Stalker Page 3

  I go and stand behind him, watching him play with the ants on the ground. He has a magnifying glass in his hand, but instead of just looking at them, he’s trying to burn them.

  I kneel down beside him, and then he notices me. He almost falls to the side but manages to catch himself, his eyes widening when he looks at me.

  “Hi,” I say, chuckling. “It’s okay. Don’t be afraid. It’s just me.”

  “What do you want?” he asks, as if it’s a genuine question.

  I don’t understand it. Does he think I want something from him? He must be expecting people only to talk to him if they want something from him. Poor boy.

  “Nothing. I just want to know what you’re doing.” I give him a genuine smile, and he just gazes at me with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

  Then he starts prodding the ants with his fingers, crushing some of them in the process.

  “You know, it’s much more fun if you let them live,” I say after a while.

  He stops burning and smashing them and turns his head to me. It’s like he’s waiting for me to show him, like he wouldn’t even know how. I rub my lips together, trying to figure out what to do. Then I spot a caterpillar walking up a leaf, and I lean forward to grab it.

  “See this little one?”

  He nods, biting his lip.

  “Well, if you let it live, it’ll transform into a beautiful butterfly.”

  “Oh …” he says. Didn’t he know that? Maybe he just doesn’t pay attention in class. I wish I could do that sometimes … not pay attention without being punished.

  I smile at him and place the caterpillar in his hands. “Give it a name.”

  He raises his eyebrow. “Why?”

  “It’s your pet now. You have to take care of it.” I laugh. “You have a responsibility now. You have to keep it alive. Otherwise, you’ll never see what it’ll turn out to be.”

  “But you just said it would be a butterfly.”

  “Yeah, but they’re all different. No one butterfly is the same. And if you don’t make sure he lives, you’ll never know what he’ll look like.” I wink.

  “Oh … right.”

  He looks at it up close, like it’s something weird. It’s just a bug, but I guess he’s only used to killing them instead of just watching them. No wonder the other kids are scared of him.

  I pick up a leaf and hold it close to the caterpillar. “They need air and a leaf, of course. That’s what they eat.”

  “Hmm … but where do we keep it?” he asks, putting it down on the leaf I gave him.

  I mull that over for a second then take in a breath. “Oh, I know! Hold on.”

  I jump up, clapping my hands to clean off the dirt, and run back inside the building, leaving the boy behind. I quickly run to the teacher whom I know has a couple of jars stashed in the supplies.

  “Miss, can I get a jar so we can keep a bug?” I ask her with my cute voice.

  “Of course, honey!” She takes one out and hands it to me. “Here you go. Now remember, they need air, so make sure you don’t cover up the holes in the lid.”

  “Will do,” I say, running toward the door.

  “Oh, and make sure you give them fresh plants!”

  “Thank you!” I yell as I run out and back to the boy.

  He has a wide smile on his face the moment he sees me, which surprises me. He’s not as scary as the other kids think. I think he just doesn’t know better, but I can help with that.

  “Look,” I say, putting the jar down. I grab the leaf with the caterpillar and place it inside, closing the lid. “Now you can carry him around wherever you go.”

  He picks up the jar and holds it up to gaze through it with one eye closed.

  “You still haven’t named him, though,” I say.

  He looks up at me with a bright smile on his face. “Miles the Second.”

  “Miles the Second?” I chuckle a little.

  “Yeah, Miles the Second.” He taps on the glass, probably scaring the little bug to death.

  I muffle another laugh. He’s adorable. “I love it.”

  “You do?” he asks.

  “Yeah,” I say. “Hey … I don’t even know your name.”

  “It’s Miles.”

  “Oh …” I blush. No wonder. It now makes sense that he named his bug that way.

  “What’s yours?” he asks.

  I hold out my hand. “I’m Vanessa.”

