His perception was that I was powerless without a voice, and therefore, intriguing. This so-called random meeting was familiar and disturbing. Chance encounters that were more than coincidence had followed the party in my old life as well. Once I’d found them cute, but now I found them frightening.
As I walked away, I broke into a sweat and willed myself not to run. Prey runs. I didn’t want to be seen that way. I sensed his greedy eyes following my movement as I paid with my credit card. Goosebumps broke out and the hair on my arms lifted. I shivered. Outside, I gulped the cool evening air, trying to chase away the taste of fear. I’d held my breath through most of the conversation.
I hurried home and didn’t relax until I was inside my townhouse. I locked the doors and checked that the windows were closed. Feeling silly, I did another round an hour later and checked again. I would keep the curtains and blinds closed when I was home from now on. Had he followed me? I struggled to sleep, tossing and turning as I passed another fitful night. It had been years since I’d slept well, except for the nights I’d spent with Christopher.
Two days later, striding through my neighborhood on the way to work, I was struck by an odd sensation. My skin crawled, and I sensed I was being watched. With my heart in my throat, I glanced in all directions, but couldn’t find the source of the feeling. I kept a sharp lookout for Eric’s red corvette, but in vain. The same prickly sense alerted me the following day. To shake the feeling, I varied my commute, finding a different route each day.
I returned home at odd hours in the evening but made sure I didn’t stay at work too late. The outside light was on. I didn’t want to be alone when few people were out walking. Eric hadn’t shown up again, and I questioned myself, worried that I was suffering from paranoia.
Just when I was ready to dismiss my misgivings and told myself everything was normal, little things around my house went missing. First my favorite socks, then my pink thong underwear, and a book from my bedside table. I hadn’t moved them, and no matter how hard I searched, I couldn’t find them. Days later, the book reappeared, but without the bookmark.
Had Meghan stopped by to borrow something? She could have moved my stuff. Maybe she thought it was funny to move my organized belongings the way she’d mixed up my alphabetized paperbacks when we were teenagers, just to see if I’d noticed. I wanted it to be her, and she had the only other set of keys. The alternative was worse. Soon, something new disappeared every day. Nothing valuable, but it bothered me that so many things were lost or misplaced.
It preyed on my mind until the next Sunday at dinner, when I asked my sister.
“Have you stopped by my house? I can’t find my fuzzy socks or my bookmark.”
She laughed. “Welcome to the club. The rest of us lose things all the time. Forget where we put them. It’s normal.”
“I thought maybe you moved them as a joke. There’s a bunch of things missing.”
“You’re making too much of this. I doubt anything is missing. Your favorite socks will turn up. Maybe the dryer ate them, that’s what happens. So nice to find out that you, too, are fallible.”
I asked no more questions for the rest of the evening. I hated being mocked.
I didn’t bring up the missing items again for weeks, but I worried. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to, and I had no proof, but things kept happening. I’d come home and the lights would be on, though I was positive I’d shut them off in the morning. Apples disappeared from the fruit bowl. At first, I wondered if I’d miscounted, but I stopped buying them so I wasn’t feeding my stalker.
It came to a head the day I came home and Ember was outside on the back porch, mewing through the kitchen window. I never let her out. She was an inside kitty. I was grateful she hadn’t run away, but I was now certain that someone had been in my home. None of it made sense. I was afraid I was losing my mind, and I avoided thinking about the alternative. I didn’t want to consider that someone else had access to my locked house. I considered reaching out to Christopher, to tell him about my trouble, to ask for help, but we’d cut all contact and I didn’t dare. I called a locksmith and had the locks changed.
Plagued by scenes of the accident, tormented by restless thoughts of Christopher, I relived the nights of Eric’s abuse. He wasn’t far from my mind, no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. I lost my appetite, jumped at shadows, and refused to answer the door unless I confirmed it was my delivery. I tried to tell myself it was in my head, but in my gut, I knew it wasn’t harmless. It was Eric, and I was his target.
. . .
The next Friday was the day of the grand opening of my new exhibit on Human Origins at the Museum, my first major accomplishment. I’d have to see Christopher at the party that evening, even if I wouldn’t have to spend time with him. My best defense was a gorgeous black dress and fake smile. I’d had the gown in the closet for months and twice I’d found the zipper from the garment bag undone. On the Sunday before the opening, I asked my family again.
“Has anyone stopped by my place while I was out?”
“Has your sock monster struck again?” Meghan laughed.
She re-enacted a routine she’d seen on a Seinfeld special about runaway socks, ones that hid against the dryer wall, waiting for their moment, then inched down the road as they ran away, heading for a puppet show.
Though I tried to remain calm, I was livid. She wasn’t taking me seriously and worse, she made it hard for Dad and Andrew to consider the possibility. If things continued, I would speak to Andrew on his own. Maybe there’d been similar complaints in my neighborhood. As a police officer, he could check.
“Will you all come to the gala at the Museum? I sent an invitation but you haven’t replied. It’s the official opening of my new exhibit.”
“Sorry we haven’t answered yet,” said Dad. “Meghan said she’d take care of it.”
Meghan had lived with him until a few months ago, when she’d moved in with Andrew. Dad always let her take charge of his social life. My face burned as I wished he’d think for himself for a change.
“We’ll come if you tell us why Christopher is gone,” Meghan said.
I couldn’t believe she’d put conditions on their attendance. I didn’t want to be alone at the party with no one to share my accomplishment.
“What happened? You two were smitten. I liked him.”
“We aren’t together.”The pressure of tears built behind my eyes, but I willed them away.
“There has to be a reason,” she said. “We’ve given you time, but you never tell us anything. You’ve gotten so thin and look tired and unhappy. Now you’re jumping at every noise and looking for things in the shadows. We’re worried about you. You need to stop bottling everything up inside. We should plan a girls’ night.”
