Every Step You Take: A Psychological Thriller

by Avery Lane

  “I’m sure it was out of love.”

  “If she loved me, she would have realized she was suffocating me,” Riley said.

  “And your dad?”

  “I never knew him. He died while my mom was pregnant, right before her fortieth birthday. They were ‘older’ parents and I was unplanned. So was his death. All the surprises and stress made her go into labor early. I was a little over two months premature. I was tiny when I was born and I guess I never really caught up. Genetically, I should be at least average height. But as you can see, I remain a bit vertically challenged.”

  “Being tall isn’t so great,” Gabriel said. “I have to duck to get out of the subway and sometimes I don’t duck enough and I hit my head.”

  “Would you prefer that or being face-to-butt with people for ten stops?”

  “Hmm. Tough call.”

  “Anyway,” Riley smiled. “Now that you embarrassingly know my whole life story, it’s your turn. What were your parents like? Where’d you grow up?”

  “I grew up in New York. My parents were the complete opposite of controlling. They were hippies that let me and my brothers do whatever we wanted and never had any sort of meaningful advice for me.”

  “That kind of sounds amazing.”

  “Only people who didn’t have those kind of parents would say that,” Gabriel laughed. “I had zero direction in life and was constantly scared because of it. There was never any order or routine. And any question I had for my parents were met with some Bohemian non-answer. For the longest time, life was nothing but a scary uncertainty.”

  “Huh,” Riley frowned. “Well. It seemed to work for you okay.”

  “Eventually, I learned from my brothers to embrace it. Which is how I ended up traveling the world with no goal or endgame for as long as I did.”

  “And you think you’re done with that?”

  “At least for now,” Gabriel replied. “If I do it again, I want it to be with someone. You know, like a wife. And maybe children.”

  “Marriage and kids,” Riley nodded. “We’re just mentioning all those things we’re not supposed to mention on a first date.”

  “I’d say this was a pretty successful first date because of all the over-sharing, not despite it. Wouldn’t you?”

  “I don’t know,” Riley teased. “I’m still feeling kind of nauseous from airing all that out.”

  “What, so you’re not enjoying yourself?” Gabriel looked at her with feigned hurt. “Is it because I asked you out on a weeknight and took you to a taco truck? I thought self-employed people had no concept of weekends and liked eating on the go, so I thought it’d be okay.”

  “It was okay.” Riley pressed her lips together, looking up at her mammoth of a date. She did think it went pretty well, but she felt like she’d be jinxing it to say it aloud. “A little more than okay, actually.” The answer seemed to satisfy Gabriel. “But I think we should end the night here. I have to get to work early.”

  “Aw, alright. Where do you live?” he asked. “Can I walk you home?”

  “No, I’m fine on my own.”

  “Even if I insist?”

  “I’ll get mad if you insist,” Riley said. “I think you’ve learned enough about me today to know that.”

  “Fine,” Gabriel sighed in an exaggerated manner. “If you insist that I don’t insist, then I won’t insist.” Riley smiled. That was exactly the perfect amount of insistence.

  6

  Prospect Heights was a lovely, idyllic neighborhood with its wide, tree-lined streets and charming little shops and restaurants. It was mostly populated with young families that frequented the nearby park with their strollers and baby carriers.

  But family-oriented neighborhoods often got quiet at night.

  Riley normally liked that. It meant tranquil sleep conditions and a peaceful sense of being away from the city while never actually leaving.

  But she rarely ever got home past 11pm and now that it was closing in on midnight, Riley was surprised with just how quiet it could be. Past Flatbush Avenue where the cars constantly zoomed in steady streams, the smaller side streets were awfully still. An occasional car would go by, but there wasn’t a single pedestrian out besides Riley.

  As she walked down Saint Marks, she noted that the street lamps were dimmer than she’d like and the sidewalk wasn’t as smooth as it could be. She cursed the thick platforms of her sandals and how they kept her from getting a good feel for the ground beneath her. Riley listened to their heavy clomps, convinced she was going to trip at any second.

  She should’ve called an Uber.

  Riley stopped, whipping out her phone and wondering if Uber drivers were willing to do three-block rides.

  But then she noticed the sound of her footsteps had continued without her.

  Riley’s head snapped up, looking around. She hadn’t noticed anyone out on the block, but with all the garbage cans on the curb, she figured a straggler was just putting out their bin.

  But she hadn’t heard the bin being dragged out. And the footsteps continued for longer than it would take to get from a front door to the curb.

  Riley squinted into the darkness, trying to make out any movement at all. But all she saw were the distant, fleeting lights of the traffic on Flatbush. She turned back towards the direction of home, picking up her pace just a bit. Her footsteps suddenly sounded louder, more distinct.

  She turned onto a better-lit street, one that took her away from the direction of home. Riley wasn’t sure why she made that decision. As always, her body moved faster than her mind, and it had decided on instinct that this was the right way to go.

  Riley stood in front of a restaurant's windows, glancing back in the direction she came.

