Sixth-sense, women’s intuition, premonition, divination, gut feeling… it didn’t matter what people called it – since she was a little girl, Mary had always trusted hers. They varied in type and intensity. Sometimes it was just a shiver at the base of neck, sometimes an odd, suffocating knot at the back of her throat, and sometimes, and these were the rarest ones, she would feel every inch of her body turn into gooseflesh.
Right then, at the bottom of that stairwell, Mary got all three of them at the exact same time, practically paralyzing her in place. She didn’t have to look to know that the reason why she hadn’t heard the door click closed behind her was because there was someone else there.
Fear spread through her body faster than blood, but what really made her heart freeze in place was the voice that echoed through the corridor – sharp and cold like a killer’s blade.
‘So, you call yourself Mary Smith these days, do you?’
Fifty-Seven
Earlier that evening, when Mary arrived at the gallery, a few hours before the exhibition was due to start, she never noticed the person standing quietly across the road, slurping on an ice-cream cone, while calmly observing her. In fact, Mary had never noticed that same person tracking her for the past two weeks, shadowing her every move. Wherever Mary went, her tracker followed – always sporting a different look… something simple… unnoticeable… something that would never get Mary to look twice, even if they passed each other on the streets.
For those in the know, the rule was simple – the more that you looked like your mark, the less your mark was bound to notice you – and that had been the biggest difference between the person tracking Mary this time and gangster-suit man back in Nashville. This time, Mary’s tracker was a woman.
Thanks to so many biased TV-shows and a still very male-dominated world, when a mark was on the lookout for anyone following them, they tended to pay a lot more attention to men than to women – and Mary’s tracker had no doubt that Mary would’ve been on the lookout.
During the past two weeks, while following Mary around, the woman had taken hundreds of notes, documenting everything she could about Mary, but Mary seemed to be a very clued-up mark, staying as far away from a routine as she possibly could.Her jogs differed in day, time, location and route. She had no gym membership, no library card and no social media presence. Mary also didn’t own a car, even though she could clearly afford one. As far as her job was concerned, Mary didn’t seem to stick to any specific days or times either, probably doing most of her work from home, but tonight, Mary was at the gallery, greeting every arriving guest with a wide and warm smile.
For a brief moment, the woman standing across the road pondered the idea of sneaking into the gallery and maybe even mingling with the guests – it was a public and very busy exhibition after all – but she couldn’t really risk Mary noticing her, regardless of how much the thrill of the challenge excited her. True, the woman knew that sooner rather than later she’d have to be face-to-face with her mark, but she also knew that the Indie Art Exhibition wouldn’t be the right place – too public, which in turn made it too dangerous. No, the woman needed a much more private setting… something much more personal.
It was with that in mind that that morning, when she saw Mary exit the gallery, say goodbye to the two owners, andwalksouthward, instead of jumping into a cab like she usually did, she knew that Mary was heading to her apartment in Bayview, not the mansion that she seemed to share with her partner. All that the woman needed to do was get there first, which wasn’t a problem because while Mary didn’t drive, the woman did.
Less than fifteen minutes later, the woman watched as Mary rounded the corner, approached the old warehouse building, and entered her access code into the keypad by the door.
The woman had been to the building before. She’d studied its layout and taken several notes, including the fact that it took the front door exactly seven seconds to click back shut after it’d been pushed fully opened, which Mary had done.
So, as Mary stepped into the building, the woman stepped out of the shadows, her rubber-sole shoes making barely anynoise, as she picked up the pace to reach the door with a full second to spare.
No one outside on the streets… no one inside in the hallway… except for Mary.
It wouldn’t get much more private and personal than this. The woman knew that.
She smiled to herself as she quietly held the front door open while she slipped into the hallway… just behind Mary.
It was showdown time.
Fifty-Eight
‘So, you call yourself Mary Smith these days, do you?’ Mary heard the woman’s voice come from behind her, sending goosebumps flying all over her body and tying a knot at the back of her throat.
But Mary didn’t panic.
In a synchronized movement that seemed rehearsed, she swiveled her body around, while her hand reached into her handbag for her pepper spray. Her fingers wrapped themselves around the small canister just as she and the woman standing across the hallway from her finally locked eyes.
The knot at the back of Mary’s throat reached the size of a golf ball.
The woman took off her baseball cap and allowed her dark hair to tumble down past her shoulders. She was wearing a gray NYU sweatshirt, faded blue jeans and white running sneakers.
Mary’s eyes widened, as adrenaline flooded her body fast and hard, making all of her senses spark like fireworks. Her fingers tightened their grip around the canister inside her handbag and right then, Mary was sure that she could hear her heart echoing inside that hallway.
Maybe the woman could hear it too because she immediately raised a hand at Mary.
‘Easy now. You’re not going to have a heart attack, are you?’Her gaze darted to Mary’s handbag before coming back to Mary. ‘Or spray me with pepper spray?’
Something pirouetted inside Mary’s stomach and threatened to erupt up her throat and out of her mouth, but instead of vomit, what dribbled out of Mary’s lips were words.
‘What the fuck?’
Mary knew that woman.
