Like, Follow, Kill

by Carissa Ann Lynch

  I followed the signs for free parking and room vacancies, finally relieved to make a sharp right into a skinny alleyway off the strip.

  Traffic was too thick to drive, so I left the truck near a Days Inn parking lot and followed the throngs of people walking. They looked cheery, with their shopping bags and strollers full of snotty children. I passed six candy shops along the way, one that was making big creamy strings of taffy in the front window. My stomach groaned. I’d probably lost five pounds since leaving Oshkosh. I needed some food in my stomach, and I needed a bed to sleep in. But first, I needed to find the Black Bear Inn and this bar across the street from it.

  But hunger is a nasty thing—my stomach grumbled loudly as I walked. The last thing I’d eaten was that sloppy sandwich from the gas station Lincoln bought me.

  Lincoln.

  Guilt festered inside me—he had messaged and called today. He’d even offered to come along and help me look for my friend. He obviously knew I’d been lying when I said I was going back home. Is my desperation that obvious to everyone?

  But I’d ignored all his messages and calls …

  In another version of my life story, maybe I would have let him come. Maybe I’d have chosen the path where I let him help me, where he became my boyfriend and loved me despite all my dark and cloudy bullshit … but I liked him a little too much. His hands were soft, and his smile was kind … but he looked and acted nothing like Chris … he’s not Chris.

  And it was too soon … and in this version, the real version of my life, I didn’t need a Lincoln, or anyone else, to come along and save the day. I had to find Valerie all on my own.

  I’m going to be the hero of this fucking story … god knows I’ve been the villain long enough.

  I could see the tall gray hotel I’d snapped a picture of online. The Black Bear Inn hovered over the shops in the distance. I still needed to go back and get the truck, but at least while I was here, I could see if there were rooms available.

  The bar across the street was dark. It’s barely midnight, and they’re already closed?!

  The man at the counter of the Black Bear Inn was cheery and bright, and I could have kissed him when he said there was one room left for the night. I told him I’d take it, before inquiring about price. Money doesn’t matter anyway; I’ll probably be in jail soon, I thought, as I regretfully shelled out the hundred-dollar deposit and took my key to the room.

  “Why is the bar across the street shut down so early?” I asked the man.

  He smiled, his eyes avoiding my face. “Can’t serve alcohol after midnight here. Sorry, it’s the law. It’ll be open tomorrow, though.”

  “That’s a stupid law,” I snapped. As much as I wanted to find Valerie’s stalker, I’d also been looking forward to another drink while I was there, scoping him out.

  “There’s a mini bar in your room,” the receptionist said, frowning.

  “Thank god,” I muttered.

  ***

  Room 447 was nicer than my dinky room at The Rest EZ. The bed was king-sized, the walls white and clean, and there were no ghosts waiting in the shadows for me.

  The windows were too high up for anyone to see in and the curtains were tightly drawn. For the first time in days, I felt alone. But at the same time, I was also scared … scared that someone was hurting Valerie while I sat here, helpless, and drunk, in a cushy hotel room.

  I looked over at my bag, wishing I’d remembered to bring the box with Chris inside with me. He was still planted on the passenger’s seat of the truck.

  I picked up a menu for room service, finally settling on an order of chicken wings and curly fries. I also chose a bottle of overpriced Grey Goose from the mini bar.

  While I waited, I searched for updates in the news, on Janet’s murder or my pending charges, but there was nothing.

  I sent another message to Valerie:

  It’s Camilla again. I’m in Gatlinburg. I hope you are okay. I’m staying at the Black Bear Inn, but the bar is closed. Let me know where you are if you can. I tried that number you called me from … no one is answering.