  On the other side of the window, servers and busboys were winding down on their night, laughing as they cleaned. They looked relaxed, unaware of the panicked woman standing on the other side.

  She was being paranoid.

  Riley knew that.

  But she couldn’t help it. And could anyone really blame her?

  Her soon-to-be ex-husband had threatened her that morning and she had received a cryptic photograph and note the night before. Granted, she had already concluded that the note was from Evan, but she hadn’t recovered from the shock of it.

  Just as Riley felt ready to start walking again, a dark figure suddenly appeared at the corner she had just left.

  She was about a hundred feet away from that point now and she could barely make out the shadow’s outline. The allergy medication she had finally bought and taken that morning was wearing off and her eyes were already tearing up, obscuring her night vision even further.

  What she could see was that the figure was tall, a little hunched over. Kind of the way Evan looked at the office that morning.

  A rush of anger came over her.

  How dare he?

  Had he followed her on her date? Had he been following her all day?

  She ducked in the small alcove of the restaurant’s front door. Safely out of sight, she flicked open her phone and scrolled through her contacts to Evan’s number.

  She unblocked him.

  Then she called him, eyes fixed on the shadow at the intersection.

  The phone rang just once before he picked up.

  “Riley? Riley!” Evan called through the phone.

  Riley could only hear Evan’s voice coming from the speaker of her phone and not from the direction of the dark figure. She stayed silent, watching as the dark figure skulked around, as if looking for her.

  But no light of a phone illuminated the shadow. No hand was lifted to its ear. No sound was coming from its direction.

  It wasn’t Evan.

  So who was it?

  7

  “Thank you for saving my ass, I’ve been such a mess.”

  Riley heaved a heavy sigh, walking into her apartment as Marco followed.

  When the shadow finally left, walking in the opposite direction of Riley’s home, she made a ma
d rush towards her building only to find that she didn’t have her keys.

  She had somehow managed to lose them at some point in her unfortunate day.

  Luckily, a neighbor who was taking his dog out had at least gotten her into the building or she would’ve had a full on panic attack. From the lobby, sitting on the stack of leftover phone books, she called Marco to bring the spare keys that she had taken from Evan and given to him for safekeeping.

  Thank God she did.

  “It’s no problem,” Marco said. “I’m glad I was nearby so I could get here quick. I feel so bad you’re having like the worst day ever.”

  “Oh, please don’t say that! I feel bad enough that you’ve been dragged into this again.” Riley opened the fridge, pulling out an untouched slice of Junior’s devil’s food cheesecake and presenting it to Marco. “Please take this. I know it’s your favorite and it’s the least I can do.”

  “Thank you,” he blushed, taking the container from her hands.

  Marco was still awfully shy around Riley outside of the office.

  He reminded Riley of herself in that way. There was the always-on-his-game Work Marco, and the reserved and awkward Regular Marco. She was sympathetic to his dual selves considering she was just the same.

  The slight hint of alcohol that Riley detected off his breath now suggested that she had just stolen him from a get together with friends. Though Riley felt bad about doing so, she could see that Marco was feeling sheepish about being caught drinking in the middle of the workweek.

  But considering he had never come into work hungover or unprepared, it wasn’t like Riley would care.

  After saying goodbye to Marco, Riley shut the door and collapsed on her couch, exhaling so hard she swore she made the windows rattle. She reached into her purse to pull out her antihistamines. Despite how tired she was, she knew she could probably use some help sleeping tonight. Riley squinted at the fine print on the back of her box.

  Do not take more than one tablet in 24 hours.

  She wrinkled her itchy nose. Then why don’t you last the full 24 hours?

  She stood up in anger, slamming the box down on the kitchen counter, right next to where she had left the Polaroid.

  Ugh.

  As angry as she was, it still looked ominous enough that she felt prickles on the back of her neck. Riley rolled her eyes at the overly dramatic nature of Evan’s tactics.

  “We’re never really alone,” she muttered, reading aloud. Heartfelt messages were never Evan’s strong suit. But he sure knew his way around creeping people out.

  After running into her neighbor then seeing Marco, Riley felt like she had reconnected with reality. She felt less weird about the dark figure walking behind her. The person had given no true indication that he wanted anything to do with Riley and he had just as much of a right to be on the street at night as she did.

  And as quiet as it seemed in that moment, she was actually surrounded by people. She always was. That was what was great about living in the city.

  It wasn’t all that late, even. Sure, it was past midnight, but that didn’t mean anything.

  Dogs still needed to be walked, as proven by her neighbor. Young people were still out drinking late, as proven by Marco.

  Riley had just managed to psych herself out. Which again, she thought was fair considering the events of the past twenty-four hours.

  She walked over to her window, glancing outside. From the safety of her home, the darkness and silence of her little block appeared tranquil. Not at all foreboding, like it had been shortly before.

  It was all about perspective – like everything in life.

  Riley yawned, reaching for the cord to shut her blinds. She couldn’t be more ready to say goodbye to this very strange day.

  But then a sudden flash of light cut through the darkness.

  Riley froze.

