My illusion of safety is shattered now.
They’ve never come into my house before.
I ignorantly thought it was Bear’s presence that kept me safe, kept them away.
Now, I know that no part of my life is off limits.
At first, it was just feelings. I’d get this prickle in my spine like I wasn’t alone—the distinct feeling someone was watching me.
Then, it turned into notes I’d find on the property or in my mailbox. Sometimes, they’d be on my car.
Always threatening. Always riddled.
Nothing like this, though.
I’ve called the cops, but nothing’s ever come of it. Whoever it is has never been found. Now, the local police look at me like I’minsane when they come to take reports, like I’m the one doing it to myself for attention.
I consider calling them again, my eyes wandering over to the lipstick tube that might garner the stalker’s fingerprints.
My phone is on my bed. I tossed it there on my way to the bathroom. I rush into the room and click the light on to search for it. I’m dialing and listening to the ring on the receiver when my mouth gapes in shock.
My dresser has a mirror. This one also has a message on it. This time, they used a permanent marker, now lying uncapped on the dresser’s top.
You’re mine!
“Talbot County 9-1-1. What is your emergency?” a woman answers, but I’m dumbstruck, my eyes still glued to the mirror. “Hello? Do you need Police, Fire, or Ambulance?”
“P-police!” I finally get out. “Please, send someone fast. Someone’s been in my home.”
The call drags on as the dispatcher refuses to get off the phone with me until help arrives. When it does, it’s Officer George. We have known one another well over the last two years I’ve lived here.
“Greer, what happened?” he asks, but his tone is exasperated.
I show him the two mirrors, and he takes it seriously, taking the lipstick tube, marker, and dusting for prints.
“Don’t get your hopes up about this. It’s rare for stalkers who are stealthy enough to get in and out of your house to leave prints behind,” he tells me.
“What more can I do? Now I don’t feel safe. They can get into my home!”
“You have a gun?” he asks, to which I shake my head.
“I’d think about getting one.”
That’s it. That’s all he does before he snaps some pics, gives me a copy of his report, and leaves.
Half of me wonders if he thinks I staged it. Once he’s gone, I get into bed with all the lights on and Bear, opening my phone to start looking at guns online.
When the guy from my date texts my phone to see if I got home alright, I look around the room and toward the two massive windows in my bedroom, wondering if I answered iftheywould know.
Deciding I don’t want to chance it, I block his number and then lie down, letting the first of many tears fall.
I know this isn’t the end of my troubles with whoever is stalking me, and I worry how far it’ll go.
My phone pings again, and I quirk a brow, grabbing it off the wireless charging dock and nearly knocking it over. I definitely blocked him, but maybe it’s Allison?!
I know your secret.
3
