The Follower (46 page)

“Thank you,” Katie said. “Yeah, I’n feeling pretty much back to normal, believe it or not. I still get some pain in my arm sometimes, but I can live with it. Lemme see, what else? I’ve been seeing someone, a therapist, and, I have to admit, it’s been helping a lot.”

“That’s great,” Amanda said. “In college, after I was date-raped, I didn’t talk to anybody about it for way too long. And I know some people who’ve been through some really traumatic shit, but not nearly as traumatic as what you went through. I mean, like, car accidents, muggings, things like that. They didn’t get help, and it really screwed them up, so, yeah, it’s great that you’re seeing somebody.”

“What else?” Katie said. “I don’t know, things have been pretty boring, I guess. I’ve been really into my job.”

“Do you still have that horrible boss?”

“No, Mitchell left, thank God. I have a new boss, Jenny, and she’s great. We’re friends—not friends friends, but we go to lunch sometimes, go out for drinks, stuff like that. I really like her a lot.”

“It’s great you have a boss you get along with.”

“I know, it makes a big difference. Coming home every day, pissed off at the world, starts to have an effect on you after a while. It seems like you’re dealing with everything, but you’re really not, and before you know it, things start blowing up in your face.”

Katie made a mental note to discuss this issue with her therapist at her next appointment.

“Have you been seeing anybody?” Amanda asked.

“No, not really,” Katie said. “There was one guy. Remember Dave, that guy I went out with senior year?”

“Oh, right, where’s he now?”

“He’s going to grad school in Florida. Anyway, he was in the city a couple of months ago and he called me. We went out and kind of, like, hooked up one night, but that’s it.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with old-boyfriend sex,” Amanda said. “God knows I’ve been there, done that. But Steve has a lot of very cute friends. If you want me to—”

“Thanks,” Katie said. “That’s nice of you, but I’n just not into a relationship right now.”

“It doesn’t have to be a relationship.”

“I know, I’n just not ready for anything. In a few months I’n sure I’ll be back out there and be a dating machine again, but right now I’n just focusing on my job and getting my life back together.”

“So I guess you don’t care that that very cute guy’s been checking you out.”

Katie turned to look in the direction Amanda was looking and saw a guy with wavy blond hair sitting on the lawn on the other side of the tree. He was a surfer-dude type, but very good-looking, like he could have been a model or an actor. He smiled at Katie, but she looked away quickly, back toward Amanda, and said, “Yeah, he is kind of cute.”

“Kind of?” Amanda said. “The guy could be an underwear model. I saw him with his shirt off before, and it was washboard city.”

“He’s probably gay.”

“A gay guy wouldn’t be staring at you the way he’s been staring. Should I tell him to come over?”

“No, really, I’n just not into it right now,” Katie said. “But thanks for looking out for me. That’s really sweet of you.”

Katie and Amanda hung out for about an hour, and did some more catching up. Then Amanda said she had to go, to get ready to meet Steve for dinner, and Katie walked her back out to the path.

“It was really great seeing you,” Katie said.

“Yeah,” Amanda said. “We have to hang out more often. I know—you want to go to a movie next week?”

“That sounds awesome,” Katie said.

They agreed to talk sometime during the week. A few minutes later, Katie, wearing sunglasses and her iPod, listening to the new Pink download, was walking back toward the East Side. It had been great to see Amanda again, but now she was looking forward to returning to her apartment, changing into some comfy clothes and catching up on some work. Or maybe she’d blow off the work, and order in some food—she was in the mood for Indian. Then she’d get into her comfy PJs and watch TV or read a good book.

At the bottom of the hill, she was waiting at a crosswalk for bicycles to pass so she could continue toward the East Side, when she turned to her right and noticed the blond guy Amanda had pointed out before. He was looking right at her, and she got a vibe that he’d been staring at her for several seconds, waiting for her to look in his direction. He smiled and she turned away, conscious that she wasn’t smiling or giving him any indication that she was interested.

