Eyes of a Stalker (16 page)

We'd only walked a few minutes along the street that would take us into town when for some reason I thought of Mr. Stanley and his comment about getting shorter.

“
There was a time if I'd been standing in front of this picture, you wouldn't have seen it at all
,” he'd said. “
Now, you can see pretty near the whole thing
.”

I wondered why that would come to mind now, and why it seemed to be bothering me.

When the significance of his remark hit me, everything else tumbled into place with lightning speed.

Eric Green wasn't the stalker at all. The stalker was walking at my side.

Maybe if I'd remained calm and just kept walking, if I'd managed to act as if everything was okay, I'd have made it home that night. But fear clutched me so tightly I could hardly breathe, and the only thought that made any sense was… run!

That's exactly what I did. I took off, racing down the street as fast as I could go. But I hadn't made it ten feet when I heard him coming after me, his footsteps pounding as he, too, broke into a run. My heart was thudding so hard I thought it would explode as I heard him get closer and closer.

Before I'd reached the end of the street I felt his hand grab my arm and yank it. I started to scream, but he spun me around and pulled me against him so fast that the wind was knocked out of me.

His hand clamped over my mouth and he leaned
down, staring into my eyes. “You disappoint me, Shelby,” he said, almost chewing his words through clenched teeth. “So I see we're going to do this the hard way. Now, are you going to try to scream?”

I shook my head “no,” forcing myself to meet his eyes. The second he started to move his hand away I bit it as hard as I could, stomping on his foot at the same time. With every bit of strength I could muster, I broke away and started to run again. As I ran, I tried to get a deep enough breath to be able to scream, but I needed every bit of oxygen to keep going.

Around the corner! Just ahead was a bungalow. If I could make it there, someone would help me. And then I felt something grab my ankles and I went down. I knew he had to have thrown himself down, too, in order to get a hold of me and pull me off my feet, so I kicked behind me, freeing my legs.

Frantically, I crawled forward, ploughing through snow on the lawn as I tried to get closer to the house. I managed to yell “help,” but I doubted it was loud enough to attract attention. Too late, I remembered my alarm keychain. I had just begun to reach for it when —
wham
! — I was down again, my face buried in the snow and the weight of Jason crushing me to the ground.

I struggled, my lungs exploding with the need for air while my face remained pressed in the snow. I felt
as though I was fighting so hard to free myself, but even as blackness closed in I knew my efforts were feeble and futile.

I have no idea how long I was unconscious. All I know is that when I woke up, I was in a different place — a dark place that smelled musty and stale. My hands and feet were tied and there was some kind of wide tape across my mouth. I didn't move or make a sound while I waited for my eyes to adjust enough for me to get some idea of where I was.

Light from the moon, shining through a solitary window, soon made it possible for me to see that I was in a small building — a shed, maybe. It was clear from the window's position, not to mention the hard surface underneath me, that I was lying on the floor.

There were a couple of stools along with a folding table off to one side, and as far as I could see they were the only pieces of furniture in here. There was no sign of Jason, and I was pretty sure he wasn't somewhere behind me, but I waited and listened carefully just in case. When enough time had passed without the slightest sound — no breathing, no shifting around, nothing — I decided I was, indeed, alone.

Now that I knew it was
safe
to move, I was left with the question of whether or not I
could
move. Thankfully, my hands were tied in front of me and not behind, which
would have made movement much more difficult. A third rope ran from the cords on my wrists through the belt loops on my jeans, making it impossible for me to lift my hands up more than a few inches. I assumed this was mainly to keep me from removing the tape that covered my mouth. I managed to get into a sitting position after trying a few times, but I could see standing up was going to be a lot more difficult. Even so, I made a couple of attempts, both of which landed me flat on the floor and back where I started.

I need to get to that window, I thought, to see where I am. The campground? Maybe that's why Jason wanted to take the “shortcut.”

Then I realized the problem with getting to my feet was balance. I got into a kneeling position and inched my way over to the closest stool. With something to put my hands on to steady myself, I managed to get upright.

The window was only a few feet away, but there was so little movement possible with my ankles tied that it seemed to take forever to get there. As I shuffled along, my heart began to pound in fright. What if he came back before I got to the window? I knew if that happened he'd make sure I never had another chance.

It was odd, really, how my thoughts were all focused entirely on seeing out that window. Not on escaping or getting help, but just on knowing where I was. I guess I knew that if I tried to think of too many
things at once, it would seem hopeless and I'd become overwhelmed. Setting one, simple goal and working on that helped me stay clear-headed.

Once I found out where I was, I could think of the next step. Not before. And so I put every bit of concentration into getting to that window, listening all the while for any sounds of someone approaching.

When at last I reached it I saw that I was, as I'd suspected, in a building on the abandoned campground. I was quite sure it was a little shed that had been used for storage, one that wasn't close enough to the owner's home for any noise to reach them.

The nearest street was the one I'd been on when I'd started running, and there were no houses on it at all. All it did was connect Cedar Street, where Jason had caught me, and Standover Ridge Road, where Tyrone's house was. I couldn't picture any houses near enough that the inhabitants would be able hear me. Or, I should say, to hear the alarm Dad had bought me.

And the light on the alarm wasn't bright enough to attract attention, either. I touched the keychain anyway, to reassure myself that Jason hadn't realized what it was and taken it. It was still there, hanging from my coat zipper, but as my fingers closed around it I knew immediately that something was wrong.

It felt too light, for one thing, and a quick exploration with my fingers told me that the little plastic flap
that closed over the batteries was missing. And so were the batteries. At first I thought Jason had taken them, but when I managed to turn the alarm around to look at it, I could see there was a chip near where the flap had been, and a crack near it. Obviously, it had busted open and the batteries had fallen out one of the times Jason had hurled me to the ground.