  By the time I’d finished my food and peeled off my sweaty clothes, I was drifting off to sleep … imagining myself floating on a puffy white cloud that overlooked the mountains, Valerie drifting by my side …

  ***

  The admission price for the House of Illusions was 29.99. I paid it gladly, wandering through the too-tight corridors, searching aimlessly for Valerie. The pictures on the walls were moving, their faces morphing into something else … and at the end of the hallway, there was a huge white wall and a button. “Lean here and press the button to capture your shadow,” read the sign. I tried it, but my shadow evaporated when I moved. I pressed the button again and again, until finally, a slinky black shadow appeared. I recognized the broad shoulders and the narrow waist … the sinewy forearms … but the head and neck were separated from the torso, and when I touched the sheen white wall, there was blood on my fingertips. Blood in my mouth … I can taste his blood, like a copper penny in my mouth …

  I wrestled with the hotel bedding, wrapped like a mummy in the too-thick sheets … I rolled and fought off the material, finally collapsing onto the floor beside the bed and jerking awake. I was sweating, feverish … remnants of the dream trickling away so fast, I couldn’t catch them before they were gone.

  I stripped off my underwear and bra, then locked myself in the bathroom and showered. I tried to rub the smell and feel of the blood in the dream off my subconscious …

  Finally, when I emerged from the bathroom, shivering in a fuzzy, gray towel, I saw that it was barely 7am. I was still sleepy, but at least my head felt clear. Chris’s ghost hadn’t shown up yet, and for once, I was thankful for that. I didn’t need his accusatory eyes fixated on me right now …

  After drying my hair with the towel, I got dressed in the same clothes from last night.

  I locked my room up tight, then went down to the lobby. A new attendant was working behind the counter. He greeted me and suggested I check out some of their brochures. I thanked him and stepped outside, my still-damp hair making me shiver in the hazy morning light.

  I was surprised to see hundreds of people already out on the strip. A large knot of couples and families were lining up outside the pancake restaurants for breakfast, but the bar hadn’t opened yet. Eventually, I settled on a small, woodsy-themed restaurant that was offering steaming cups of coffee to its waiting guests. I accepted the coffee and took a seat on a bench outside, while holding my buzzer for my “table for one”.

  I was tempted to smoke, but there were too many people … I blew steam off the top of my coffee instead, watching teenagers, families, and couples pass me by on the street. I was lost in thought when I felt something vibrating in my hand. I stood up, expecting the buzzer to be going off, but instead, realized it was my cell phone.

  I must have accidentally flipped it to vibrate while carrying it in my pocket. Probably Lincoln again …

  Glancing down at the phone, I was surprised to see a social media update. A new message on Instagram from Valerie!

  I stepped under the awning of the restaurant, squeezing between two families waiting to be seated. I cupped my hands around the screen protectively, squinting to read her message in the bright morning sunlight.

  He’s there now, across the street.

  I quickly wrote back:

  Who?

  But I knew the answer already … her stalker.

  Where are you? I want to help. You should tell the cops.

  Another quick response:

  No. Don’t do that.

  My rumbling stomach all but forgotten, I wandered down the sidewalk, waiting for her to say more but knowing she wouldn’t.

  Where is he? At the bar already? It’s not open yet. Where are YOU?

  One minute passed, then two. I paced up and down the sidewalk, oblivious to the crowds of people trying to swerve around me.

  Finally, my phone buzzed again.

>   I don’t know where I am.

  I typed back quickly:

  Can you describe it?

  I plopped down on an open bench, realizing that I’d wandered two blocks from the restaurant even though I still had one of their buzzers. I waited for fifteen minutes for a response from Valerie, then finally got up and walked back toward my hotel.

  The sparkling lights of an arcade were lit up across the street, next to the bar. It was open.

  Through the milky-white glass, I looked inside the arcade. There was a small pizza stand, serving pizza by the slice. The big gooey slices looked almost as big as my head. My own face reflected back at me, and it wasn’t only the sight of my scars that repelled me. My eyes were hooded, blue-black moons underneath, my cheeks hollow. I looked like a walking skeleton, only scarier.

  A flash of shiny black hair behind me in the street caused me to turn.

  I’ll be damned. What are the odds of that?