  She stared out at the darkness, wondering where the flash had come from. She listened for rain. Had she just seen lightning?

  It didn’t appear to be raining.

  Stop. You just talked yourself out of a paranoid spiral.

  She pulled on the cord again, lowering the blinds another third of the way down when she saw some movement in the building across the street.

  Normally, this wouldn’t be unusual.

  New Yorkers were quite used to observing others as well as being observed within their own apartments.

  But the building across the street was vacant. A new condo still under construction.

  It was far too late for construction workers to still be lurking. And they certainly wouldn’t be working in the dark.

  Riley lowered the shades the rest of the way, turning off her light so she could peer out undetected.

  There was definitely someone in there.

  A dark, hunched over figure.

  A looming shadow that stared right back.

  8

  “Why’d you change your number?” Sierra asked as she watched Riley return texts on her phone.

  They sat together in the backseat of an Uber, on their way to the third potential venue on their list for the day. Brighton peered into the rearview mirror from the passenger seat, looking towards Riley as if he was also interested in the answer.

  “You know that guy that was in the office before you two came in that day?” Riley asked.

  “Oh, yep. Say no more,” Sierra shrugged her perfectly sculpted shoulders, as if she was suddenly embarrassed for asking.

  Riley had felt a deep sense of relief with her new phone number. She picked a 917 area code, shedding her upstate past for good. No more 845. No more depending on others. No more paranoia.

  She had been feeling strong and confident and particularly good about herself since making that change. And a couple days removed from the worst day ever, she was finally able to appreciate the path her new life was on. She had a brand new office, lovely new clients, and a gorgeous romantic prospect that made her feel like as much of a catch as he was.

  But sitting next to Sierra was the quickest way to shake any sense of self-assuredness.

  Today, Sierra was dressed in a short white dress that clung to a figure that Riley hadn’t seen that first day they met. She had assumed Sierra was as willowy as she appeared in her loose-fitting dress, but it turned out she was rocking some pretty serious curves – all in the right spots.

  Though Riley was petite, she was pretty curvy herself. It was the only thing she could say she had in common with her mother. But being short with curves meant that most of the cheesecake purchases she made ended up being donations to Marco. She could have the thrill of buying the food, but not the thrill of eating it. Because if she ate all the cheesecake she wanted (and she wanted all of it), her upper curves and lower curves quickly met up in the middle.

  Sierra’s curves not only sat on a long and lithe frame, she was also surprisingly fit. Lines of muscle ran down her long legs and arms and she was light on her feet, moving with the elegance of a ballet dancer.

  Riley was so completely amazed by her that there was no room for envy.

  Additionally, Sierra was so, so incredibly kind and friendly. She had taken to Riley immediately and was warm and affectionate in a way that didn’t feel forced or uncomfortable. And she was a hugger, hugging more than your basic greeting or goodbye. She hugged every time she was thankful or excited or saw something she liked.

  Brighton was standoffish in comparison, but perfectly friendly outside the context of Sierra. He wasn’t as touchy-feely. His hands remained mostly in his pockets. He was quiet, but always smiling. Quietly gorgeous to his fiancée’s gregariously gorgeous. And it was Riley’s job to find an equally gorgeous venue that suited this gorgeous couple.

  But there weren’t many venues available with such short notice. Most of the popular ones had been booked months, even years in advance. The list Riley came up with were of venues that didn’t normally host weddings or guest lists of over a hundred, but she hoped that they’d either find ways to accommod
ate Sierra and Brighton’s request or the couple would consider cutting down the guest list.

  The third venue on the list was one Riley had hesitated to put on at all.

  She held her breath as their car pulled up in front.

  Bisset was a family-owned restaurant in a two-story Fort Greene townhouse with a garden out back. It was very modestly decorated with its cream-colored finish, walnut crown molding, and fresh wildflowers sticking out of glass vases that hung from the walls.

  It was far from the most popular venue, which Riley always thought confounding. She had found its humble charm a huge draw.

  And she was pretty sure she wasn’t just being biased because she had had her own wedding there…

  “I love this,” Brighton said, running his hands over the long family table sitting in the middle of the dining room. It was the first full sentence he had spoken all day, even if it was only three words.

  “Brighton is a woodworker,” Sierra explained. “He’s always been great with his hands.” Brighton looked up, squinting at Sierra for the phrasing. She winked in return.

  “I never asked what you do,” Riley realized, turning to Sierra.

  “I’m a…” Sierra pursed her lips, considering her words. “A general crafter, I guess is what you can call me. Although now, the bulk of my income comes from embroidery projects commissioned through Etsy.”

  Called it, Riley thought, smiling to herself. She had pinned them as those perfect Brooklyn couples that somehow made their living through handcrafted, bespoke items. They fit the stereotype perfectly.

  “So with this venue,” Sierra said, looking up the spiral stairwell that sat in the back corner, “we’d get the whole place? Like upstairs and downstairs and the garden?”

  “Yes,” Riley nodded. “It can definitely accommodate a hundred people, although perhaps not everyone in a single room which might affect how you want to handle the evening.”