Page 14 of Don't Watch Alone
She smiles, calls out, “See you Tuesday,” and slips into the mall.
I check the clock. Thirty minutes left. Just me, the clothes, the vacant silence, and whatever might be hidden just out of sight.
Andy’s gone, I remind myself. Mary ran him off.
I move through the closing routine—straightening tables, dumping trash, wiping down the smudged glass cases with practiced ease. Every sound echoes too loud. The silence isn’t peaceful; it’s thick, like plastic wrap clinging to my skin.
Finally, the clock gives me permission to leave. I kill the lights, drop the gate, and head to the back to clock out. I step into the parking lot—a deserted collection of cars, shadows, and cold air that cuts through my jacket.
My car is parked out toward the edge tonight. Of course it is.
I walk fast, my heels are clicking. Every dark shape feels alive. Every car is like a good hiding place for someone. I dig through my purse, fingers touching lipsticks, gum wrappers, crumpled receipts—everything except what I need.
“Come on,” I whisper, just as I hear it.
Footsteps.
Slow. Steady. Behind me.
I freeze.
“You dropped these.”
It’s a man’s voice. Low. Controlled. Not friendly.
I turn.
Andy’s there. Partially lit by the security lights, his eyes were even more empty than they looked in the mall.
My fingers wrap around the pepper spray in my bag, and I raise it between us.
“Don’t come any closer.”
He lifts his hands, like I’m pointing a gun. “I just wanted to give you your keys.”
“How the fuck did you get my keys?” I don’t lower the spray.
“I saw them fall,” he says quickly, nodding at my bag. “There’s a hole in the bottom.”
I look and he’s right, there is a hole. The lining’s ripped. A tube of lip gloss hangs, nearly falling out of my purse.
“Thanks,” I mutter, snatching the keys from his hand, trying not to touch him—but our skin makes light contact anyway, and something cold twists in my stomach.
“Blaiz,” he says, and the way he says my name makes me want to hit something.
“What?”
“I know I’ve probably seemed... weird,” he starts, then the words tumble out in a breathless rush. “But I think you’rebeautiful.”
There it is. The line no woman wants to hear alone in a dark parking lot from the guy who’s been stalking her for weeks.
“Thanks,” I say flatly.
But then his voice shifts. Lower this time.
“You and your friends... when you go to that midnight movie on November 9th you all need to be careful,” he says, “or just don’t go at all. Something bad’s going to happen. I don’t know what is going to happen. Just... please don’t go.”
He turns before I can respond. Walks into the dark like he just felt relief.
