Stalker Read online

  He went to the bathroom to urinate from all his drinking. He got a good look at himself in the mirror. He wasn’t pleased with what he saw: bloodshot eyes, rough tongue, puffy cheeks, nasal drip. Between his drinking and the hysterical state he was in he looked like a real prize. Crying eyes, mussed hair, wrinkled clothes—the image disgusted him.

  When he got back to the living room he reached for the phone again. He felt he had to talk to somebody. Halfway through dialing Jerry’s number out of habit, Dan realized he didn’t live there anymore. Calling East Lansing was out of the question, because he didn’t know which hotel Jerry was at. He thought about Melissa, but it dawned on him how little they really knew each other. Besides, thinking about calling her was what got him into this mess anyway.

  That left Janet. But Dan got exactly what he had expected—no answer—and went to bed feeling dizzy and alone.

  She wasn’t home.

  Montage

  *1*

  Melissa walked into the newsroom, made her way to her desk, and draped a handbag over the arm of her chair. She checked for messages, and seeing none went to the coffee machine and poured herself a cup. Although she didn’t realize it, she had fallen into a drab morning routine. Had she known, she would have welcomed it, for it signaled the beginning of feeling at home at WKBC.

  Still she felt a burden. She needed to prove herself because she knew how well Jerry was loved. The local paper’s TV critic liked her, and she was increasing her circle of contacts, but she felt it was time to shake things up, make a name for herself, make people forget about Jerry Stevens.

  Sipping her coffee, she looked toward Laura’s office window, disappointed to find the light out. It didn’t take a reporter to surmise that Laura had yet to arrive. She wanted to meet with her boss to tell her about the idea she had this morning. What she wanted to do was a series of special reports.

  *2*

  Mrs. Hardy was struggling with the lock on her door when Janet came strolling down the hall carrying a small bag of groceries. The two nodded in greeting as Janet inserted her key in her door and opened it with no trouble. She was halfway inside when she noticed an unspoken plea for help in Mrs. Hardy’s fading blue eyes. She set her bag down on the floor, and although she was in a hurry, went to help her neighbor.

  “Having trouble with your lock?” she asked Mrs. Hardy in a whispering tone she used only with the elderly as she tiptoed over. It was a patronizing question, for the answer was obvious.

  Mrs. Hardy looked up into Janet’s face, feeling foolish. She expected to see heartfelt concern in her features, and was disappointed to find cold impatience, for she had always liked Janet. Still, she tried to spark a conversation.

  “It’s these old wooden doors,” she complained. “The heat warps them something awful. It’s a wonder anyone can open their door at all.”

  “I didn’t have any trouble,” Janet replied.

  Mrs. Hardy simply smiled and stepped aside, giving Janet the opportunity to try. She hurried over and jiggled the key, expecting it to turn on her command. Mrs. Hardy felt a small victory when Janet’s efforts met with failure. Janet frowned and tried again. Her lips curled with determination, she twisted the key every which way. Mrs. Hardy cringed, thinking Janet’s reckless methods would snap the key off in her lock.

  “Are you sure this is the right key?” Janet asked.

  “Look at it. It’s the same design as yours.”

  Janet realized Mrs. Hardy was right. She pressed her shoulder against the door and leaned hard, pushing with her hand. When it still wouldn’t budge, she began banging her hip against it. At last she slumped in defeat.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hardy, but I can’t seem to get it open either.”

  The old woman smiled. “That’s okay, dear. You tried your best. That’s all that counts.”

  “Would you like to come inside my apartment for now? We can call the landlord from there.”

  Mrs. Hardy clapped her hands together. “Bless you, child.”

  She gave her door one last, scoffing look, and then followed Janet inside her apartment.

  *3*

  “How are things going with Dan?” Laura asked.

  The mere mention of Dan’s name brought a smile to Melissa’s face. “Great. We’re starting to get a little telepathy going,” she said, explaining how she didn’t have to spell everything out to Dan that she wanted shot.

  “Good to hear it. I was a little worried that since Jerry Stevens was his best friend he might unconsciously give you a hard time.”

  “No. Not at all. In fact, every time we work I get left in stitches. He’s so funny. I like him a lot.”

  Laura nodded happily, and then asked, “So, what kind of project do you have in mind?”

  “Well, I’m not exactly sure,” Melissa said, trying to pick her words carefully. She had a concept to sell, but what it was was even a mystery to her. “I guess it begins with this weird lady I met at my spa yesterday…”

  “Weird?” Laura asked. “How so?”

  “I was drying off after my swim,” Melissa answered, shifting uneasily, “when this woman came in and walked over to the locker next to mine. I recognized her from the pool because she was swimming with a crystal on a chain around her neck, which I thought was odd. We got into a conversation, and I asked her how she could swim with her necklace on. I said it would drive me crazy.”

  Laura nodded patiently, but Melissa realized she was babbling. If this was going to fly, she had to cut to the meat of the issue.

  She asked Laura, “How much do you know about the New Age movement, crystals, that sort of stuff?”

  “Not much at all. I’ve dismissed it as a trend.”

  “So did I, but after yesterday, I’m not so sure.”