  My eyes locked on the man instantly. He was across the street, strolling out of the whiskey bar. I stared at him, unmoving as people passed me by on the sidewalk. He glanced left then right, his eyes glazing over mine for a split second, then he crossed the street, coming toward me.

  I stepped below a shadowy awning between the arcade and a shop that sold cheesy, air-brushed T-shirts. The Chris lookalike brushed right past me, and I held my breath as he did. He did look like Chris, but also not. His hair was dark like his, but he was shorter and lankier. He was younger than Chris. But I had no doubt—this was the man I’d seen in Valerie’s video … the same man that had also appeared in the background of two of her photos. The man who was holding her captive now, apparently.

  I willed my feet to move, to follow him … This might be my only chance!

  I bobbed and weaved through the thickening crowds, not taking my eyes off the back of his head. He was walking briskly, his tanned arms swinging side to side, like he didn’t have a care in the world.

  Then suddenly, he stopped walking. For a moment, I worried that he might sense he was being followed. But that was ridiculous—he didn’t know me at all.

  He glanced at a sleek black iPhone, then started walking again. I kept up the pace. When he stopped at a cross walk, I stopped too, keeping a few people between us.

  The light flashed, and then we were moving again. I was so close now, only one woman between us, and I could smell the spicy scent of his aftershave …

  The sidewalk became narrower and steeper, and suddenly, I realized where he must be headed … a large parking garage. Under my breath, I cursed myself for leaving my truck by the Days Inn last night. If he gets in a car, I won’t be able to follow him!

  As suspected, the Chris lookalike turned into the wide mouth of the parking garage. There was a young couple between him and I, and as they turned into the same garage, I breathed an internal sigh of relief, following behind.

  Inside the garage, I held back as I watched him approach a concrete stairwell that led to the next floor up. The couple, unfortunately, were parked on level one. They split off, and then it was just me … following the man up the twisty staircase. I took my keys out of my pocket, and taking my time, I filed up the heavy set of steps, praying he didn’t turn back and think anything of the strange, scarred woman coming up behind him.

  On the second level of the garage, I was so close I could touch him, and I was surprised he didn’t turn to look. But then he stopped so quickly that I nearly collided into his backside.

  “Oh! Excuse me,” I said. I kept walking, barely breathing, and I forced myself to wait several seconds before glancing back at him over my shoulder.

  When I did, I saw him standing beside a large black Range Rover. He was looking right at me now, a puzzled expression on his face.

  Heart racing, I started looking around the too-quiet lot, pretending that I couldn’t find my car. Then I heard the slam of a car door and an engine turning. He’s leaving!

  When his Range Rover pulled out, I started walking back in his direction. I repeated the license plate out loud over and over, scrambling to get my phone out so I could write it down in time.

  Chapter 18

  Back in my hotel room, I scurried under thick, flannel blankets, shaking. I’d missed my chance to find her … I was unprepared, not expecting to run into the stalker so soon.

  In the pitch-black room, I held up my phone, reading off the numbers again. I’d written them down in the notes section on my phone. My first inkling had been to message Valerie again, tell her I had the creep’s license-plate number. But it had seemed too strange, running into the guy as soon as I got to the bar, almost like he knew I was looking for him … and Valerie still hadn’t responded to my last message.

  I was afraid to tell her the truth—that I had failed.

  I typed out a message to Lincoln. I’d been thinking about it the whole walk back to my hotel room, and if anyone could help with this, it was him.

  Me: You told me that you have friends in the police force? Do you think you could do me a huge favor and have them to look up a license plate for me? This is really important, or I wouldn’t ask.

  Hoping for a fast response, I was disappointed when hours passed, and I still hadn’t heard anything. I’d turned the TV on in my hotel room. Numbly, I flipped through channels, feeling a sad aching for that shitty motel room in Kentucky, Valerie’s smell on the blankets and her corny Netflix shows on the screen.