I almost started to cry. Everything in me wanted to give in to that urge to sink back onto the floor and weep with despair. To give up.

I might have surrendered to the urge, too, even for a few moments, except I pictured Mom and Dad, how frantic they'd be when I didn't come home from the party. And I knew I had to do every last thing in my power to get out of that shed. That meant not wasting even a moment on self-pity, and it meant not giving up for one single second.

I wondered then for the first time if they realized yet that I was missing. I had no watch on and no idea what time it was. It could have been an hour since I'd left the party; it could have been six.

Someone will come looking for me, I thought. I wondered about footprints, but it had been weeks since we'd had a snowfall and there were always people going through the old campground to the trails in the woods. Besides, even if someone noticed a set of footprints coming up to the shed, there'd be no reason to tie me
to them. Since Jason must have carried me, there'd just be one set of prints: his.

I made my way to the door, repeating the slow, shuffling walk that had taken me to the window. I knew there was no way Jason had just left me there with the door unsecured, but I had to check, just in case.

It was locked, as I'd expected. The handle turned okay, but the door itself only budged a fraction of an inch when I pushed and pulled on it. I figured there was a padlock on the outside.

I tried throwing myself against the door in the hope that some of the wood would be old enough to give, but all I managed to do was fall over from the attempt.

Back on my knees, back to the stool, back onto my feet. It was frustrating to have something as simple as standing up take so long because of the ropes. This time I'd no sooner gotten to my feet than I heard sounds outside.

I felt my pulse quicken again as footsteps drew closer. Please let it be someone looking for me, I begged silently, but when I heard a key in the lock, I knew it was Jason.

I almost dropped back to the floor to make him think I'd been lying there the whole time. I started to bend my knees, then I hesitated and straightened back up. He might be holding me captive, but at least I could be standing when I faced him. It was the closest I could come to defying him, to showing any strength at all.

And that was how he found me when the door swung open and he stepped inside.

Jason stopped in surprise when he saw me standing and staring at him. Recovering quickly, he smiled — a wide, friendly smile that scared me more than a scowl would have. Without taking his gaze off of me, he set a plastic bag he was carrying on the floor beside the door. I could see that it was full, but I couldn't tell what was in it.

“So, you're awake,” he said.

I frowned at him and pointed my thumbs up to the tape covering my mouth.

“Oh, yeah.” He crossed the small room until he was standing right in front of me. “Sorry about that, but you can appreciate that I couldn't exactly trust you without it. Not after you tried to run away.”

He reached up and stroked my hair, pushing it back from my face. I somehow managed to keep from flinching at his touch. Then he took hold of the edge
of the tape and peeled it off as slowly and painlessly as possible.

“You understand if you scream — not that anyone can hear you way out here — but if you do, the tape will go back on to stay.”

“Yes.” After the violent way he'd slammed me to the ground earlier, I was surprised at how calm and gentle he seemed. I forced myself to look at him and almost shivered involuntarily when I met his eyes.

He's insane, I thought, fighting panic. The eyes that looked back at me had a strangely vacant wildness to them. I knew with absolute certainty that there would be no reasoning with him. Jason was clearly living in a fantasy of his own creation.

“You know, Jason, someone is going to come looking for me,” I said. I didn't really think there was much chance that he'd move me somewhere else, but I hoped at least to shake him up, get him worried.

“They probably will, but not tonight,” he said. His hand touched my face, caressed it. It was all I could do not to flinch.

“Tonight won't last much longer,” I said. I kept my voice from wavering but couldn't ignore the fact that his total unconcern could mean that his plans didn't extend past this one night.

“No need for you to worry about it, my love.” He leaned forward and kissed my cheek. Again, I kept
myself from reacting, though ever fibre in my body wanted to recoil. “I have everything under control. No one will find you here. You're safe with me.”

I felt my throat tighten as I realized that, in Jason's mind, I didn't
want
to be found. I was there willingly — gladly, even. In order to go on with the fantasy that we were destined for each other, he'd persuaded himself that I cared for him.

I wondered if he was actually delusional enough to believe that his feelings were reciprocated. If I could convince him that his fantasy had any truth to it, it might be possible for me to somehow trick him into letting me go.

“Oh, I brought you some food and water,” he said, pointing to the bag he'd put on the floor when he first came in. He went to the bag and drew out a couple of bottles of water, some sandwiches, and three tangerines.

“You want a drink of water?”

“Maybe a little,” I said with a shrug. In fact, I was desperately thirsty. My throat felt dry and parched, but I didn't want him to think he was doing anything nice for me. If he wanted to “win my affection,” he'd be doing it on my terms, not his. It was the single area in which I might have the slightest control and I had to turn it to my advantage. But I had to do it in such a way that he still felt the power was all his.

Jason held a bottle to my lips so that I could drink. I took a few good swallows and then pretended to choke.

“Oh, sorry,” he said, putting the bottle down and patting my back.

“You did the best you could,” I said, still coughing between words. “It's hard to give someone else a drink without choking them.”

He didn't say anything to that, but I could tell he was thinking about it. Don't ask him directly for anything, I told myself. Just plant the ideas and let him decide. I have to make sure he feels in charge at all times.

What was it that Dr. Taylor had said? Oh, yes. “He thrives on the sense of power he's created for himself.”

“You hungry?”

“Not really. Thanks.” I kept my voice respectful, but not particularly grateful. “I, uh, need to use the bathroom, Jason.”

“No problem. I have everything figured out.” He smiled and pointed to a corner and I saw for the first time that there was a small pail there. “I even brought some toilet paper.”