  ***

  Age 10

  With my legs dangling over the edge of the small wall near the playground, I sit and do my homework. The wind is blowing my dark brown hair in front of my eyes, so I have to slide it behind my ears every other second. Only after a few minutes do I notice Miles sitting in the grass only a few feet away. He’s on his knees with a magnifying glass in his hand, watching something on the ground. I watch him from my corner, curious to see if he’ll still burn them or not. I don’t know how long he’s been there or why, but I guess we both just like being in each other’s vicinity.

  However, my parents told me to pay attention to my homework, and if I don’t have it all done by the time I get home, I’m sure I’ll get scolded. I don’t want them to be angry, so I’d best not get distracted.

  I try to focus on my books instead of the boy, but then other kids flock around Miles.

  “Hey, whatcha doing?” a redheaded kid says.

  “Nothing …” Miles answers.

  The kid frowns. “Yeah, you are.” He kicks the dirt. “You’re looking at the ants.”

  The other kids are laughing. “Ants? Why? Is he that bored?”

  “I’m not bored,” the boy says.

  The other one folds his arms. “Oh, what then? Checking up if they’re okay?” He pretends to wipe a tear away, and then suddenly stomps his foot on the ground right where Miles was looking at. “Too late! Now they’re dead!”

  All the kids burst out into laughter. “He’s stupid. So lame!”

  “I’m not lame.” Miles looks up at them, and a certain glare in his eyes makes all the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

  Suddenly, the redheaded kid punches Miles right in the face.

  I close my book and place it on the edge of the wall before jumping down. “Leave him alone!”

  The kids now turn their attention to me. “Oh, yeah? And what’s it to you?”

  I come and stand between them and Miles and hold up my arms. “You want to hit him? You’ll have to go through me.”

  “I’m not afraid of a girl …” the kid growls.

  “You’re going to hit a girl?” the kids behind him say.

  “Yeah, why not?” he says.

  “You can’t do that!” they all say.

  He takes a deep breath and sighs, looking me straight in the eye as if he wants to scare me away. But I’m not scared of any bully, and nobody threatens Miles.

  “Let’s go,” he suddenly says, and he turns and walks away with the other kids.

  I blow out a sigh of relief, closing my eyes for a second to calm myself down.

  “Why did you do that?” Miles asks after a while.

  I glance at him over my shoulder. “Because they were bullying you.”

  “Yeah, but they weren’t bullying you.”

  “I don’t care. You’re my friend. Friends protect each other.”

  “Friend?” he repeats, as if he can’t believe it.

  “Yeah …” I smile and grab his hand, pulling him up from the ground. “Friends.”

  He holds my hand, not letting go, even though he’s already standing up. It feels warm and … weird. I quickly let go of his hand.

  “I have to go home,” I say.

  “Why?” he asks. “Now?”

  “Yeah, my parents want me to be home by a certain time,” I say as I grab my books and stuff them in my backpack.

  He cocks his head. “Can I come with you?”

  My lips part, but I have no idea how to say this without it coming across as rude. “No, I’m sorry.” I start walking and wa
ve at him. “I’ll see you later!”

  I couldn’t tell him the truth. My parents don’t allow any friends to come into the house … let alone those they don’t know personally. And they’d definitely not accept Miles. He’s too … strange for them. He has different habits, likes odd stuff, and he dresses like a chump. No way would they want him in their house.

  The sun is already setting, so I have to get home quick, before my mother gets angry with me. She probably already is, since I’m not home five minutes before time. And my homework isn’t even finished yet … oh, god. Just the thought of coming back without it completed gives me the creeps. I hope she’s in a good mood today.

  As I run down the road like a mad girl, not looking where I’m going, I bump into someone so hard I fall backwards onto the ground. “Ow!”

  My backpack only softened part of the landing, but my butt still hurts. When I look up to see what’s blocking my path, my eyes widen and my jaw drops.

  It’s the redheaded kid.

  “Think you could get away with that?” he says, grinding his teeth. “Think again.”