  The stations here were mostly local, a series of one advertisement after another that offered activities for guests in Gatlinburg. My head was buzzing with adrenaline—Who is this creep? Why has he taken Valerie?

  I closed my eyes, picturing the headline in the Oshkosh Gazette: Local loser tracks down killer and saves the day.

  I nearly laughed out loud at my own foolish imagination.

  I picked at a stray string on the comforter, winding it around and around my finger, thinking about how good it would feel to have my pain medication. At least I had a drink to keep me company …

  My cell phone rang beside me and I jerked upright to a sitting position. I had expected Lincoln to text back, not call, but I was relieved to hear from him.

  I tucked my knees up to my chest, then answered his call.

  “Hey. Thanks for calling me back,” I said, quietly.

  “You okay? Whose license plate am I looking up?” Lincoln sounded antsy, like me, but there was something soothing about hearing his voice again.

  “The creep that’s been following my friend. I was thinking maybe you knew someone …”

  “I do. Not sure if he’ll do it or not but give me the number and I’ll give it a try. It’s Saturday, so not sure how quick I can get through to him though.”

  Although that was disappointing to hear, I was still thrilled to hear that he was willing to give it a try. I read the numbers and letters off slowly, then repeated them just to make sure.

  “Will you call me back when you find out something?”

  “Will do. Camilla?”

  “Yes?” I asked, releasing the too-tight string on my finger.

  “You should let me come to you. I can’t shake the feeling that you’re in some kind of trouble. I know this sounds weird, but I feel like we’re kindred spirits or something … I know how hard it is to overcome trauma, that’s all I’m saying … it changes you, it really does.”

  I swallowed down a lump in my throat, sticky and hard like peanut butter, and willed myself not to cry. “I know. It’s just … there are some things you have to do on your own, you know?”

  Lincoln was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, I know.”

  I hung up the phone, a strange wave of sadness sparking inside me. I was attracted to Lincoln, but he wasn’t Chris. No one will ever be Chris, I realized.

  ***

  I was back out on the main strip, watching for the stalker, hoping he’d return to the bar. It was nearly dark now … the chances of him showing up this late, were slim to none. I couldn’t help feeling like he’d slip
ped through my fingers … I let him get away, and in doing so, Valerie got away too …

  My phone rang in my pocket, giving me a jolt.

  “Find out anything?” I asked, relieved to see Lincoln’s number.

  “Yeah … but I’m not sure if it’s what you’re looking for.”

  I plopped down on a bench outside the whiskey bar, waiting for Lincoln to tell me more.

  “It’s a Tennessee license-plate number and it belongs to a guy named Chris Jared. He has a few minor traffic offenses and one thing that stands out on his record.”

  “What is it?” I asked, my mind racing.

  “Well, he has a restraining order against him.”

  I knew it! The guy is a total creep!

  “The woman who took out the restraining order … is her name Valerie?” I asked.

  “Nope. Her name is Kelly Jared and it’s his ex-wife. They both took out restraining orders on each other during the divorce. And I dug around a bit … he used to work for Rook Pharmaceuticals. Didn’t you say your friend was a pharmacy tech there?”

  “A pharmaceutical rep,” I corrected him. “So, they know each other, then … this isn’t some stranger following her around. It’s someone she has a connection to … someone she is afraid of for a reason.” My thoughts drifted back to the bloody T-shirt in the bathroom at The Rest EZ. I’d tossed it in the dumpster in the back of the building, unsure what else to do with it.

  “Anything else on his record?” I pressed.

  I can’t believe his name is Chris. They share the same name and kind of look alike … how creepy. A bizarre coincidence, that’s all.

  “That’s all I know. I do have an address though.”

  “An address?! Give it to me, please.”

  “Well, you should encourage her to call the police. Don’t approach this guy, or try to be the hero, Camilla. He could be dangerous …”

  I shook my head back and forth, waiting for the address.

  “Camilla?” Lincoln said again.

  “I’m here. Just thinking. I won’t go to the guy’s house, I promise. I’m not that crazy.”