The Stalker

Chapter 1

1

The rattle of the prison gate as it trundled open was the sound of freedom in his ears. He glanced sideways to the guard on his right. Mr. Brec had been one of his favorites. Allowing him extra time in the computer lab and saying nothing of his stay at Shade Tree Center—which would have put him in the crosshairs of the more dangerous inmates—before transferring to Coleman Medium Security Federal Correctional Institution in Sumterville, Florida, earned Brec the privilege of hearing whispered rumors before they became events.

He stepped over the gate’s track and watched as a white prison bus pulled into the parking lot.

“There’s your ride, J. Stay out of trouble. I don’t want to see you back here,” Mr. Brec said as he backed away from the twelve-foot moving section of chain link topped with razor wire.

Raising his hand in a wave to show he’d heard the guard, he smiled at the driver of the bus. When his name was called and the delivery address read, he climbed the three steps, took the second seat on the passenger side, and leaned against the window. Exactly two hundred seventy-three days had passed since he felt silence in his head. And each mile they traveled brought him closer to that coveted sensation.

He reached behind him with his right hand to touch the back of his neck. Not realizing he’d made the move three times, he eventually tucked his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Once he checked in with the halfway house and his parole officer, he’d find his cellmate’s buddy who worked on the docks. Some quick cash to tie him over until he found legit employment meant he could have bus fare to the park. His leg jiggled in anticipation of seeing her again. He ignored the voices that told him it was too soon. His plan, his decision, his future. Closing his eyes, he easily recalled how she looked, how she smiled, how she said his name, and everything felt right.

It was like a picture. A moving one, because throughout the day, each hour, the scene outside changed. The window faced south, which meant Audrey couldn’t appreciate the sun rising or setting while inside, but at the end of the sometimes monotonous days, if she left on time, the sunset was a magnificent treat. It wasn’t that the events taking place on the other side of the three-by-three-foot window trimmed in dark wood were ordinary. Quite the opposite. Every object was alive with energy, a moment in life framed as if for her eyes only.

It took a minute for Frederick, the largest gray squirrel, to scuttle down the pine and scamper across the grassy clearing to some spot outside the view of her window. An hour of one’s life for Mr. Todd, the painter, who came to one of the benches each Tuesday afternoon and created, she guessed, lovely resemblances of the park and the surrounding buildings, including the one in which she worked for the past five years.

The small crystal pendulum clock on the table beneath the window chimed. She paused, counted, then glanced at the face marked with Roman numerals. Some days, like today, she didn’t have much of an appetite. But taking her lunch break was a requirement for continued employment, just like being outside was beneficial for her mental health. And how could she, as a doctor, expect her patients to follow best practices when she did not?

Audrey set her pen on the desk, exactly parallel to the blotter and perpendicular to the edge above the drawers. Rolling back her chair, she stood, crossed to the mini fridge for her lunch, the coat rack for her purse, then left the office, locking the door behind her.

Julie, the receptionist, glanced up from her computer, her dark brown eyes large through her thick glasses, and smiled as Audrey walked past.

Before stepping outside, Audrey put on her sunglasses. After the second sliding glass door closed, she felt her shoulders drop away from her ears. She knew her physical response would be the same when she left the building for the day.

Striding purposefully on the most direct path from the door of the Center to her favorite bench, she looked neither right nor left. Any observation of another in the Albert Sloane Park, however casual, would have her analytic mind cataloguing behaviors, rewards, habits, and treatments. Reaching the wooden bench, she sat on one end. There was room for another person, but most people didn’t want to share. For this, she was grateful. It meant she had the bench and the view of the man-made lake to herself. Keeping her forearm through the strap of her purse, she opened the small paper bag and withdrew the half peanut butter and jelly sandwich. She peeled back the waxed paper and took a bite.

“Mind if I sit here?” the male voice asked.

Were it not for years of practice with her flight-fright-freeze reactions, she might have choked on her lunch. She looked at the man, recognized him as one she’d seen many times at the park, and lifted her purse onto her lap. “No.”

“Thanks. Kind of crowded today.” He glanced around them, then both ways on the path that ran behind the bench.

She followed his gaze, forgetting her rule, and realized he was right. “Yes. It must be the pleasant weather.” She took another bite and focused on the pair of ducks sunning themselves on the grass near the water instead of the people enjoying the park.

