Christmas Stalking Read online

  “I know.” Ginny’s jaw tightened. She looked back out toward the swings where Sean had generously gotten down to give his brother a start-push.

  “How are things at home now?” Maggie attempted a change of subject, wiping guiltily at her eyes. “Patrick isn’t bothering you, is he?”

  “It’s fine,” Ginny lied. “He was never like that with me, Maggie. It was bad for a couple of days after I went back, and of course he wanted to know where I was for those two days, and I wouldn’t tell him I was at your place, or where you were.”

  “I’m so sorry, Gin, if I’d known...” Maggie apologized for the three hundredth time. “Tim took everything, just everything, I didn’t have a choice but to come here.”

  Ginny waved it away. “Listen, it’s just my luck, right? I try to run away from home, then my sister’s crackhead husband sells everything she owns, she gets evicted, and I have nowhere else to go. What else is new? How is this any different than anything in my life?” Ginny’s laugh was grim, and Maggie placed her hand on her sister’s arm.

  “I know, I pick real winners, don’t I?” Maggie snorted. “And you know, we had such a great role model growing up...”

  That particular irony forced Ginny’s wry smile. Patrick was the only father either of them had known.

  “When I get a place, you can come live with me, okay?” Maggie assured her.

  “I think I’m going to head out to somewhere warm—California or Florida.” Ginny’s eyes turned to the horizon. “Find some surfer guy and be a beach bunny. What do you think?”

  “I think it would be a waste.”

  “Come on, let’s go play on the swings.” Ginny stood, relenting to the demanding calls coming their way.

  Maggie grabbed her hand as they walked, squeezing. Ginny fought hot, bitter tears and lost, letting the wind dry them as she ran under Michael’s swing again and again and again.

  Chapter Two

  Borders was the perfect place to spend a quiet afternoon sketching. Normally, she would be drawing figures: people browsing books or sitting and drinking coffee in the café. But she was working on something for the boys that needed to be finished before Christmas. The clerk, Robbie, set another tea down for her and she smiled at him gratefully. She wasn’t paying for the treats he left on her table, and he was risking a great deal doing it. In the past, he’d even slipped sketch pads and pencils into her bag for her to find later.

  “How’s it coming?” He slid into the chair beside her. She turned her pad to show him a fair likeness of Wolverine. “Wow,” he breathed, sounding truly impressed. “Are you sure you want to waste that as a coloring book for a four year old?”

  She just smiled, continuing to sketch, looking now and then at the book in front of her, X-Men Legends Volume III, which she’d pulled earlier from the shelves. She would put it back before she left.

  “Break?” She glanced at the counter where a few people were drinking lattes and reading a newspaper or paperback.

  “Yep, only five more hours and I’m off for the day,” he groaned. “Want to come home with me for a Hungry Man dinner?”

  She lifted her eyes to him, seriously tempted. TV dinners sounded fantastic at the moment. The two almond cookies he’d slipped her were just enough to make her stomach remember food. It just came down to not knowing him well enough to trust walking into a man’s place alone, even if he was nice to her. “Hey, that’s the guy who was in here the other day watching you,” Robbie said, in a low voice, giving her a reprieve.

  Ginny’s breath caught and she looked up, locating the man over by the philosophy section. Her worries about trusting Robbie suddenly paled in comparison as she stared at the man the clerk had pointed out. He was half-turned away from them now, and she recognized him immediately—his bulk, the way his broad shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark blue winter jacket, the squareness of his chin.

  She’d seen him yesterday outside the Shell station, and the day before that, he was at the library where she was looking up comic book characters. Her nagging suspicion that he was a private detective, someone sent by Patrick to follow her, was growing. She started gathering up her things, shoving her sketch book into her bag.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Robbie questioned. “It’s only one o’clock.”

  “I know. Can you put this back for me?” She slid the X-Men book across the table toward him. He nodded, watching her pull on her coat and backpack. “I’ll probably see you tomorrow.”