  Laura leaned forward, becoming intrigued. “Go on…”

  “This woman started telling me all about the crystal she wore, and how she never went anywhere without it. She was like a devout Catholic carrying a crucifix or saint medallions with her all the time. I asked her if she ever worried that she might lose it having it with her constantly, and she looked at me like I was insane. She said it was impossible to lose.”

  “I wish my earrings were like that,” Laura jested.

  Melissa nodded, smirking. “I know what you mean. But seriously, this woman truly believed that she would never lose her crystal. When I asked her what would happen if she did, she said that she didn’t ever want to think about that, and then she clutched it tightly, almost fanatically.”

  She knew that Laura was interested, but not hooked.

  “Anyway, I was thinking about doing a special report, maybe a series, about the new era of religion,” Melissa continued. “I’d like to focus on some of the alternative religions that have come out recently, especially since the turning of the millennium, and maybe use this New Age crystal following as a springboard.”

  “You think it’s an organization, and not just one woman’s idea?”

  “I’m sure of it,” Melissa said. “After we talked for a little while longer she asked me if I was interested in learning more about it, and invited me to a gathering.”

  With this new piece of information, Melissa could tell that she had Laura hooked. “It sounds like it might make a good sweeps piece. Take the time to investigate it further if you’d like, but I’m a little nervous about this ‘invitation.’ It sounds sort of cult-like.”

  Melissa smiled. “Don’t worry about that. I can take care of myself.”

  *4*

  While Janet brewed coffee in the kitchen, Mrs. Hardy took the opportunity to look around the room uninterrupted. She did some interior decorating years ago, though her tastes were more old-fashioned, European. Janet’s place was very modern. A series of black and white nude prints hung on her wall. The surroundings were painted in with pastel watercolors, but the nude was left untouched, stark and contrasting, faceless. Mrs. Hardy wasn’t offended, but she felt that the art painted a bleak portrait of man and his relationshi
p with his environment.

  “How do you like your coffee?” Janet called from the kitchen.

  Mrs. Hardy was slightly startled. She felt like she was in an art gallery more than a home and almost forgot Janet was even there.

  “Cream and sugar if you’ve got it. Otherwise, black is fine.”

  Janet emerged from the kitchen carrying a serving tray on which two cups of steaming coffee, saucers, milk and a small dish of sugar rested. She invited Mrs. Hardy to sit down, and set the tray on the glass coffee table.

  Mrs. Hardy marveled at the serving tray. It was impeccably polished, highly reflective. Its smooth demeanor was broken only on the handles. Embedded in each were three large quartz-like crystals. They too were shiny, but jagged.

  “That’s lovely. Where did you get it?” she asked.

  “A friend gave it to me,” Janet answered. “He says that its high reflectiveness is a good reminder of our own souls, acting as a window to our spiritual being.”

  “I suppose…” Mrs. Hardy replied, not expecting that bizarre answer at all. Janet smiled at her, offering the first hint of genuine kindness since they met. Not wanting to break the mood, Mrs. Hardy asked another question. “Do the stones have any significance?”

  “The quartz is supposed to channel the portions of the soul that escape through the window back into the person reflected, renewing them with new vigor and a healthier outlook.”

  Mrs. Hardy raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Do you believe all that?”

  “Why not? Standard religions don’t seem to hold the answers,” Janet answered frankly.

  “For you,” Mrs. Hardy pointed out. “For me, Christianity has been the guiding force in my life.”

  “I’m glad you can say that with such confidence. Take comfort where you can find it, I say.”

  “Maybe this is none of my business,” Mrs. Hardy said slowly. “It seems to me that you’re not all that convinced about…about whatever it is you’re talking about.”

  “You’re right,” Janet said curtly. “It isn’t any of your business.” She stood up and walked to the kitchen, grabbing the extension. “I’ll call the landlord for you now.”

  *5*

  Dan wandered through the newsroom, lost in thought. He didn’t like the way his life was going. Here he was, a man of twenty-seven, obsessed with horror memorabilia. He thought that maybe there was something wrong with that. He also felt alone, since there wasn’t anyone he could call to talk to last night. I should have called Melissa… Why didn’t I?

  He then spied Melissa on her hands and knees by her desk, a hurried look on her face. She frantically looked for something while stealing glances at the clock. He crept up on her.

  “Can I help?” he asked, startling her a bit.

  “I’m supposed to be at a meeting in twenty minutes, but I can’t find my notes.”

  Dan dropped down on all fours next to her, admiring the curve of her back from this angle. “What exactly am I looking for?”

  “It’s a light blue notebook, about the size of a paperback.”

  “Something like this?” Dan said, holding up the notebook, grinning.

  “Yes!” Melissa exclaimed, taking it from him and jamming it into her bag. “Thank you!”

  She was so excited Dan was practically expecting a hug, and found himself somewhat disappointed when one didn’t come. Crouched under her desk with her, he suddenly felt awkward.

  “Feel free to ask again whenever you need help.”

  “I actually did call to you, but you didn’t answer. You looked a little preoccupied. What was that all about?”

