Within the Shadows (24 page)

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Authors: Brandon Massey

BOOK: Within the Shadows
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She watched him, smiling, as the realization sank in.
Then she strutted out of the house, swinging her hips.
He locked the door—both the dead bolt and the chain.
His hands shook.
On weak legs, he made his way upstairs to the office. A new line of text glowed on the screen.
 
YOUR IN BIG TRUBEL NOW
Chapter 23
 
E
ric let out a whistle as Andrew finished telling him what had happened.
“Damn, bro, I’m sorry to hear that. Sounds like you’ve got a seriously psychotic female on your hands.”
They were on the deck at Eric’s house. It was half-past six in the evening; Andrew arrived there almost immediately after Eric got home from work. He’d been a package of nerves for the past few hours and had been eager to share his story with his friend.
Still dressed in his dark brown Armani suit, silk tie loosened, Eric paced the wooden planks, hands buried in his pockets. Eric the Comedian had vacated the premises and been replaced by his identical but solemn twin, Eric the Attorney.
Andrew had told him everything that had occurred. He wanted his advice. Eric worked as an employment law attorney at a boutique firm in Buckhead; he’d litigated numerous cases of workplace sexual harassment, which Andrew figured was close to what he’d been experiencing with Mika—with the unfortunate exception being that his situation wasn’t limited to an office. Mika was harassing him everywhere he went.
In his retelling, he’d left out the parts about his communication with the ghost, Sammy. He wanted to keep his talk with Eric in the realm of the real world, for now. He still didn’t understand how the ghost knew about Mika. Upon discovering the last message from Sammy, which warned him that he was in big trouble, he’d typed a question asking Sammy to elaborate. But the ghost never responded.
“Mika’s psychotic all right,” Andrew said. “Strong, too. She doesn’t look like she could harm a fly, but she flipped that table across the room like it was a paper plate.”
“Could be on drugs,” Eric said. “PCP, something that amped up her nerves. Or she’s just flat-out crazy.”
“And she knows everything—I mean
everything
—about me,” Andrew said. “This woman could write a book on my life.”
“She’s taken her time to plan this,” Eric said. “That’s typical of stalkers. They have an ability to gather information that could shame the NSA.”
He reflected on the time he’d spent in Mika’s hotel suite, the morning after their date.
“But she’s taken this to another level,” Andrew said. “When I woke up the next morning, she’d laid out the same deodorant and toothpaste and stuff that I use. Cooked the breakfast foods that I liked. Eric,
even the newspaper
was arranged in the exact order that I read it every day.”
“Whoa,” Eric said. “Gotta admit, that’s impressive. Disturbing as hell, but impressive.”
“I thought it was all coincidence.” He shook his head, leaned back in the deck chair. “But none of it was. I feel like an idiot for ignoring the signs.”
“Don’t blame yourself. You were letting the other head do the thinking, for a minute. Wouldn’t be the first brother guilty of that, you know.”
“But as much as she knows about me, I hardly know anything specific about her. I don’t even know where she lives.”
“That’s right, you spent the night with her at the Ritz.” Eric tapped his lips. “She’s
really
been planning this.”
“The hotel should have some info on her. Her home address, for sure.”
“As detail oriented as this chick seems to be, I wouldn’t count on it,” Eric said. “How about that Rolls Royce she takes around town? Ever seen the plates?”
“I never thought of that. Never seen the driver, either, actually.”
“You’ve got to pay attention to that stuff, bro. Didn’t I tell you that you have to be more careful in your personal life?”
“Don’t lecture me right now, man.”
“Sorry, my bad.”
“I admit it—I screwed up,” Andrew said. “But I need to know what to do about this. I want your legal advice.”
Eric sat on the railing. He folded his arms, his gaze serious.
“Legally, your only recourse, initially, is to get a temporary restraining order. You know what that is?”
“Yeah, the cops’ll tell her to stay the hell away from me.”
“That’s the basic idea. The problem for you is that matters haven’t moved along far enough for you to request one yet. There has to be an established pattern of stalking and threats before you have a decent chance of getting a TRO. No doubt, Mika’s tripping, but she’s just started, bro.”
“But this isn’t gonna end anytime soon. She told me that herself.”
“Then you need to keep a record of everything she does and says,” Eric said. “Every uninvited visit, every nutty phone call or crazy E-mail message, every threatening word or harassing signal—write it all down. Write down the innocent seeming stuff, too, like if she sends you flowers or something. You’ve kicked her out of your crib already, and if she keeps dropping by and getting in touch with you, that’s harassment.”
“What about this?” He raised the pager that Mika had given him.
“Keep it. Save all of the messages. Could be helpful later.”
“Will do.”
“The bottom line is this. The more documentation you have, the easier it’ll be for you to get a TRO—and if things get worse and you have to press criminal charges, those records would be a gold mine for a prosecuting attorney.”
“I hope it doesn’t get to that point, but I’ll take your advice.”
Eric cocked his head. “Want some more advice? Switch up your routines.”
“Why?”
“I know, that’s the last thing you wanna hear, but you’ve gotta do some things differently. Stop going out for walks every evening and to Starbucks on Tuesday morning and all of that. Make it harder for her to keep track of you.”
“Makes sense, I guess.”
“Just watch your back, bro. At all times. You’re probably going to feel paranoid for a while, but that’s all right. It’s necessary until we get this under control and can cool this chick down or throw her in the joint.”
“Thanks, Eric. I appreciate the tips.”
Eric waved off his words. “Have you told Carmen the latest on this?”
“We’re having dinner tonight. I plan to tell her then.”
“Ah, you and Carmen are kicking it two nights in a row? Need to tell me something?”
Andrew smiled for the first time in hours. “I’m taking her to dinner to thank her for helping at the cookout.”
“Uh-huh. I was sweating like a pig at that grill. You ain’t offered to take me to dinner.”
“Wanna go? I’ll take you to Waffle House.”
“You’re planning to make a move on her. You ain’t slick.”
“We’re just friends. Nothing’s changed yet.”
“Not yet. But it will if you’ve got anything to do with it.”
“I plead the fifth.”
“Whatever, bro. All I can say is, it’s about damn time.”
Andrew wanted to play it cool, but he couldn’t stop smiling.
Eric grinned, too, but then his face drew into a taut expression.
“Want another tip? Every stalker I’ve ever heard of is jealous as hell. You and Carmen both need to be careful now.”
Chapter 24
 
