Tortured Dreams Page 4

My current situation had started some three weeks earlier, possibly more, but unlikely. I had noticed my follower coming home from the coffee shop one afternoon. I don’t normally go to coffee shops, but I had a peculiar craving for hot chocolate and a blackberry muffin.

  The coffee shop hadn’t had a blackberry muffin, but they did have poppy seed muffins. So I got one of those and a hot chocolate, despite the fact that it was September. I sat in the coffee shop long enough to eat the muffin. I threw away the napkins and what not and carried my hot chocolate out to the street.

  That was when I noticed him. He was leaning against a building. He had been leaning in the same spot when I arrived at the coffee shop. Even though the weather hadn’t dropped to the negatives yet, it wasn’t exactly outdoor weather. It was raining.

  The rain was a misting, cold rain that seemed to blow in around raincoats and soak into the bones. I had a few that creaked already from being broken or dislocated, so I didn’t dawdle in the street. I upped my pace, head down; coat closed to the rain and headed back home.

  That was part of my routine. I left my house once a day, at the same time every day, either to get lunch or to get a snack. If I didn’t force myself outside, I wouldn’t leave for weeks since I didn’t have classes or a job.

  Tucked away in my apartment, I looked out the window and found the man standing at the building across the street. Seeing as how I try to avoid problems, I did report it to my local police. They came out, took a statement and went away. One episode does not a stalker make.

  Except, he was there the following morning. I waited another week and reported him again. He was turning up in restaurants where I ate and standing outside the building where I lived. The police were just as uninterested with the second report.

  I called Nyleena that night. There are moments when I wonder if I have actually fallen down the rabbit hole. I told her that I thought I had a stalker, but that the police disagreed. Would she come out and see if I was going mad?

  Nyleena is a lawyer in Kansas City, Missouri. A federal prosecutor to be exact. I find her job tedious and boring and necessary. She finds my lifestyle tedious, dangerous and unnecessary. She never flinches when she gets those phone calls and she always comes to stand by my side.

  She jumped on a plane the next day. I wasn’t hallucinating, he existed, Nyleena saw him as well. She stayed about a week and then went home, disgruntled with the third police report and I’m sure, calling in whatever favors she could.

  Two days after she returned home, I had awoken with the knowledge that I wasn’t alone in my small apartment. I couldn’t see him. But I knew he was there.

  His shoes made some noise on the floor and I immediately found his location. He was creeping through the dark. He was slinking towards me.

  I did what any normal woman would do. I flipped on the lights. My bedside lamp caused him to freeze in place for a moment.

  He almost had me. The fight that ensued was like no other I had ever been in. He was strong and I guess I was not properly pissed. He got a good clip at my face with a blunt object. It had blackened my eye and chipped my tooth.

  The din had awoken a neighbor. They called the police while I struggled with my intruder. They responded rather fast. But not fast enough.

  He wrenched my arm around my back; put his knee into the shoulder blade. I felt and heard it pop out of place. I screamed wordlessly when it did. It was what I needed. The blood surged and I went to a quiet, dark place inside myself.

  This place is calm. Always still and calm, I never feel anything when I am in it except calm. It is a place where no light gets in. It is a place I worry one day I will enter and never leave. My only other true friend in the world, Malachi Blake, says this nothingness is the only true emotion we have. He lives there.

  Once I entered that calm state, the world slowed down for me. Despite his hold on me and my non-working shoulder, I grabbed at him. I caught hold of his hair and pulled his face down towards me. I was stronger than him suddenly. His twisting and turning in my grasp only pulled out his hair in chunks.

  I grabbed hold firmer, closer to the scalp. I could feel his blood running through my fingers. He let go of my dislocated shoulder.

  When he let go, I stood up, still holding his hair. I turned on him, made sure we were face to face. I slammed my forehead into his nose. He made a gurgling noise and dropped to the ground.

  He wasn’t dead, just stunned. He rolled over. I lashed out, grabbing his head again and slamming it into the floor. I don’t know how many times. Eventually, the noises stopped and the police came in.

  Once again, I was diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder. My life had been a real bitch. Two serial killers and one serial rapist, none of them had survived. I have good survival instincts.

  Then I met the blonde-mountain and bender-man. I was recovering in the hospital, dreading what they would say to me when I got home.

  Chapter 4