  “Oh, that,” Dan said nonchalantly, deciding to act on his warm feelings toward her. “I’ll make you a deal. If you go out to dinner with me tonight, I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Melissa looked disappointed. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’ve already made other plans.”

  “Another time, then. Don’t worry about it.”

  “I’ve got to run, or else I’ll be late to that meeting.”

  “Do you need me to come along and shoot anything?”

  “No. It’s just a fact gathering thing.”

  “Okay. See you later.”

  He watched her leave, surprised at the amount of unfounded jealously he felt. It was always interesting how soon two people got away from each other when a date offer fell through, as if being in the same room was hazardous to one’s health. She said she had to go back to work, but he wondered how pressing her need was.

  *6*

  They didn’t say much while they waited for the locksmith to arrive. Janet sat on a chair she pulled up, Mrs. Hardy on the couch, the coffee table acting as a boundary between them. Every time Mrs. Hardy looked at the serving tray she was reminded of her inquiries, and understood that it really wasn’t any of her business to delve into Janet’s religious practices. If Janet was happy with her beliefs, so be it. She didn’t have to agree with it, but then she didn’t have to agree with Hinduism, Islam, Judaism or any number of a hundred different religions either to appreciate what they stood for. She silently sipped her coffee.

  Janet had barely touched hers. She felt guilty about snapping at Mrs. Hardy. All the woman had done was ask an innocent question about her tray. It was her fault that the conversation veered toward things spiritual. She could have simply replied that a friend gave it to her and leave it at that. She remembered that in college she hated it whenever dorm topics turned toward religion and philosophy. There was something about post-midnight that brought out deep discussions in people. Of course the debates always occurred in her room, and she remembered several times when she slept on another girl’s couch down the hall while the heated words still issued from her room. Shaking her head, she realized that religion was a heated topic with most people, and one best to avoid.

  Mrs. Hardy, tired of the uneasy silence, decided a new topic was needed to engage Janet in a bit of “girl talk.”

  “How are things with your young man?” she asked.

  “Huh?” Janet said. She had been staring off into space, still thinking about those religious debates, and didn’t hear the question.

  “A few weeks ago he came knocking at your door, but you weren’t there. He borrowed a sheet of stationary from me, wrote you a note, and slipped it under your door. I was wondering what happened.”

  “Oh, that,” Janet said blandly, crushing the romantic in Mrs. Hardy. “To tell you the truth, not much came of that note. We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

  “That’s a shame. He was such a nice man.”

  “I’ve outgrown him,” Janet said frankly, getting up. “Would you like another cup of coffee?”

  “No, thank you,” she replied, again feeling unwanted.

  There was a knock on the door. Janet, already up, practically sprang for it. Behind the door stood the locksmith.

  “I understand you’ve got a problem?” he asked, shifting his eyes back and forth to each woman, unsure which one had called.

  “Yes,” Mrs. Hardy replied, getting up. “It’s right next door, apartment #7. You can get started right away. I’ll be with you in a moment.”

  The man nodded and went next door. Mrs. Hardy clasped Janet’s hands in her cool arthritic ones. Janet felt repulsed. The physical changes of age gave her the creeps.

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” she said sincerely. “The coffee was delicious, and your company appreciated. I don’t know what I would have done had you not come along.”

  Janet smiled thinly. “You’d do the same for me.”

  *7*

  Jerry sat in his car, pulled off the shoulder of the road, and looked at a city map of Lansing. In pen he had marked the locations of possible places to live. It was a long, tedious process. One by one he crossed them out, with only a handful now to go.

  “Where are you, you little shit…?” he mumbled softly, a pen clenched angrily between gritted teeth. He spent the last five minutes circling around trying to find Hidden Oaks Apartments. He th
ought he spotted the roofs of the buildings, but he couldn’t seem to get to them. The man he talked with on the phone said they were simple to find.

  He folded up the map and was about to give up when he spotted the entrance hidden by some trees. A small placard on a wooden post marked the driveway. This could be perfect, Jerry thought, imagining a disgruntled, egg-toting student searching in vain for his apartment after receiving a failing grade in one of his courses. It looks quiet, secluded…

  He clicked on his turn signal and disappeared into a thicket of trees. As he approached the office, he admired the clean upkeep of the grounds. Fittingly, no students seemed to be around. He wondered if the price might be a little too steep for him.

  He loved the apartment the moment he’d stepped inside, from the layout and color of the carpeting down to where the cable outlet was. And the price wasn’t as bad as he feared. The manager offered him a Coke as they sealed the deal.

  “This solitude is perfect,” Jerry said. “I have a feeling my new job’s going to be very stressful, at least at first.”

  “What job is that?” the manager asked.

  “Teaching journalism and photojournalism at the University.”

  “Lots of professors live here,” the manager said. “You ever live in Michigan before?”

  Jerry took a drink from his can and shook his head. After swallowing, he added, “I’m looking forward to the winter activities, though.”

  “We do get our share of snow. Do you enjoy skiing?”

  Jerry smiled fondly. “I haven’t gone in years, but it’s something I’d like to pick up again.”

  “We don’t have any good hills around here in the central part of the state. Oh, there are some man-made ones, but they’re kind of lame in comparison with the slopes up north. That’s where the real action is.”