He watched her for a moment, then turned his attention to the ducks. “I see you here most days. Do you work at the Center or one of the businesses close by?”

She swallowed and drank from the water bottle she had stashed in her purse. “A woman might think a man is stalking her if he notices her on a daily basis.”

He grinned. “Stalking is against the law. I have, however, brought down a few stalkers myself.” He leaned to the side and pulled out his wallet. Flipping it open, he turned it so she could read his card. “I am a private investigator. I often meet clients in this park. Since much of my job is observation, I pay attention to people. I know the routines of the regulars. A pretty woman eating lunch alone makes me want to say hello.” He returned his wallet to his hip pocket. “I’m early for a meeting and saw you sitting in your usual place.” He shrugged.

Audrey turned her head to study Ross Waldman, PI, and considered her response as she took another bite of her sandwich. Ross had the build of a runner, tall and lean, an angular but attractive face, short brown hair that glinted gold in the sunlight—telling of his time outdoors—and was apparently comfortable in sneakers, faded jeans, and a plain dark blue T-shirt. Though Audrey couldn’t see his eyes through the dark sunglasses he wore, she knew when he looked at her. All that intense energy thrown her way. She trusted her gut, and so far, its warning bells remained silent.

Audrey offered a hand. “Dr. Audrey Ellis. I’m a staff psychiatrist at Shade Tree Center.”

Ross wrapped his palm around her fingers. “It’s my pleasure to meet you.” He released her hand and watched as she took a hesitant bite.

“How long have you been at the Center?”

“Five years.”

“Do you enjoy your job?”

Audrey hesitated. “It pays well, and I’m given lots of opportunity to use my degree.”

Adept at plucking information that wasn’t directly stated, Ross said, “Many people work jobs for most of their adult lives, then realize on their deathbeds how miserable they've been the last forty years.” He watched a couple jog by, together yet alone, as they each used headphones. “I recognized early in my life that I have a knack for connecting with people. Observing their behaviors, paying attention to their words, their physical tics, is fascinating to me. Like working out a puzzle. I took some college classes right after high school but realized being inside a building all day and following someone else’s schedule made me feel trapped. I don’t want to spend my life being unhappy.” He shrugged. “A buddy of mine graduated from the Police Academy and invited me to do a ride along. I thought, sure, maybe I’ll be a cop.” He chuckled. “The procedures, the paperwork, being at the station, I would be back on someone else’s timetable.”

Audrey had shifted, so she sat facing him. He knew how to tell a story. She relaxed, enjoying his gestures and quick flashes of a smile. Having finished her sandwich, she placed one grape after another in her mouth, caught up in the man next to her. Oh, she still categorized his words, his movements, her mind labeling characteristics based on how he spoke and what he chose to share. But she felt at ease. There were no asking questions to draw information from him, no notes she needed to make, no medication adjustments, no scheduled meetings in order to continue treatment. For the first time in memory, she had no agenda for her time with Ross.

If she went on a date, she spent the evening searching for deal breakers and wondering if she would still like the man in another twenty years. When she met with the few friends she had, one from high school and two from college, she felt much the same as she did now. Relaxed. Light. Comfortable.

Realizing she’d eaten everything in her lunch bag, she refolded it along the creases, then tucked it into her purse. “It’s important that people enjoy what they do, you’re right. But sometimes they don’t know they’re unhappy until circumstances change.”

“True,” Ross agreed. “If your position at the Center allows you to use your education, you likely also engage your natural talents. Like me, you’re probably an observer, or at least fascinated by what people do.” He waited as she drank from her water bottle. Over her shoulder, he recognized his client.

Audrey glanced at her watch. “I need to return to the Center,” she said as she stood and adjusted her purse strap. “I hope things go well with your client.”

Ross rose as well. “Would you like to get a cup of coffee sometime? Chris has good caffeine.” He gestured with his chin to a pushcart. The green and white striped umbrella shaded the silver cart, espresso machine, and Chris Appleton, the short, thin, twenty-something entrepreneur.

Anxious to return to her office, her next patient, and not overextend her allotted time for lunch, Audrey stepped back. “Perhaps. I have to go. Goodbye, Ross.”

Not wanting to add to her rising panic, Ross tucked his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Enjoy the rest of your day, Audrey.”