There was a break in the bike traffic and Katie walked quickly across the road where all the skaters hung out, and then continued along the path and, veering right, passed the Bandshell. At one point, she looked back over her shoulder and felt a jolt in her stomach when she saw that the blond guy was following her. He could’ve just happened to have been walking in the same direction, but she didn’t think so. They had passed several paths and he could’ve headed in a lot of different directions, so the odds seemed slim that he just happened to be going the same way as her. He was also only about ten yards behind her, which was weird, because since she had spotted him on the road, she had increased her pace and was walking at about a jogging speed.

Her pulse was pounding and it wasn’t only because she had started walking even faster. She couldn’t believe she’d let this happen. She’d had a feeling about this guy, got bad vibes, whatever you wanted to call it, and yet she’d stupidly walked
to a fairly unpopulated part of the park. Yeah, it was unlikely that he’d try to assault her in broad daylight, but she could’ve easily avoided the situation by cutting over toward Bethesda Fountain, where there were tons of people, when she’d had the chance. Now all she could do was try to get away.

When she reached the next path, she continued straight, toward the east side, hoping that he’d turn right. But she didn’t even have to turn her head to know he was still following her. Although she was walking at an even quicker pace, he seemed to have gained ground because the sounds of his footsteps and kicked-up bits of gravel seemed to be getting louder. He was probably still at least ten yards behind her, but there was no doubt in her mind now what was happening. He was going to continue behind her, hoping she’d head into a semi-secluded area. If she didn’t, and left the park, he’d follow her home. Maybe he wouldn’t try something today, but he would find out where she lived and then, some other night, when it was late, and she was alone, he’d follow her into her vestibule and rape and murder her.

Like hell he would.

She crossed the park’s East Drive and went along the path toward the exit to Fifth Avenue. Of course he was still tailing her. She acted oblivious, but then, moving fast, she reached into her purse, turned, and rushed up to him. She grabbed his arm, squeezing it as hard as she could, and said, “Stay the fuck away from me, you fucking scumbag.”

“What the hell?” the guy said, stunned. Yeah, he was stunned all right. He was probably used to following girls all the way back to their apartments and attacking them. No one had ever turned the tables on him before.

“What’s wrong with you?” he said. “I was just walking.”

He sounded so innocent.

From her purse, she removed a small canister of pepper spray.

“You want me to burn your fucking eyes out?” she said. “Huh? That what you want?”

He held his crossed hands up in front of his face like a big coward and said, “What’re you, crazy or something?”

“You think I won’t do it, huh? You think I won’t?”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, and he turned and ran away.

“Stalking bastard!” Katie screamed after him.

She waited until he was out of sight, then she continued on her way out of the park, the pepper spray still in her hand. She doubted he’d have the balls to show his face again. If he did, God help him.

Coming soon in hardcover from St. Martin’s Minotaur

Adam Bloom was having a nightmare
. It was the one he’d had before where he was in his office in midtown, treating a female patient, maybe Kathy Stappini or Jodi Roth—both of whom, interestingly enough, suffered from agoraphobia—when his office suddenly became a white, square-shaped room, the size of a prison cell, and Kathy or Jodi turned into a large black rat. The rat had long fangs and kept chasing him around, jumping at him, making a loud hissing noise. Then the walls started closing in. He tried to scream, but couldn’t make any sound, and then a long, narrow staircase appeared. He tried to run up it, but couldn’t get anywhere, like he was trying to go up a down escalator. Then he looked over his shoulder, and the rat was huge now, the size of a Rottweiler, and it was coming at him, baring its long fangs, about to bite his head off.

He felt a yanking on his upper arm. Startled, he tried to turn away, onto his other side, when he heard, “Mom, Dad, wake up, wake up.”

He opened his eyes, disoriented for a moment, terrified of the giant rat, then realized that he was home in bed in his house in Forest Hills Gardens with his wife, Dana, lying next to him. He had the comforted, relieved feeling he always had after a nightmare. It was a rush of reassurance that everything was going to be fine, that thank God the world wasn’t such a horrible place after all.

But then he heard his daughter whispering, “Somebody’s downstairs.”

