to go down there was when her friend was with her. If she was alone, it was terrifying no matter what time of day. Every time she came back up the shag-carpet-covered stairs, it sounded like someone was behind her.

  The laundry room was scary too. That part of the basement was mostly unfinished, so there were cobwebs and shadows in every corner.

  That day’s task was a double whammy. She’d have to go into the scary part of the basement and stay there until she figured out what tool her mother wanted. Then she’d have to make her way back up the stairs with the thing running after her.

  “I don’t want to go down there,” Maggie pleaded. That day, her fear of the basement was more than that of her Mother. “Please don’t make me go.”

  “Don’t be stupid. Get your ass down there and get the tool,” her mother snarled.

  The look in Mother’s eyes was one that Maggie recognized. She’d find no empathy that day, and the harder she tried to get Mother to understand how terrified she was, the more Mother would dig in her heels.

  Just once, Maggie wished she’d had a mother who would hug her and tell her it would be alright. Maggie’s fantasy mother would say, “It’s okay, sweetie. I’m a little afraid of the basement too. We’ll go together.” And then they would go together and Maggie would see that it was nothing to be afraid of after all.

  She’d then get to go outside and play with her friend from down the street, and fantasy mom would do something fun for herself. That way, when Maggie came home, she wouldn’t be yelling about how ungrateful Maggie and her dad were and about how she had to do everything. Mother wouldn’t tell her that she’d been thinking of running away.

  But none of that was EVER going to happen.

  I pulled the red curtain back just in time to see something dark flash across the yard and disappear into the corn. My chest heaved, and it occurred to me that I’d been holding my breath.

  As I started to calm down, the doorbell rang and I jumped half out of my skin again. The doorbell rang again, and that was followed by a succession of pounding knocks.

  “Are you in there, Ma’am?” A deep male voice said. “Clarksville Police.”

  I made my way quickly to the door, and when I opened it, the officer who’d waved at me the day before was standing there. His smile faded when his eyes made their way to the mark on my cheek, but he didn’t ask.

  “Can I help you, officer?” I asked without stepping out of the doorway. I couldn’t let him in. The last thing I needed was for Kurt to come home and find me with a male cop in the house. Even if I’d had no choice, he’d still be furious.

  “I need to talk to you about your neighbor,” he said and thumbed over his shoulder toward Chloe’s house.

  “Is she okay?” I asked, knowing that she wasn’t.

  “Ms. Greer Turner is deceased,” he said gravely.

  So, I guess I had been wrong about her name. Greer fit too, though. “Wow, that’s awful.”

  “We’ve got a suspect in custody, but we’re having a little trouble with motive. You see, everyone that knows the perp says that he was a really great guy who was completely devoted to Ms. Turner.”

  “Ah, well that might be your motive, then,” I said. “I don’t think that Ms. Turner was entirely devoted to any one particular man.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She had a lot of gentlemen visitors,” I said. “I can’t say that they were all visiting her for the same thing. I have no way of knowing, but there were a lot of them.”

  “Can I come in?” he asked and tried to look around me. “I’m Officer Hayes by the way. Jared Hayes.” Officer Hayes extended his hand to me, and I took it.

  I didn’t want him to come in, but at the same time, I did. I hadn’t realized how starved I was for human conversation until he showed up on my doorstep.

  “Sure,” I said and stepped back so he could enter. I hoped that my anxiety hadn’t been betrayed in my voice. The last thing I needed was him asking questions about me. “Would you like some coffee?”

  “That would be great,” Jared said and followed me into the kitchen.

  I decided that my usual instant wouldn’t be a good enough offering, so I made a pot of the real stuff. It was Kurt’s and I wasn’t supposed to touch it, but I felt emboldened for some reason.

  “You’re married?” he asked as he took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “Yes,” I said, and I was surprised by how sour the word was as it rolled off my tongue.

  “Did he do that to your eye?”

  “You and I both know that if I say yes to that, you have to arrest him. Domestic violence is a crime against the State. I don’t have the option not to press charges,” I said and poured the coffee.

  “That means it’s not the first time,” Jared said knowingly.

  “I thought you were here to talk about my neighbor,” I said and set the cup down in front of him.

  “Do you have anything else to tell me about her murder?” he asked and took a sip.

  “No. I don’t,” I said.

  “Then why did you invite me in?” he asked with a smile.

  “I didn’t. You asked if you could come in. I figured you had more questions for me.”


  “No. I don’t. I’ll record your statement. I’m not entirely sure why I’m here. You looked so forlorn yesterday, and then when I saw your eye today, I don’t know. I figured you could use a friend.”

  I wasn’t sure what to do at first. The little voice inside my head told me that even sitting there drinking coffee with him was some sort of betrayal, but it had been so long since anyone cared about whether or not I could use a friend. It was paralyzing.

  “If he comes home and you’re here...” I trailed off.

  “He’ll do what exactly?” Officer Hayes asked. “I’m not afraid of him. Besides, I’m sure that he can’t say anything about you helping with a murder investigation.”

  “He won’t say anything to you. He won’t do anything to you. It’s after you leave.”

  “I’ll go if you want me to go,” Jared said.

  My stomach turned. I didn’t want him to leave. I had no idea why, but I just needed him to be there with me right then. Officer Hayes was probably ten years younger than me, and he was so handsome. I had a hard time prying my eyes off of his squared jaw and crystalline blue eyes. He was paying attention to me. Jared wanted to be there with me.

  “You can stay,” I said. “What is it that you want to do? More coffee?”

  “The coffee is good, Maggie, but we both know that’s not why I’m here.” His look had changed from warm and caring to hungry.

  I couldn’t believe how forward he was, but then again, I was the one worried about my husband coming home. His eyes moved down my body and then back up to my face. Something sparked inside of me that I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  “Where?” I asked.

  “Do you have a spare bedroom?”

  “We have several, but none of them have beds yet. Well, one of them has an air mattress.”

  Jared raised one eyebrow and cocked his head to the side. “That sounds fun to me.”