  “What do you want?” I ask, as I try to get up.

  However, he places his foot forward. “Don’t get up or else …”

  “Or else what?” I say, frowning. “You’re going to bully me, too?”

  “Nobody gets in my way.” He points at his chest.

  Then he attempts to hit me. I hold my hands in front of my face, expecting the blow to hurt. Suddenly, a loud roar emerges from behind a tree, and Miles comes rushing out. Where did he come from, all of the sudden, and why? Was he following me?

  I don’t know what’s going on, but what I see terrifies me. It all happens in a flash. Miles hitting the redhead on the jaw, making him stumble backward. Miles punching his stomach so hard, the kid bends over and pukes. Miles shoves him until he falls to the ground and then jumps on him, punching him in the face.

  “Don’t. Touch. My. Friend.”

  He punches and punches, until the kid is bleeding from his mouth and nose. I scramble up to stare at them in horror as he keeps hitting, even after the kid is out cold.

  Everything feels like a blur, until an older lady comes running toward us. “Stop!”

  She takes out her cell phone and dials a number, I think it’s 9-1-1. Then she pulls Miles off the kid. “Stop it!”

  I cover my mouth in shock from seeing the kid lying there in a pool of his own blood. Tears well up in my eyes as I look at Miles, whose face is completely red from anger and whose clothes are bloodstained. But the thing that strikes me the most is his eyes … those eyes, so dark, so violent … stone cold. Like the eyes of a killer.

  ***

  Present

  I chug back the tequila shot; the burn in my throat is a tiny distraction from my thoughts. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? I should be long over him, and yet he keeps drifting back into my mind. That day when he beat up those bullies wasn’t the last time he’d lash out the way he did. So vicious and without remorse … I knew that day there was something about that boy, something different from anyone I’d ever known. He was cruel and unrelenting, like a beast without a leash.

  And, to this day, I still wonder why he followed me. Was it curiosity that drove him to chase me? Or was it some kind of primal instinct, like he knew they were going to attack me instead? Was he there to protect me?

  I don’t have the answers because I was too afraid to ask him about that day. I wasn’t even allowed to think about it, let alone him. My parents were pissed that I even attempted to be friends with him. I remember it like it was yesterday, the moment that the ambulance came to pick up the boy and I had to explain the whole ordeal to my parents. I had to tell my mother why there was blood on my shirt … and I had to tell her that I’d failed her. I hadn’t come home in time. I hadn’t finished my homework. I was hanging around with dangerous kids. At least, that’s what she called him. She called him many things, none of them positive, to make sure that I would never look at him the same way.

  Because of him, I was punished. My parents sent me to my room with no toys, no friends, and nothing to do. For a week, they didn’t allow me to go out, except for school. All because I tried to be friends with that boy.

  I guess it didn’t pay to be nice. To be kind. To try to make the world a little better.

  It still doesn’t pay.

  “Hit me up,” I say, beckoning the bartender to give me another drink.

  “You sure?” he asks, frowning, as he dries a glass. “You’ve already had five.”

  “I’m a big girl. I can take it.”

  I give him my charming smile, which makes him put down the glass and pour me another drink. So easily manipulated. Like a puppet on strings. It always comes easy to me because I know how to use my best assets. That’s what my parents taught me to do, so I’d be successful. Or at least successful at finding a husband and manipulating my way through life. God, I’ve lied so many times just to get what I want that I don’t even know what the truth is anymore.

  “Here you go.” The bartender slides the drink across the bar, which I catch and hold up.

  However, right before I chug it up, someone clears his throat next to me, so I turn my head. I didn’t notice anyone sitting down, but the man in the seat next to me looks rather scary with his hoodie and his tattooed hands. I swallow away the lump in my throat as I gaze at him, wondering who he is and what he’s doing here. He just gives me this vibe that I can’t shake off, like I’m in danger or something … and he’s the cause behind it.

