Stalker Page 7

  Jesus H. Christ! What the fuck am I doing here? Jerry glanced wildly about, certain he would see people anxiously pointing his way, running off to call the police. He wanted to be home, tucked comfortably in bed. Yet at the same time, he had a strange fascination with the recent events. He had been there since the start, and was dying to see the story through to its final act. His fears were abated when he noticed no one looked his way suspiciously, no one ran off to call the police. In fact, no one seemed to realize they were there at all, least of all the girl in the pink shorts.

  Jerry unlocked his door. It seemed odd that the interior car light stayed out. He put one foot on the street, and then the other, careful not to scatter gravel. Taking a deep breath, he stood. He hitched his breath when his car door shut louder than he anticipated. Eyes darting in every direction, he was ready to leap back into the car at the slightest hint of trouble. There was none. Heart pounding, he took his first steps towards catching up to reaching Dan and the girl he was stalking.

  *5*

  Up ahead, Dan continued to draw nearer to his target. Though he usually felt in control, a little bit of doubt, a little bit of fear always remained. But tonight he could feel strength in his soul, a powerful command over his senses, a great awareness of his surroundings and how he related to them—he practically had a bounce in his stride, he was so confident. He attributed these feelings to the fact that he was showing off to Jerry. He understood that Jerry thought the whole idea ludicrous, and he was determined to prove to him that it was not. On the surface he could see how it might be taken as a bizarre activity, but if Jerry would only try it he would come to realize the spiritual cleansing qualities involved—he was sure of it.

  He focused his attention to a single point on the girl’s back, right where her shoulder blades came together. He let all other distractions fall away. The only sensations he was aware of were things he needed to survive: sudden noises that might signal the appearance of people, the steady beat of her step, and the direction and speed of the wind. In all likelihood, his nerves were as keen as a jungle cat’s hunting its prey.

  Moments later, he became aware of another noise: the sound of Jerry’s footsteps as the novice followed, fascinated. He allowed himself a casual glance over his shoulder to confirm it was indeed Jerry, but he really had no doubt. He looked back to the girl, and she seemed totally ignorant to the sound that was echoing in Dan’s ears. He thought Jerry would give them away. It was so loud and obvious! How could she not hear it?

  *6*

  Jerry continued to observe, careful to maintain a discreet distance in case something happened. No one will ever connect me to this activity as long as I stay back, he surmised. He had no idea what might happen, except maybe the girl screaming “Rape!” once Dan was upon her. In any case, he was glad to be this far back.

  Despite all his reservations, the closer Dan got to the girl, the more Jerry’s curiosity piqued. He wondered if he had the skills necessary to carryout a successful stalk. He watched Dan’s movements, studied his techniques. In a short time, he felt that he too could escape detection. He began to understand Dan’s passion for this uncouth pastime. It felt creepy, but a good kind of creepy. There was no other way to describe it. Disregarding his earlier plan, he now moved closer.

  He had to contain a gasp. He saw that Dan was virtually on top of the girl—he could get no closer. Dan looked like a character in a sitcom, waving his hands behind the girl, teasing her, as she was oblivious to the situation. If this was a sitcom, the girl would suddenly spin around, turning the tables on Dan, and he would pretend that he was brushing his hair or swatting at a bug. But this wasn’t a sitcom, it was real, and Dan’s proximity to her made him nervous again. If she suddenly stopped, Dan would crash into her—there was no avoiding it. What would he do then? Say, “Excuse me” and continue on like nothing happened? Jerry wondered if Dan had ever been in that situation before. He thought not.

  To his relief, Dan stopped dead in his tracks, letting the girl continue along as before. He posed waiting for Jerry, one hand resting comfortably on his hip, the other outstretched, prissy, fingers pressed tightly together. Apparently he’d had enough.

  Jerry hustled the rest of the way to Dan. He was sweating bullets, but Dan, who did all the work, was as dry as a model in an antiperspirant commercial.

  Dan stood smugly, handing Jerry the object he had pinched between his fingers.

  “A piece of lint from her towel that drifted onto her back,” Dan announced. “I thought I’d tidy her up a bit.”

  “You picked this off her back?” Jerry asked, unbelieving, examining the small ball of fluff in his palm.

  “It was the least I could do. She was so attractive, and something like that really messed up her ensemble.”

  “That’s insane! What were you thinking?”

  “Believe me, she never knew.”

  “But still—”

  “I don’t really know why I’m showing you this, but for some reason I’m trusting you. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you didn’t get a rush from doing this?”

  Jerry avoided his look, because he knew that he did get a thrill from it—the kind of thrill a boy experiences soaping windows on Halloween night, or hiding in the woods and throwing water balloons at cars as they drove past. Every fiber in his body told him that it was wrong, yet every fiber in his body yearned for more.

  “I didn’t really do anything,” he said, ducking the question.

  “Then I guess we’ll have to change that,” Dan announced.

  “What do you mean?”

  “It’s your turn.”

  Jerry knew that he’d regret what he said next, yet he said it all the same. “Okay. What do I do?”

