Eyes of a Stalker (7 page)

It was really starting to freak me out and when I felt his gaze on me I tried hard not to look back. It was impossible. As though drawn magnetically, I found my head tilting up and my eyes meeting his.

A smile twitched at one corner of his mouth. It was gone so fast that I wondered later if I might have imagined it. Seconds later his look shifted, moving on to someone else.

He's lost his mind, I thought. Or maybe he's on something. But of course, I didn't voice either of those
opinions out loud. Like the rest of the group, I did my best to act as if everything was perfectly normal.

You ever notice how hard that is to do? The more you try to act natural, the more obvious it is that you're acting. It's like every word and gesture is overdone. Smiles are exaggerated, anything you say comes out sounding not-quite-right, and you feel like your face is frozen with an expression that doesn't quite fit.

It was like torture trying to get through the rest of the meeting. I can't remember a thing that was said, only that we were all doing our best to pretend we didn't notice Webster sitting there looking from person to person, around the circle, again and again.

When it finally ended we all left in a hurry, like they might lock the doors if we didn't get out quickly enough. Once outside we stood huddled in a silent cluster, as if obeying some unspoken command, until we saw Webster exit the side door, get into his car, and drive off.

As soon as he was gone, nervous laughter and talk started up. It seemed we all needed to make sure everyone else had felt the same thing at the meeting.

“I'm telling you, he's gone psycho,” Bruce Kerr said, tapping a finger against the side of his head.

“I don't even want to stay in the book club if he's going to be there,” Sheri Poitras said. This drew murmurs of assent from Holly Holmes and Nora Stark.

“He's getting spooky, all right. And did you see the weird look he gave Shelby?” Jason Puckett said, confirming what I'd noticed earlier. “He has no right to do that.”

Greg suggested we discuss it with Mr. Grimes. “We're going to have to tell him we're not comfortable with Webster there,” he said.

“But Webster comes as a courtesy — to help us,” Sharon Marsh objected. “It would be insulting to tell him not to come anymore.”

“So, we're supposed to put up with whatever craziness he wants to dish out?” Jimmy Roth asked. “If we don't want him around, we shouldn't have to put up with him.”

“Yeah, but he's a published author,” Sharon said. It was an empty argument and made no sense, but Sharon is one of those super-nice people who never want to hurt anyone's feelings. I knew she was just as uncomfortable with Webster around as the rest of us were, but she couldn't bear the thought of making him feel bad.

After a few more minutes it was decided that Jimmy and Sheri would go in and take the group's message to Grimes. The rest of us waited outside.

They were back in no time, walking fast and looking guilty. Jimmy gave us the news.

“We didn't get to talk to him,” he explained. “When we got to the classroom he was on his cell phone…”

“Talking to someone about Webster!” Sheri cut in. “He was telling whoever it was that Webster seems to be having some kind of psychotic breakdown. Then he said something about contacting his family to see if he's taking his medication.”

“And he said Webster has a history of not taking his pills when he's writing because he thinks they interfere with his muse or something.” Jimmy rolled his eyes.

“We didn't know what to do. I mean, we couldn't barge in while he was on the phone. Grimes would have known we'd heard what he was saying,” Sheri said.

“A psychotic breakdown,” Greg said.

“Hey, your dad's a shrink, right?” Lynn Wilcox smiled at Greg. I've noticed that she smiles at him a lot. “He'd probably know what kind of mental problem would make Webster act that way. Maybe you could ask him.”

“Or maybe we could cut Webster a little slack for the time being,” Greg said. “It sounds like Mr. Grimes knows something needs to be done about this. Let's just leave it at that and see what he does. We'll be able to tell if the problem is fixed the next time Webster comes to a meeting.”

“Yeah, I think Greg's right,” Nora said. “I mean, if the guy has problems…”

“That's right! The least we can do is be understanding,” Sharon said. She looked really relieved.

The whole group agreed with Greg's suggestion. Even Annie Berkley spoke up, and she's the quietest member of the group. Most of us know little about her other than her name and the fact that she lives in a foster home. I was surprised that she even joined the book club. Annie reads a lot — she often has a book with her even at lunchtime — but she's also really shy.

Once it was decided that we'd wait and see what happened with Webster, the group broke up, heading off in different directions. A few kids got picked up, but most of us walked.

I was glad to have Greg with me and I noticed once again that he was keeping close watch on both sides of the street as we walked along.

“I think maybe whoever it is has given up,” I said. “There's been no sign of him since last Friday… and I'm actually starting to doubt myself about that. Maybe I just imagined that guy was following me. Or maybe whoever it was didn't know I already had a boyfriend and then he found out I do so he's backing off. There's been nothing for almost a week. Maybe it's over.”

“That's a lot of ‘maybes,'” Greg said. “And a week isn't very long. I hope you're not letting your guard down.”

“Of course not. I'll be careful until I'm sure. But whoever it was probably realized he was being ridiculous and stopped.”

We were close to my place by then, and in spite of the confidence I'd put into my voice just a moment before, I jumped and gasped when a car suddenly pulled up beside us with a blast from the horn.

“It's just your dad,” Greg said. “Looks like he's going to give me a drive home.”

I laughed at my own cowardice and we got into the car. Even so, it took almost all the way to Greg's place and back for my heart to stop beating faster than normal.

Feeling a little silly, I had a snack and then went to my room and booted my computer. I had an essay to finish by the end of the week, and it wasn't going so well. That's one kind of writing assignment I don't particularly like, so I wanted to get it out of the way as soon as possible.

Of course, I
had
to check my e-mail before I actually started working. And when I did, what I saw there sent a chill of horror right through me.