  “Probably?”

  She shrugged, jerking her head toward the man who had moved down the aisle toward them, into what she assumed was closer hearing distance. She edged her way around the café, walking the furthest perimeter she could, and slipped down a darkened corridor and into the women’s bathroom. Relieved, she saw it was empty.

  She went into a stall and struggled to pull all her layers down so she could pee. Her hands were shaking when she washed them at the sink, and she took a few deep breaths, trying to slow her racing heart. She took her ponytail out, smoothed her hair with her hands, peering at her face, noting the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes. Five hours of sleep a night was beginning to take its toll.

  Ginny rubbed her hands together under the dryer, telling herself she was trembling because of the temperature in the restroom. She struggled to keep her mind off the man on the other side of the wall, who was just probably waiting for her to come out to nab her.

  She didn’t want to think about Patrick either, who she was sure had hired him to find her. Patrick had probably just called in some favor. Private detectives were almost always ex-cops, and she could see Patrick calling some buddy that used to be on the force, faking concern about his missing stepdaughter, “She’s wild. I’m worried what she could be into. I just want her home safe.” In reality, for Patrick, it would be a simple business transaction, just a matter of retrieving his property. Maggie he considered damaged goods, but Ginny was still valuable to him.

  Her nails were digging into her palms and she’d bitten her lip so hard it was bleeding. She was safer sleeping on the streets and living out of garbage cans, but no one would believe that. No one ever believed that.

  The door opened and she gasped, whirling around, wide-eyed. A mother with a baby in her arms swept into the bathroom, looking almost as tired as Ginny felt. The woman smiled an apology, taking the baby to the fold-out counter to change its diaper.

  It was a tiny little baby, and she could remember when Maggie had Sean, how small and delicate he had felt in her arms when she first held him. All throughout Maggie’s pregnancy, after she began to show and Patrick had kicked her out, Ginny still hadn’t understood Maggie’s insistence on having and keeping a baby fathered by a man they both despised and feared. She didn’t understand it all the way up until she had held Sean in her arms and looked into those guileless eyes and understood that it wasn’t the baby’s fault.

  The image of Patrick in her head obliterated all rational thought. Ginny washed her hands again, stalling for time. The young mother was cooing and clucking at her baby as she worked, folding over tabs and refastening snaps. Ginny turned on the dryer, standing there as long as she dared, until her hands were too warm and turning red. She shouldered her backpack and glanced behind her.

  The mother was lifting the baby now and kissing her. It was a girl, if the pink giraffe on the sleeper was any indication. Ginny wondered for a moment if anyone had ever held and kissed her that way. She doubted it. Maybe Maggie, three years older than her, had loved her that way once, but it was no substitute for a mother.

  Ginny pulled open the door, steeling herself to find him just outside, but the corridor was empty. She edged around the corner, watchful, but didn’t see him. Robbie was behind the counter at the café, back to doling out cappuccino and biscotti.

  She walked toward the exit and she was almost to the door when she realized she’d left her Scrunchie on the bathroom counter. She stopped, vacillating, not wanting to leave it there but desperat
e for escape. Watching the wind whip the bare branches of trees outside and imagining the hour-long trek back toward the video store, she made her decision.

  She turned and hurried back toward the women’s bathroom. The young mother was gone, but the black Scrunchie was still there. She snatched at it and started putting her hair back up as she headed out of the bathroom.

  Both hands were busy behind her head as she came out of the door, and if she hadn’t stopped to tighten the band, she never would have seen him standing in a slanted shadow in the corner. It was the white Borders’ bag he was carrying that caught her eye, and there was a moment of deja-vu and a flicker of a memory stirred before he spoke.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you.” His voice was low and kind, and it startled her on many levels. Her heartbeat quickened when she met his eyes, and found that they seemed strangely kind, as well.

  She mumbled, “That’s okay,” tearing her eyes away and edging toward the exit.