  Dan clapped his hands together in triumph and took Jerry under his wing, tutoring him in the fine art of stalking. He explained the importance of always keeping one foot on the ground, rolling from heel to toe in a light, continuous motion. For the next few minutes they walked up and down the sidewalk, rehearsing.

  “You know, that killer in Stalker could’ve used some lessons from you,” Jerry cracked. “You’re really very good at this.”

  “All it takes is a little practice.”

  “Don’t plan on me dropping golf for this. This is a one shot deal, and only because you goaded me into it.”

  “Can’t take the peer pressure?” Dan commented snidely.

  “No. It’s because you have the keys.”

  Dan patted the jingling bulge in his pocket and smiled. He had no intention of letting Jerry off the hook.

  “How much longer do I have to keep pacing back and forth? Can’t I just do it and get it over with?”

  “You’re not ready yet,” Dan said calmly. “A few more minutes.” He nodded encouragement.

  Placating Dan, Jerry continued practicing, while Dan surveyed the territory, seeking a proper target. A few minutes later Dan signaled to him to be quiet and pointed.

  Jerry had to admit that Dan did have an eye. She wore Lycra bicycle pants, hugging her tightly, a trim waist, and incredibly long legs. Red hair tumbled down her back. Jerry could only imagine the green eyes he knew had to exist. To make it easy, she wore a Walkman. She snapped his fingers and bopped in her own world to the music as she walked.

  “There she is. She ought to be easy. Go get her, tiger.”

  “Now?”

  “Right now.”

  Jerry’s gut knotted up, his lips went dry. He nervously ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  “Hurry up, before she goes inside,” Dan provoked.

  “Okay,” Jerry replied spitefully. “Don’t push.”

  He felt like he was in junior high again, trying to summon the courage to ask a girl out on his first date, the fall dance. He would sit by the phone and dial the first six digits of her phone number, but dialing the seventh was a real stumbling block. The one time he finally did have the nerve to dial all seven he frantically hung up after two rings when he heard his father’s
footsteps coming up the stairs. He was embarrassed to have his dad overhear his conversation. He knew that his pop would get a stupid parental smile on his face, summon his wife, and the two of them would stand grinning in the doorway, their arms around each other’s waist, musing about what a little man young Jerry was becoming.

  His fears were annoying then, and they were annoying now. He sucked in a deep breath, wiped his sweaty palms off on his pants, and took his first step toward the girl.

  He spent the first few blocks simply trying to catch up to her. She was young, athletic, and walked for exercise, not pleasure. She moved quickly in tempo to her music.

  So far, stalking her was easy. He kept far enough back that a casual observer looking out a window wouldn’t think anything was strange. He glanced back at Dan, who followed discretely, urging him on with a knowing smile. He tried to smile back, but it felt unconvincing.

  His heart beat like a hummingbird’s. The strain on its muscles actually hurt. In his mind he envisioned the blood soaked tissue pumping furiously, exerting every ounce of energy to keep up with his body’s demands for oxygen, until the pressure grew too great, and his organ burst open in one final grandiose act, flooding his body cavity in a pool of gore.

  Jerry shook his head, dismissing this image, and found that he was virtually upon the girl. In between the time that he conjured up his gruesome vision and now, he had closed the gap to mere feet. Leaning in, he could hear the tinny sound of music from her speakers, though he couldn’t make out the tune. Even in the darkness between streetlights her red hair burned, begging for closer examination. Taking the plunge, Jerry moved in, his pace quickening, his breath short. Jerry always was a sucker for redheads.

  Suddenly, when he thought he had the knack of this down, she turned around. Jerry toppled into her. His eyes opened wide as he swung his arms wildly, trying to maintain his balance. She reached out, trying to help, but it was too late. They both went sprawling on a nearby lawn, wet and glistening from being freshly sprinkled.

  The girl removed her headphones, laughing with embarrassment. “I’m so sorry. I guess I didn’t hear you coming.” She pointed to her Walkman.

  “That’s okay,” Jerry gasped, hitching for breath. “I was following too close. I was about to pass and…”

  A look of recognition flashed across her face. “Hey, you’re Jerry Stevens, aren’t you?”

  All worry of having to explain himself vanished. Instead of being annoyed or afraid of the man who bumped into her in the dark, she fell into a “gosh wow” pattern that Jerry experienced almost daily.

  “Yes.”

  “I thought so,” she blushed. “I was sorry to hear you’re leaving.”

  “Thank you. I was out walking around the neighborhood one last time,” he lied, surprised at how smoothly it came out.

  “You live around here?”

  Jerry hesitated a moment. “A few blocks over. The address is unlisted.”

  She nodded in amazement. Here she had lived for the past five years within walking distance to Jerry Stevens’s “house” and never knew it.

  “Well, I’d better get going. I’ve still got some things to pack.”

  She was still in awe and didn’t have much else to say except, “It was nice meeting you.”

  “Yes. You too.”

  They stood smiling stupidly a moment longer, and then Jerry took off continuing along in the same direction. The girl headed back the way he came. At the first corner Jerry turned left. He looked back at the girl, who was walking, but still watching him. He gave her a small wave, and went around the bend, out of sight.

  *7*

  Ten minutes later Jerry returned to the car. Dan was leaning against the hood, legs crossed, stifling a yawn.

