This time, I can’t make myself believe it’s an innocent coincidence. The card is a memory jolt, a taunt, a threat.
“Say cheese.”
* * *
The following day,Saturday, I visit my mother in the home. It’s hard to find out what I need without alerting her something’s wrong. And I don’t want her to understand the depths of my fear.
It took years longer for her to forgive herself than it took for me to forgive her. The last thing I want is to dredge up the horror again, leave her revisiting it in her last weeks or months, wasting time worrying about something she can’t change.
It won’t help anyone.
But I want the name of the person who got told the news about my uncle. With so little else to go on, I need to be sure I’m scared of the right person for the right reason. If the gossip about my uncle is nothing more than conjecture, I must know. That would mean the cards are unconnected.
That leaves me with one worry put to bed and another worry—therightworry—left in its place.
A few minutes of cautious questioning gets me nothing. Finally, I ask her outright.
“Mel told me,” she answers after struggling with her memory for a few seconds. “She was visiting with her son Martin when she overheard the news.”
“Melanie Ossa?”
“That’s her.”
My heart sinks as I type her name in my phone. She’s reliable, not prone to gossip. That means it’s likely true and I need to do something about the cards before whatever game this is can escalate further.
Putting it aside for now, I settle in for a proper visit. Mum tells me about a next-door neighbour from back when we lived in an ‘alternative’ community. He’d taught me how to raise a garden from seeds and had a love affair with compost.
“The worms,” I exclaim, remembering how it felt to dig through the piles of mulch and have their bodies squirming among the refuse, turning green waste into plant food.
It brings up some memories I haven’t thought of for years, ones that I might have lost if not for her prompting. I luxuriate in the warm glow of connection and linger for hours longer than I mean to, staying next to her even when she falls into a long nap.
“Stay safe, love,” Mum rouses long enough to say as I sneak from her room. “Have a good time with your friends tonight.”
I told her I was going to a movie, but the reality is I’ll probably spend the night curled in a blanket on the couch, mindlessly staring at the tv. The same way I ended last night, except then I had Finley trying to chat me out of my distress. Even when I told her nothing was wrong.
When I catch the bus to the police station, the journey takes far longer than it should because I change my mind as we arrive at the correct stop, then change it again once we’re three stops past.
On the walk back, I change my mind another half dozen times, faltering to a halt in the middle of the footpath like a freak.
Each time I convince myself it’s stupid, they’ll never take me seriously and even if they do, they won’t be able to do anything, I bump against the other side of the argument.
I need help and I can’t do it myself.
Even when I finally arrive at the local station, I walk past the entrance, dawdling among the adjacent stores, talking myself in and out of it five times over before I wrench open the door.
The internal argument also sets my preparation on fire, so when I get to the front desk, I blurt, “There’s someone stalking me,” instead of the calm, rational explanation I had planned.
I have the card inside a sealed baggie, the glitter still clinging to the outside despite having been cleaned before I put it into my purse. The eyes of the officer behind the counter widen, then he frowns. “You can save that for the interview. Someone’ll be with you shortly.”
The wait drives me insane, but it looks like my jiggling legs are also driving my neighbours in the waiting chairs batty. So much that I hear an audible sigh of relief as I stand when a PC calls my name. I follow the female constable through to a small room, hunching my shoulders as I take a seat.
“You’ve had someone following you?”
“Someone sent me this card,” I say, once again offering the plastic bag. “There was another one a few weeks ago, with a slightly different message.”
She tips the bag back and forth, then sets it aside. “And the message is?”
“The first card said, ‘Smile.’ This one reads, ‘Say cheese.’”