The sender's name was a typical kind — a nickname (soreros) with a bunch of numbers behind it. It meant nothing to me. I just figured it was either junk mail or someone from school whose e-mail address was unfamiliar to me… until I clicked on it and started reading.

I stared at the words on the screen. I read them again and again. It was as if shock had immobilized me and I was frozen there, forced to go over and over the ugly message. A message that reached right into my house — right into my room.

So you think I have given up? As if I would give up what is rightfully mine. As if you can just walk away, when you are my destiny. It seems that you do not yet understand that YOU BELONG TO ME.

Words spoken must be paid for. We will see who is RIDICULOUS!!!!! Perhaps your so-called boyfriend will not be so appealing when I am done.

But YOU — you will be given a second chance. If you are wise, you will not anger me again.

There was a strange, distant sound echoing in my head, like water crashing on the beach.

“He heard me,” I whispered to my empty room. “He heard me talking to Greg.”

Woodenly, I stood and made my way down the hall. I found Mom and Dad in the kitchen drinking tea and playing chess. My eyes went to the board automatically, but the pieces swam into a blur.

“Shelby!” Mom cried. She was already standing, reaching for me. “What is it?”

“An e-mail.” It was all I could get out before something cracked in me. I found myself crying. I kept trying not to. I told myself it was silly and wasn't going to help anything, but the tears wouldn't stop.

Mom held me while Dad went to my room and read the message. I heard the printer whirring and seconds later he came back down the hall.

“It looks like this creep has just made the mistake that will lead us to him,” he said as he walked to the phone. “They'll be able to find out who he is by tracing this message.”

“But it's just a Yahoo account,” I said. “There's no way he'd have put his real information in when he created it.”

“Doesn't matter. They can find out
where
a message was sent from,” Dad said.

I hadn't known that, and I wondered if the police would. When the squad car arrived in response to Dad's call, I was dismayed to see Officer Mueller come through the door alone. He looked over the message Dad had printed out and then turned to me.

“Do you know what this means?” He pointed to the line that said, “
We will see who is RIDICULOUS!!!!!
”

“It looks like he was somewhere nearby when I was talking to my boyfriend a while ago.” I explained the conversation we'd had, and how I'd made a comment that maybe whoever was bothering me had realized it was ridiculous and had given up.

Mueller stood silently for a couple of seconds when I'd finished talking. Then he turned to my dad.

“Mr. Belgarden, I'm going to post a car in front of your house tonight. Tomorrow, we'll see if we can trace the source of this message. However, even if we're able to locate and charge this person, we may not be able to hold him for any length of time. How soon he'd be back on the street would depend on the charge, and whether or not the judge remanded him or let him out
pending trial. I'd like to suggest that you get a home alarm company in to install a good security system. Something that covers every possible entrance.”

“It'll be done first thing in the morning,” Dad said. He looked as surprised as I felt, and I knew he hadn't expected Mueller to take the e-mail as seriously as he had.

Mueller went over some basic precautions. Some I was already doing, like not walking anywhere by myself, but others might never have entered my mind. He said I should stay away from windows and that we should keep the curtains closed after dark in case this weirdo was watching the house.

“Stalkers don't lay low for long. They tend to be driven to send messages and sometimes ‘souvenirs' of some description. The meaning of anything he might leave may not be clear to you — you might not even be sure it's from him — but don't dismiss a single thing that shows up and seems out of place. Call us. This guy
wants
you to be thinking about him, so it's almost guaranteed that he'll contact you again soon.

“And,” he added, “if Shelby should receive any unexpected mail through postal delivery, please don't open it. Handle it as little as possible and call us.”

“How will we know if it's from this, this
person
, or just something innocent?” Mom asked.

“We won't know until it's opened,” Mueller said, “but if it
is
from the stalker, we'll have a better chance
of getting his prints if no one else has touched it.”

He went over the different precautions he'd suggested once more and then told us someone would be over in the morning to look into the e-mail I'd received.

“We'll also send someone over to the Taylor house to let Greg and his father know about the threat, and ask them to be extra cautious,” he added. “And we'll have their house patrolled.”

When he was getting ready to leave, Dad shook his hand and told him we all appreciated the way he was taking care of things. He didn't add that it was kind of a surprise to us, since Mueller had acted pretty sceptical the last time he was here. It was easy to see that the e-mail had convinced him that this was real. Now that he was on board, he was sure doing everything possible to help.

I kept telling myself that as soon as they sent someone to trace the source of the e-mail, it would be over. We'd know who this creep was, and I figured that, once he was exposed, he'd pretty well have to stop.

On the phone later, Greg and I talked about the e-mail. He agreed that the police should be able to find out where it came from. I told him I was sure that would put an end to the whole thing.

“I hope you're right,” he said.

“Well, as long as they can find out who it is…”

“You think this guy will stop what he's doing as soon as his identity is known?”

“Well, sure. Don't you?”

“I don't know, Shelby. I mean, I don't think stalkers usually give up that easily.”

“Maybe not guys who are after someone for a long time,” I said. “But this guy just started bothering me. Don't you think he'll quit if he's stopped this fast?”

“It would be great if he did,” Greg agreed, “but you have to remember he didn't just start doing this out of the blue. He must have been obsessed with you for a while, and that had to grow enough for him to start acting on it. You're just seeing it now, but I don't think it just started.”

“That's encouraging.” My voice was angry, and even though I didn't mean it to be directed at Greg, that's how it sounded.

“I'm sorry. I'm not trying to upset you, Shelby. Don't you think
I
want this jerk to leave you alone? Of course I do. But I also want you to be careful. Really careful. You can't let your guard down until you're sure it's safe.”

“I know, Greg. I do. It's just that, well, you have no idea what this is like. I feel like someone's watching me all the time. Watching and planning… something. Only I don't know what. Or when. It's like being hunted or something.”