  “How’d it go?” he asked loudly.

  “Shhhh! Get in!” Jerry whispered, running over. He frantically looked in all directions, fully expecting the girl to come over at any second, pointing an accusing finger: You said you lived around here!

  “Don’t worry about the girl,” Dan said calmly, not making a move toward the door. “She came by here a while ago. Nice smile. Green eyes. Very attractive. Did you get her number?”

  “Shut up, you dumb shit and get your ass in the car!” Jerry hissed angrily. He wasn’t in the mood for Dan’s haughty attitude.

  Dan smirked and took his time getting in the car, laughing to himself. A minute later they were driving away from the scene of Jerry’s fiasco with stalking. Dan hummed along with a tune on the radio while Jerry sulked.

  “Do you realize I had to go around the block? I mean way around the block,” Jerry stated matter-of-factly, appealing to some sense of mercy in Dan. He found none.

  “Can I help it if I’m better than you?”

  He looked over and saw that Jerry was truly concerned.

  “Relax,” Dan assured him. “You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

  “Oh yeah? What happens when she starts talking to her friends, telling them that Jerry Stevens lives by her?”

  “Is that what you told her?”

  “What else was I supposed to say? I had to explain my presence somehow.”

  “There are hundreds of houses you could have come from. It’s a nice night, you could have taken a lengthy stroll, maybe even gone a couple of miles. Do you actually think that she’ll go walking around, looking for your supposed house?”

  Jerry grunted. Dan took that as a “no.”

  “She’ll never find out that you don’t live around here,” Dan continued. “And besides, in a few weeks no one will remember that you ever worked at WKBC. You’ll be forgotten like yesterday’s news.”

  “Thanks a lot,” Jerry grumbled. “That’s very comforting to know.”

  “You don’t believe me? When was the last time you thought about Tina Joyce, or Ken Tucker, or Barbara Cummings, or—”

  Jerry held up a hand, chuckling. “All right, already! That’s enough! I get the picture.”

  “It just goes to show that you pretty boys are worth a dime a dozen: here today, gone tomorrow.”

  “Jesus, you can be an asshole,” Jerry moaned, slugging Dan playfully in the shoulder. “I’m gonna miss you.”

  “Same here, buddy,” Dan said, feeling a tear well up. Embarrassed, he wiped it aside. “Same here.”

  Leaving Town

  *1*

  Jerry kicked himself for putting off his move until the last minute, but after working hard for the last three hours, his apartment was finally almost empty. Just a few items remained, along with the phone. He reached for it to make one final call before unplugging it from the wall. Janet answered on the third ring.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Janet. This is Jerry.”

  “Jerry!” she said, surprised. “How are you?”

  “Fine. I wasn’t sure you’d be home.”

  “You got lucky. I’m not showing any houses today.”

  They small talked for a few more minutes, Jerry explaining that he wanted to see her before he left. They decided to meet for an early lunch. She suggested a small coffee shop, and they made arrangements to meet there in one hour.

  He was still holding the phone when it rang. He was startled by the shrill sound, convinced it must be Janet calling to change some detail of their meeting—the time or location.

  “Hey, something change?” he asked casually.

  “Is this Jerry Stevens?” an authoritative voice inquired.

  “Yes,” Jerry responded, puzzled over who this might be. It sure didn’t sound like a telemarketer.

  “I’m Sergeant Miles Cameron with the police. I’m heading up a murder investigation and was wondering if you might be able to answer some questions.”

  Jerry’s heart stopped and he slumped to the floor. This has to be about stalking last night! Somehow he knows about it, and that red-haired girl has pressed charges!

  “Did you say murder?” he asked, suddenly realizing this wasn’t about him.

  “It has to do with Jenn
ifer Cook, one of the ‘Dumpster Killer’ victims. Her friends got some pictures back that they took at The Norseman’s Bar, and we happened to recognize you in the background of one of them. We’re trying to contact as many people as we can who were there that night, to see if they saw anything.”

  Jerry shook his head. “No. Nothing. I remember the bachelorette party going on, but that’s it. No strange people in the shadows.”

  “Was anyone with you?”

  “Dan Freeman, but I doubt he can help you either.”

  “Can you be reached at this number if we need to get in touch with you again?”

  Jerry let out a little laugh. “You were lucky to catch me this time. I was just packing up the phone. I’m moving today.”

  “Really? Where to?”

  “Lansing, Michigan.”

  “Have a safe trip. I doubt we’ll need you again. Like I said, we’re just calling and asking everyone we can identify.”

  After he hung up, he pulled the cord from the wall and wrapped it around the phone. That call left him unnerved. He didn’t want another to follow in its wake. He tucked it under his arm, grabbed two suitcases and went down to the car. Three trips later, winded from hiking up and down the stairs, he was finished.

  The apartment never felt so empty.

  Jerry took one last walking tour of the place. Each room held some sort of remembrance for him: some good, some not so good. But when you live in a place for a certain length of time, from the most rundown hole to the swankiest penthouse, it becomes a part of you, taking on a life of its own. Saying goodbye to his home was almost as trying as parting with his friends.