  He stepped further into the light and she could see his face, sure now he was the same man she’d seen yesterday, and the day before. He didn’t move to touch her, or speak again, he just watched her, smiling. She felt like a cornered mouse, sitting between a cat’s paws.

  “Is that yours?” He nodded behind her.

  She turned and was horrified to discover her sketch book lying in front of the bathroom door. She scooped it up, hugging it to her chest. “Thanks.” She moved to sail past him and he touched her arm. It was like a jolt and she couldn’t help her gasp.

  “I’m sorry, I was just wondering, are you an artist?”

  As he pried into her life, she could feel her fear changing into something else. Her eyes narrowed, her mouth drew into a small, thin line as she stood and assessed him. He was three times her size at least, but then again, they were in the middle of a book store.

  “Why don’t you ask your buddy the cop about me? He thinks he knows everything!” she hissed and, ignoring the feigned puzzled look on his face, fled toward the exit, still clutching her sketch book.

  She had walked fifteen blocks before she remembered it. She stopped to put it away and, this time, she zipped her backpack.

  —

  She loved the little coffee house. Bright and cheery, it was always packed with people coming and going, ordering coffee and all sorts of sandwiches and pastries. Often enough, patrons would leave in a hurry to make their movie or go dancing at the club, the remainders of their meals and snacks left behind in their rush.

  She slid into an empty booth covered with half-eaten plates of food, when she felt him watching her. It wasn’t so much seeing Patrick as knowing, a kind of extrasensory jolt. Her eyes lifted to see him staring at her through the frosted glass window, his wiry frame beginning to thread through the crowd, his uniform parting the tide.

  She bolted from the booth and ducked out of the café, trying not to run and attract attention to her flight. He caught her in the alleyway, and she realized her mistake the moment his hand found her throat and pressed her head hard against the brick. There was no one back here, no bright lights, no warm bodies, and no watching eyes. It was cold, dark, and they were completely alone.

  “Did you think you could run from me?” Patrick’s breath reeked of alcohol and Ginny turned her head, struggling. “Did you really think you could hide?”

  She couldn’t answer. His hand at her throat made it impossible. He wasn’t a big man, but he was tall and wiry, and surprisingly strong. His voice turned smooth as he took his hand from her throat, twisting her arm up behind her, his weight pressing her into the wall.

  “I told you, girl.” His voice was like slick oil against her ear. “You can’t ever hide from me. I own the system. You’re a number that shows up wherever you go. I’ve got eyes everywhere. You rent a motel room, you’re mine. You use a credit card, you’re mine. Put your name on a lease, you’re mine. You get a paycheck, you’re mine. Do you understand me? You. Are. Mine.”

  Ginny felt herself giving in to her fear—no matter what she did, no matter where she ran, he would track her down. Hot tears stung her eyes and she looked away, down the alley, hoping to see someone, anyone, but there was nothing but darkness. She cursed her hunger, the driving need that brought her into the little café when he happened to be passing by. She nearly gasped out loud at her own realization.

  He felt her relenting and let up a little, and he took the opportunity to ask conversationally, “So where is it, Gin? Just give me the tape, and we’ll be done, I promise you.”

  “Why didn’t you find me weeks ago?” she taunted. She could feel him startle, could almost hear the frown when he grunted and tightened his grip. “If you’re so smart, so connected...”

  “Shut up!” he growled, making her wince when he shoved his knee between hers, pressing her belly into the wall.

  “I don’t have it with me,” she lied flatly, aching to hide or ditch her bag somewhere, using all of her force of will to keep still and let its weight dangle from her forearm, as if she could care less. “But if you touch me ... if you touch anyone I care about ... your face will be all over the news, and this time it won’t be because the mayor is pinning a ribbon to your chest.”

  “Bullshit!” He didn’t sound convinced, but she could feel him hesitating, his breath short and struggling in her ear.

  “No,” Ginny said, surprising herself with the steel edge in her voice. “You’re the bullshit artist, Patrick. Me, I tell the truth, and I’m telling you the truth right now. Believe it.”