L
ater that evening, Carmen and Andrew went to dinner at Red Lobster.
Over platters of fried shrimp and glasses of white zinfandel, he filled her in on everything that had happened. He’d had a whirlwind of a day, but her comforting presence anchored him on stable ground. He hoped that discussing the latest developments with her would give him more ideas on what he should do to regain control of his life.
“Jeez, you’ve had a day out of a nightmare,” she said. “Psycho chick proved my theory.”
“What theory?”
“That’s she’s straight-up crazy, that’s what. I had a bad feeling about her the minute she showed up at my door. Call it female intuition.”
“Has to be female intuition, ’cause I sure didn’t expect her to act like this when I met her.”
“Of course not. No
man
would—he’d be too busy drooling over her.”
He only nodded. He couldn’t disagree at all with her assessment.
She dipped a shrimp in cocktail sauce. “But you’re holding up well. I’m kinda impressed.”
“Impressed?”
“To see Mr. Robotic rolling with the punches like this? Yeah, I’m impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you.”
“Being around you helps. If I didn’t have you and Eric, I don’t know what I’d do.”
“That’s what friends are for.” She popped a shrimp in her mouth. “I’m really curious about how Sammy plans to help you with Mika.”
“Me, too. I wish he’d been more specific.”
“Remember what I said last night? That there has to be a connection between him and psycho chick, because it seemed too coincidental that all of this would be happening at the same time?”
“Maybe Sammy’s a dead relative of hers. Or how about a guy that she stalked and killed? Maybe he wants to help me so she doesn’t murder me, too.”
“She’s not going to hurt you. We’ll get her crazy ass thrown in jail first.”
“I’m only brainstorming. Sammy has to have
some
kind of history with her.”
“Agreed,” she said. “Next time we talk to him, we’ve gotta get him to tell us more about his background, where he knows her from.”
“It’s not gonna be easy. Sammy’s got the writing skills of an eight year old. It’s hard to get a clear answer out of him.”
“What do you think of this sad place he mentioned? Any ideas at all on that?”
“None,” he said. “I tried to get a detailed answer out of him, but he wouldn’t give me one. Frustrating.”
“Something’ll break. We’ll do the best we can.”
He noted her frequent use of the word “we.” He liked that; she wasn’t abandoning him to deal with this on his own. She was partnering with him. He had never been more grateful for her friendship.
And what about taking their friendship to the next level? Although they were having a good conversation, the timing still felt wrong to him. He wanted to wait until he’d restored a semblance of order to his life. Then, with his mind at ease, he could talk to her about moving away from the platonic zone and into the realm of a relationship—and hope that she shared his feelings.
He rose to visit the rest room. On the way across the restaurant, he spotted Mika, sitting at a corner booth. She watched him.
He halted in mid-stride, nearly causing a waiter to crash into him with a tray of food.
“Sorry.” He stepped aside.
It wasn’t Mika. The woman in the booth, dining with a man, bore only a faint resemblance to her.
He was getting paranoid. Eric had warned him that he would, had said it was a good thing because it would keep him on his toes. But it bothered him. With his vivid imagination, a touch of paranoia would go a long way. Too much of it would send him to the loony bin.
Keeping his eyes straight ahead, he hurried the rest of the way to the washroom.
 
 
After dinner, they went to Andrew’s house. One of the cats sat on the hood of Carmen’s Lexus. The other two cats lounged near the shrubbery, green eyes shining in the evening’s deepening twilight.
“Damn cats,” Andrew said. “I don’t know where they came from.”
“Have you fed them?” she asked.
“Never. They’ve been hanging around for days. They never meow, they just watch me.”
“That’s kinda weird.” She unbuckled her seat belt as he nosed the car into the garage. He got out, carrying a take-home box from the restaurant.
He headed for the door that led inside the house, but Carmen wandered outside the garage, approaching the cat that rested on her car.
“How ya doin’, kitty?” she said in a coaxing voice. She loved cats. “My car make a warm little resting spot for ya?”
The feline stared at her. It didn’t move.
“He’s a Russian Blue,” she said.
“Blue? I guess I can kinda see the blue in the fur, but I would’ve just called them gray cats.”
“I know, but cat folks call them blue,” she said. “Gimme some food, please.”
“If you feed it, then I’ll never get rid of it.”
“Come on, Drew.” She snapped her fingers.
He opened the Styrofoam carton. She plucked a shrimp from inside. Stepping forward, she waved the morsel in the air.
The cat showed no interest in the food. Its watchful gaze shifted from Carmen to Andrew, back to Carmen.

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