He watched her quick pace down the walkway, appreciating the view. Silver blonde hair wrapped in a bun at the back of her head, pale pink dress suit with the skirt ending right at her knees, leaving her calves and ankles exposed. Her conservative white two-inch heeled shoes clipped with determination over the cement. When she stepped aside for a skateboarder rolling too fast, then ducked when a frisbee caught the breeze and almost nailed her in the temple, Ross decided Audrey had the balance and reflexes of an athlete. If caffeine didn’t tempt her to have another conversation with him, then maybe a game of pickup ball would appeal. As he crossed the open space to his client, he realized Dr. Audrey Ellis intrigued him. And when people ticked his puzzle meter, it became a compulsion to figure them out. Tucking away plans to return to the park the next day, he smiled and greeted his client.

Reseated at her desk in her office, Audrey opened the file folder in front of her and skimmed the notes she had written from their last session. Borderline personality disorder. Dissociation due to trauma. Renee´ Kelly, 23, had been at Shade Tree for two months. She became Audrey’s patient when the previous staff psychiatrist left to take a job at a boy’s ranch in California that worked with juveniles with criminal records. The director and assistant director of Shade Tree had been managing the facility for years, interviewing college graduates to fill the vacancies when staff eventually left. Since Audrey had worked here, support positions had a turnover of every one to three months. The doctors moved on every three to seven years. She landed in the middle of that spread, and if not for her conversation with Ross Waldman, PI, she wouldn’t have the whispered thought in the back of her mind that she wasn’t where she wanted to be.

Raul knocked on her door and announced Renee´’s arrival. His presence outside her closed office door offered some safety. Renee´, and two dozen others, remained at Shade Tree per court order. Once the patients reached a level of functioning fit for prison, they were transferred. Sometimes treatment continued behind bars. Few of those twenty-four patients would be released to live outside penitentiary walls.

“Do you enjoy your job?” Ross’s words, no longer a whisper, rattled around in her skull, echoing back to her like the last syllable shouted into a canyon.

Her patient’s dark eyes were vacant, and then malevolent, alternating back and forth between the two as she stared at Audrey. Would Renee´ engage in the therapy session today? Would Audrey need to call for Raul to restrain the patient? And did anything Dr. Ellis do make a difference to improve the life of the shattered human being now slumping in her chair across from her?

Five hours and four patients later, Audrey watched the door close behind a sixteen-year-old with court orders to attend counseling for his OCD related thefts. With pen in hand, Audrey made her recommendation at the bottom of her notes.

Family counseling. If the patient receives appropriate and positive attention from parents, shoplifting will cease.

Audrey filed the folder in her desk drawer according to the day of the week, then locked it. Setting her pen parallel to the blotter and perpendicular to the drawer, she stood, pushing in her chair, then retrieved her purse from the rack by the door. Carefully closing and locking things up, she kept her attention focused on her task. If her mind wandered, she wouldn’t be able to remember if she had followed protocol at the end of the day—reviewing her caseload for the next workday, locking her desk drawer, locking up the files, turning off her lights, signing out at the front desk—and would lie awake all night wondering if she’d forgotten something.

Pausing by the front counter, she signed out, said goodbye to Kathy—the overnight receptionist who also cleaned part of the facility—and walked out the double sliding glass doors. Audrey glanced to the west, momentarily disappointed she had missed the sunset, then sighed when her shoulders relaxed.

She kept her purse clutched close under her arm, and her gaze on her car parked beneath one of the lot lights. Hesitating in unlocking her car, she glanced behind her. Audrey saw no one, but the feeling of being watched persisted. Yanking open her door, she slid inside and hit the locks. When she fumbled the key around the ignition, she forced herself to take a breath. Audrey started her car, backed out of her space, and drove out of the lot. A blue blur crossed in front of her windshield. She stomped on the brakes.

“s**t!” She peered toward the front of her car and watched the person toss a wave of apology back at her as the jogger headed for the park.

Audrey pressed a hand to her heart, ensuring it stayed in her chest. Leaning back in her seat, she continued out of the parking lot. She glanced in the rearview mirror and swore again. Leaning against the lamp pole was the person who darted in front of her. Maybe they changed their mind about exercise after nearly getting hit by a car. Maybe intimidating the driver of said car was their purpose. Audrey merged with traffic and decided whatever the person’s intentions, they had rattled her.