  The back door swung open, and Ginny recognized one of the café workers as he brought out a bag of trash. His eyes widened in surprise and he looked concerned, before he saw Patrick’s uniform. Ginny knew how much power that uniform had, how it could immediately anesthetize.

  “Thank you, officer,” Ginny gasped, using the moment of surprise to twist out of Patrick’s grip and head toward the young man still standing agape in the doorway. “You saved my life.”

  “Hey!” Patrick called, but he was too late. She was already bolting through the busy coffee house and out the front door onto the street.

  She ran blindly for blocks, sure she was being pursued, but too afraid to look behind her to check. It was the burning stitch in her side that finally stopped her. She leaned against a streetlamp, doubled over, trying to catch her breath. Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

  When she could finally stand upright again, she took her bearings and decided to take the long way back to the video store, just in case. Her heart was racing, her hands were shaking, but she was alive. The exhilaration of that startled her. She had faced him down and had won! She started her walk toward the only home she had, a six by six square that was much less of a cage than anything she’d lived in before.

  —

  It was one in the morning when she remembered she had food in her pocket, which she’d forgotten in all the excitement earlier. Her stomach thanked her, making all sorts of noises as she drank half of the juice in two swallows, then dug into the peanut butter. It wasn’t the first time that hunger had woken her, that clawing beast crawling deep in her belly, but it was one of the few times she had a little extra food.

  The light outside was different, it seemed. Maybe it was just that most nights she was asleep by now, wrapped up in her coat, her head on her backpack, curled as tightly into the corner as she could manage. She had never seen a security or a police car cruise the parking lot, but she didn’t want any of her limbs hanging out in line of sight of the doorway. She had learned to be cautious.

  When she discovered she had finished half the jar of peanut butter, Ginny put the lid back on and slid it back into her pocket. She washed it down with the last of the juice. She sighed, wrapping her coat around her and curling up in the corner again.

  It wasn’t easy to get comfortable. The floor was hard and cold, her backpack lumpy. She tried to pack it so that the clothes were on the side where she rested her head. There wasn’t ever any getting away from the cold, even bundled
up. Her fingers and toes were always freezing, and in the morning, they were stiff and they ached, in fact, her whole body felt that way. Still, her stomach no longer felt like it was eating itself. She was relieved that, for a little while, she might be able to get some peace, just a brief respite, a few hours of sleep.

  It came like a strange cross between a memory and a dream. Patrick in his uniform wielding a broom like a nightstick, the closest thing he could find, chasing a pregnant Maggie into a corner and beating her until the handle broke. Ginny stood frozen in a dream-like paralysis in the doorway, her fear overriding her guilt at not moving to defend her sister. She could hear Maggie screaming, and Patrick was yelling at her to “Get out! Get the fuck out! Get out before the cops come!”

  Ginny’s head came up, fuzzy and throbbing upon waking, as if she had been the one being beaten. She understood it was a dream, and realized, too, that the words still echoing in her head, “Get out before the cops come!” weren’t Patrick’s words at all. They were very real, and they were coming from inside the video store.

  There were people inside the video store, and they were heading toward the exit—her exit. She could see three of them, their heads bobbing back and forth across the shelves. Ginny moved without thinking, knowing she had to get out of there. She crouched, grabbing her backpack and reaching for the door handle. They were coming now, one of them stopping to punch a security code.

  “Let’s get the fuck out of here, Luke! Hurry up!”

  Ginny stood, ready to run. There was just no time. A few minutes earlier and she could have been safely in the alleyway behind the buildings. There was no avoiding it, they saw her the minute the door swung open, and everyone stood rigid, the shock of being caught leaving them all stunned and breathless. For a moment, she thought she might faint, but she willed it not to happen.

  The tall one broke the spell, hissing, “Go, man! Fucking GO! GO! GO!” They all pushed past her to the exit, knocking her aside.