Page 15 of Jealous Stalker

She laughed. I didn’t.

Now I’m alone in the apartment. And for the first time, the quiet doesn’t feel peaceful.

It feelsaware.

Like something’s in the silence. Stretching across the walls. Curling around my throat. I tell myself I’m imagining things again.

That it’s all in my head—just like when I was a kid, waking up in the hallway with no memory of how I got there. Just like when I’d lock my door at thirteen even though no one ever came in.

I stare around my little house now, my heart thumping in that way that says loneliness is a little farther than I thought it would be. Because this….presence feels closer.

A coping mechanism? Maybe. But I don’t think so.

Slowly I rise from the sofa and go into my bedroom, a plan forming. It’s almost time for bed and I plan on sleeping…if I can’t get my body to unwind itself from the edge of panicked excitement it seems to be poised on.

Either way, if my visitor…my stalker is real, I want to know.

But…what if it…he stops because I go snooping? Is that what I really want?

God, Ella. Are you really thinking this? That if you bring all this into the light it stops?

My belly lurches when I admit the truth to myself. It might be deeply pathetic, not to mention a situation that would have Dr Greene reaching for notepad with laughable haste, but yes…

Whatever this is, I’m not ready for it to stop.

Not until I know for sure. Not until I…see him?

But I also want to know if I’m hallucinating it or if it’s real. There’s only one way to find out.

I set a trap.

I propmy phone up on the corner of my desk, facing the bed. Angle it just right.

It’s not much—no night vision, no infrared—but it records in full HD, and I figure if he’s bold enough to come close, he won’t know it’s on.

Or maybe he will.

That’s the part I don’t want to think about.

I tie the string to my wrist. Turn off the lamp. I grab my Kindle and read two chapters of heroes who snatch their women out of their beds and ravish them without consent until I’m damp between my legs. Then I switch to boring documentaries that have me drowsy in minutes.

After my third yawn, I press record on my phone and shut my eyes, ready to either pretend to sleep or fall asleep for real.

I’m surprised it’s the latter.

But the next thing I know, the sun is creeping through the blinds and I’m waking up slowly, like surfacing from something deep.

Dammit, I fell asleep. My bedroom door is open, which means I went walking at some?—

My heart stops in my throat when I reach for my phone…and it’s not there. At least not where I left it.

It’s beside me.

On my pillow.

Okay, don’t panic. Don’t get excited. Maybe I reached for it during my sleepwalking. Except the screen dark. Didn’t Dr Green mention something about it being impossible to do things like text or make calls during episodes. And to my knowledge I’ve never touched my phone at any time during my episodes.

Mouth dry, I reach for it with shaking fingers and hit play.

---