  Or I’m just flipping out over nothing.

  I throw back the last drink and throw down a few bills. “See you later,” I say, as I get off my stool, waving at the bartender as I leave the joint.

  The cold air washing over me isn’t enough to quell my fear. I feel watched. Followed. Hunted. Everywhere I go, I think people are out to get me. I don’t even know who they are or what they want. Maybe that dude was just there to grab a drink like me, but with his hoodie and tattoos, he looked scary, so I fled the scene because of him. How pathetic. And yet I keep walking. Keep running away from the truth that I’m in deep shit.

  The kind of deep shit that gets people killed.

  And the worst part of it all is that I knew it was going to happen. I knew I had it coming for me, and I did it anyway. I did something horrible, and someday, I’ll have to pay the price. I’m just waiting for him to come for my head … Phoenix Sullivan, the guy I put in jail.

  If only that was the sole thing I did to him.

  I sigh as I walk back to my car and direct my driver to take me home. I’m so glad none of the fans saw me here, so I could have a drink at my favorite bar in peace. I really needed that, especially after what happened the day after my birthday. When I rub my face, I can still feel the bruise, even though the mark is no longer there … I’ll always feel it burn a hole into my heart.

  When I get home, I wobble a little as I walk in the door. “Hey.”

  Arthur just waves and glances at me, and then he returns his attention to the phone. “No, I told you it wasn’t for today.”

  I don’t remember ever getting home and him not being on the phone. It’s like he doesn’t live anymore. Ever since he took over Phillip’s company, the one he makes all the movies with, things have been going downhill. He spends more time on the company than he can manage, and the two of us have no alone time. It’s like he’s wasting away in that company … I hate it. It makes me wish Phillip were still alive, just so he could be CEO again instead of Arthur. But that would also mean Phillip was still my husband, and I’d never be able to live with Arthur the way I do now.

  I’ll admit that I always preferred Arthur to Phillip. I’m a bitch for not being sad over Phillip’s death, but that’s the way it is. Phillip was a cheating bastard, who couldn’t be loved by anyone but himself. Now, I’m together with Arthur, which is much better. Although, I’m not quite sure that this is what I wanted all along. I just kind of rolled in
to it.

  I walk to him and wrap my arms around his neck, whispering sweet words into his ear. “Let’s go to bed, honey.” The words are a bit of a slur. After all those drinks, I feel a bit tipsy and ready for some much-needed action.

  But Arthur pulls himself from my embrace and shoves my hands away. “Not now.”

  I reach for his phone, trying to steal it away from him. “C’mon, you’ve been on that phone for far too long. I can tell. Come with me. You need to relax.”

  He pries my fingers off and turns around with a deathly stare in his eyes. “I said no.”

  I frown. “Well, excuse me for trying.”

  “You can see that I’m busy.”

  “Yeah,” I scoff. “Too busy to love your girl.” I sigh and take my heels off. “Just like every other day.”

  He sighs out loud as he puts his fingers on the phone so nobody will hear him except me. “Vanessa … really? Do we have to do this now? I have no time for this.”

  “I know,” I say, giving him a fake smile. “You never have time.”

  “If this is about the other day, I’m sorry. I’ll make it up another day.”

  “That’s what you always say.” I turn around and take the first step up the stairs. “But it never comes true.”

  “Stop making everything about us,” he says.

  “I wish you’d care more about our relationship.”

  “I do,” he says. “Can we finish this conversation another time? This is important.”

  “I know. Everything is more important.”

  I sigh, glancing at him. He’s already turned around again and the phone is against his ear. “What has happened to us?” I whisper, but I know he won’t hear it.

  I don’t mind that he doesn’t. Even if he did, it wouldn’t get through to him anyway. Not even if I shouted in his ears. The man has become blind to affection, just like his brother. Sometimes I wonder if we’re going down the same, dangerous path.