Marissa had graduated from Vassar last year with a degree in art history—Adam and Dana hadn’t been exactly thrilled about that choice—and was back living at home, in the room she’d grown up in. She’d been acting out lately, exhibiting a lot of attention-seeking behavior. She had several tattoos—including one of an angel on her lower back that she liked to show off by wearing halter tops and low-rise jeans—and had recently dyed pink streaks into her short, light brown hair. She spent her days listening to awful music, e-mailing, blogging, text messaging, watching TV, and partying with her friends. She often didn’t come home until three or four in the morning, and some nights she didn’t come home at all, “forgetting” to call. She was a good kid, but Adam and Dana had been trying to encourage her to get her act together and get on with her life.

“What is it?” Adam asked. He was still half-asleep, a little out of it, still thinking about the dream. What was the significance of the black rat? Why was it black? Why did it always start out as a patient?
A female
patient?

“I heard a noise,” Marissa said. “Somebody’s in the house.”

Adam blinked hard a couple of times, to wake himself up fully, then said, “It was probably just the house settling, or the wind—”

“No, I’n telling you. There’s somebody there, I heard footsteps and stuff moving.”

Now Dana was up, too, and asked, “What’s going on?”

Like Adam, Dana was forty-seven, but she’d aged better than he. He was graying, balding, had some flab, especially in his mid-section, but she’d been spending a lot of time in the gym, especially during the last year or so, and had a great body to show for it. They’d had some marriage trouble—they’d nearly had a trial separation when Marissa was in high school—but things had been better lately.

“I heard somebody downstairs, Ma.”

Adam was exhausted and just wanted to go back to sleep.

“It was nothing,” he said.

“I’n telling you, I heard it.”

“Maybe you should go and check,” Dana said, concerned.

“I’n really afraid, Daddy.”

The Daddy part got to him. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d called him Daddy and he could tell she was seriously frightened. He was up anyway and had to go pee so he might as well go check.

He breathed deeply, then said, “Fine, okay,” and sat up.

As he got out of bed, he cringed. He’d had on-and-off-again lower-back pain and stiffness for the past few years, an overuse injury from running and golf. His physical therapist had given him a list of exercises to do at home, but he’d been busy lately with a couple of involved patient crises and hadn’t been doing them. He was also supposed to ice his back before he went to sleep and after he went running or worked out, and he hadn’t been doing that either.

Massaging his lower back with one hand, trying to knead out the stiffness, he went across the room, opened the door, and listened. Total silence except for some faint wind noise outside.

“I don’t hear anything,” he said.

“I heard footsteps,” Marissa stage-whispered. “Keep listening.”

Dana had gotten out of bed and was standing, in her nightgown, next to Marissa.

Adam listened again for around five seconds, then said, “There’s nobody there. Just go back to bed and try to—”

And then he heard it. The house was big—three stories, five bedrooms, three and a half baths—but even from where he was, on the second floor, at the end of the hallway, the sound of maybe a dish clanging or a vase being moved was very clear. It sounded like the person was either in the kitchen or the dining room.

Dana and Marissa had heard the noise, too.

Marissa said, “See, I told you,” and Dana said, “Oh my God, Adam, what should we do?”

They sounded terrified.

Adam was trying to think clearly, but it was hard because he was suddenly worried and frazzled himself. Besides, he always had trouble thinking when he first woke up and he never felt fully functional until after his third cup of coffee.

“I’n calling nine-one-one,” Dana said.

“Wait,” Adam said.

“Why?” Dana asked, the phone in her hand.

Adam couldn’t think of a good answer. There was someone downstairs; he’d heard the noise clearly and there was no doubt what it was. But a part of him didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to believe he was safe, protected.

“I don’t know,” he said, trying to remain calm and logical. “I mean, it’s impossible. We have an alarm system.”

“Come on, Dad, I know you heard it,” Marissa said.

“Maybe something fell,” Adam said.

“Nothing fell,” Marissa said. “I heard footsteps, you have to call the police.”

Then from downstairs came the clear sound of a cough, or of a man clearing his throat. It sounded closer than the other noise Adam had heard. It sounded like the guy was in the living room.