I congratulated myself on my behavior with Mr. Edison. I remained distant. I never used soft sign offs or addresses in my communications with him. I didn’t look him in the eye for any longer than I needed to. I didn’t use any cutesy names for him, nor did I touch his hand. I couldn’t delude myself that there was electricity in his touch if I didn’t let him near me. We were at a personal distance (between 18 inches and four feet), not a wider social distance as I would have preferred, but we had a desk between us. Overall, I had done well. Dr. Warren told me it was important to acknowledge my victories, so I gave myself a minute to feel proud.
Growth and healing were lifelong pursuits for me. I would likely never come off medication, and I had accepted that.My new life was peaceful, if a bit lonely. I maintained some friendships with colleagues, but I kept them at a distance. Letting someone in was risky. I didn’t want to hurt anyone ever again.
Chapter 3: The Hound—Hidden pasts
I had entered a rabbit warren by digging into Rose’s past. She had changed her name, and through a little investigation, I found she was once Rose Fennech. Fuck. Try Googling that and not needing a whiskey straight after. The woman had been institutionalized for stalking and assault. No wonder she was so standoffish. It was difficult to reconcile the “psycho” described in the articles with the broken woman who’d been in my office.
She seemed quiet, sweet, and very unsure of herself. She’d served her time and had done nothing to raise any red flags with me. My Zahra was determined to keep this professional and impersonal and now I understand why. She didn’t trust herself. I understood that. I understood that very well.
The Fennech name had led to a dead end. Colin Fennech died years ago and was not Rose’s father. A DNA test had been done a year after her sentence. It was easy enough to check that (I already admitted my methods were sometimes gray). However, I couldn’t access her psych records. That was a step too far for me, and likely wasn’t possible even with my dubious connections.
I sighed, closing the windows on my screen. Barbara Harrod could wait until tomorrow. Her husband was definitely cheating, but she’d talked herself out of believing the proof I’d provided. At this rate, her husband could put on a live sex show in front of her and she’d reason that it was an apparition. I’d cut her loose soon. She was so entrenched in cognitive dissonance that she was never going to leave him anyway. It was sad. I found adultery cases a little dull, but they veered into the tragic territory when the partners either didn’t believe it or chose not to act, even if the cheater was remorseless and a habitual offender.
“See you tomorrow, Ruth. I’ll be out in the morning finalizing the Harrod case, but will be back by lunch.”
“Bye, PI man. So, we’re pushing ahead with the Myrtle case? She’s a bit cold, that one.”
“Yes, I’ll try to help her. It’s all a bit vague, but it’ll add a bit of variety to the all the infidelity investigations.”And Zahra needed some closure, some understanding.
“Well, I hope it all words out. You’re like a damned dog with a bone, so if there’s something to find, you’ll find it,” Ruth said, shutting down her computer. I was a very committed investigator. I found it difficult to give up on things. This meant I was often frustrated, but it also meant my closure rate was above industry standards.
I wasn’t going to tell Rose that I knew about her, though surely she knew it wouldn’t be difficult to dig up her past, especially for a professional investigator. But she hadn’t been forthcoming about it, so I assume she wanted it to remain buried. She had no social media, likely another measure to cut herself off and remain distant from others and worked in a factory as a packer. It was the kind of job where you could have as little or as much contact with others as you wanted. I pictured my Zahra working efficiently and engaging very little with her colleagues.
She’d obviously had a rough childhood. She didn’t know her dad and for someone who had once valued close connections, she was estranged from her mother. What had her mother done to her? I wasn’t a psychologist, but I knew that stalkers usually had some kind of dysfunction in their development and upbringing that led them to obsess with a target. I’d worked plenty of stalking cases. My involvement was usually limited to identifying an anonymous stalker, but many of the stories had the same threads. Obsession, some kind of personality disorder, feelings of abandonment. It was sad. Some of these cases ended violently, as had Rose’s with her doctor, but some ended with the offender entering much-needed psychiatric care. Other stalkerscontinued to live out in the open, careful to follow the rules enough to ensure they weren’t caught. I understood that kind of stalker well. Very well.
I'll help you my little Zahra, and I'll keep my distance.
Chapter 4: The Rose—Small victories
Mr. Edison: Good afternoon, Rose. I would like to touch base with you sometime today to discuss the case. Please let me know when it would be convenient.
He shouldn’t be using my first name. I’d have to set him in his place.
Me: Thank you, Mr. Edison. I finish work at 3 pm. Would 3:30 be convenient for a telephone call? Thanks again, Ms. Myrtle.
There. That should do it. When he called, I’d put my lists of mantras and questions in front of me (I had printouts) while I spoke to him. I would not ask him about his day. I would not laugh at anything he said, if he even tried to make a joke. It was risky opening the door to people. I had to shut them down in case I became obsessed. This made some interactions difficult.
“You coming out tonight, Rose?” Jason Barr asked. He was a nice enough colleague, and I knew a bunch of people were going, but I couldn’t risk it. Jason Barr had nice eyes.
“No, thank you. I have commitments tonight.” Good, firm answer. No leeway there. No emotion.
“Right, well. Okay. Maybe next Thursday?” he replied. No, not next Thursday. I politely shot down the idea and disappeared into the bathroom to read my phone. Jason Barr was a colleague, and I engaged on a very casual, light basis with colleagues. Using his surname helped distance him too. I scanned the list. Jason Barr used a warm tone but didn’t ask me for one-on-one company. His body language was friendly and open, but he maintained a social space between us. Social space, I thought. A four-to-ten-foot boundary. At this distance, he could not touch me, and I could not touch him. He wasn’t in my personal space or my intimate space. He was a colleague.Being me was exhausting. It was just easier to maintain boundaries with everyone than overthink every interaction.
Mr. Edison replied promptly.
Mr. Edison: Yes, 3:30 works for me. Will speak to you then, Ms. Myrtle.
We were back on track. But I was nervous about this afternoon. Should I respond with confirmation or was that unnecessary communication? I could give the message a thumbs up, but that seemed too casual and friendly.
Me: I shall speak to you then.
I knew I was speaking like an eighteenth-century dowager, but it was important to maintain my boundaries. Despite my best attempts to put the meeting out of my mind, I thought about it throughout my shift. I wonder if he had any news? I tried not to get my hopes up.
By 3:20, I was seated in my studio apartment with my printouts in front of me. I was meeting with Dr. Warren next week and making mental notes of things to ask her. She was concerned that I may be cutting myself off from others unnecessarily, which would be harmful to my growth, but understood my anxiety about letting people in.
My phone rang at exactly 3:30. Despite knowing who was calling, I answered clinically.
“Rose Myrtle speaking.”