She parked in the garage under her condo and waited for the door to close before she climbed out of her car. Entering the living space, she locked the door behind her and climbed the stairs. Once inside, she dropped her purse and keys on the narrow table by the door, then went to every window and looked out. She saw nothing unusual and no one besides the neighbor walking their bulldog. As she left each window, she closed the blinds.

In her kitchen, she poured a glass of wine, telling herself the alcohol would relax her. Audrey downed half the wine, then returned to her bedroom. After changing into shorts and a T-shirt, she pulled the pins from her hair and shook it loose. Like her tense shoulders, containing her hair each day for work brought on a headache. She usually wasn’t close enough to her patients for them to touch her, but the attack during her first week at Shade Tree—the patient wrapping his fist in her loose hair—taught her to pull it back. After that incident, she only wore stud earrings and no bracelets or necklaces.

She made herself a salad for dinner, watched two shows on Netflix, had another glass of wine, then went to bed. She plugged in her cell phone, lining up the corner of the phone with the corner of her nightstand, adjusting her alarm clock to the exact middle of the nightstand, then folded down the sheet and duvet, making sure the sheet covered the edge of the duvet and hung past by two inches. Trading her leisurewear for a satin nightgown in deep red, she then slid between the sheets. Lying still on her back, in the middle of the queen mattress, Audrey counted her breaths. At ten, she closed her eyes. At twenty, she consciously relaxed each part of her body. Somewhere between her wrists and shoulders, she fell asleep.

Ross unlocked the door of the house he’d grown up in and inherited when his mother passed away a year ago. A small two-bedroom with a detached garage, flowerbeds he hadn’t replanted, and a lawn that often grew four inches high before he took part of a Saturday to cut it so the neighbors didn’t come to check on him. He knew most of those who lived on the street, either because they had been there for thirty or forty years or because they came to his mother’s funeral. In the kitchen, he tossed his keys and wallet in a ceramic bowl he’d made in an elementary art class, grabbed a beer from the fridge, then leaned against the counter as he twisted off the top and downed half of it. He sighed and pressed the cold bottle to his forehead.

Talking with Dr. Audrey Ellis had been the highlight of his day. The client he met at the park demanded he break the law in order to catch her cheating husband. The last four hours he’d spent on a stakeout yielded zero results. He found out from a neighbor that the couple he was investigating for insurance fraud were on vacation. In Big Bear. Skiing. Not something they would do if one of them claimed a back issue due to heavy lifting at their job. If he had known about the trip, he could have followed them and gotten the photographs the insurance company needed to prove fraud. Instead, he logged four unbillable hours. No one paid him for watching an empty house.

He finished the beer, then searched the fridge for dinner. Finding a pizza in the freezer, he put it in the oven, then headed to the shower. Reviewing his schedule for the next day, he wondered if he would see Audrey again. He toweled off and pulled on a pair of sweats.

Removing the pizza from the oven and a second beer from the fridge, he settled at one end of the dining table. His “office” was set up with a laptop and printer on the table and a two-drawer filing cabinet pushed against the wall. As he ate, he made notes on the computer about his ongoing cases. He cleared his email inbox, replied to texts and voicemails, then jotted notes in a small notebook about where he needed to go and people he needed to talk to. After two hours, Ross leaned back in the wooden chair, stretched his legs out under the table, and closed his eyes.

The image of silver-blonde hair, smooth pale skin, and an attractive body draped in suit skirts of every color settled behind his lids. He decided if Audrey Ellis was any more conservative, she would fit in a nun’s habit. That thought made him want to discover why she contained herself and what would happen if she let go. With a groan that he told himself was more about the uncomfortable chair and less about Audrey, he shut down his computer, checked the locks on the doors and windows, and turned off the lights.

Standing in the dark of his bedroom, he plugged in his phone, double checked the weapon on his nightstand, then shucked his sweats. Sprawling across his bed, half covered by the blankets, he remembered his words to the beautiful psychiatrist. “Many people work jobs for most of their adult lives, then realize on their deathbeds how miserable they’ve been the last forty years.” He smiled to himself because, despite the four-hour stakeout on an empty house, he loved his work.