Chapter 27 – Obsessed

“Chris, I'll be fine.”

Melissa adjusted her messenger bag, loaded down with heavy books and notebooks and personal items, over her shoulder. She carefully took each step down the concrete staircase, her hand that wasn't holding the phone brushing against the metal of the railing to keep her body balanced. Naturally a klutz, in the low light, she was even more afraid that she would trip over her own feet.

“You're walking by yourself, at nine at night, at a university, with no witnesses, to your car in a parking garage,” Chris said. “Hello Melissa, have you seen a horror movie? Any horror movie? Because you're about to become one.”

“I don't watch horror movies, they terrify me,” Melissa said with a smile. “I just hide under the bed until it's over.”

“All the more reason for you to never walk alone.”

“Okay, Lance Junior,” she snipped.

Ever since she had received the mysterious text message a week before, right after Lance receiving his prank phone call, all four of them had been on edge. Lance hadn't let Addy be home alone all week. He only left the apartment when necessary, which was usually only for work. When he did have to leave, he usually arranged to have someone at the apartment with her – to which she simply rolled her eyes, pulled out a kitchen knife in an attempt to look scary, and told Lance she didn't need a constant babysitter at 29 years old.

Since Melissa had obviously been pulled into it all with the new threat against her, Chris and Lance had turned part of their attention to her. Both insisted she either be accompanied at all times – like Addy – or if it was absolutely necessary that she be out alone, that she have someone on the phone with her, like now.

If it wasn't Chris, it was Lance. She had spent more time talking with him in one week than she had in the entire time she had known him. It was odd. Even odder – they were all of a sudden growing close, kindling somewhat of a friendship.

“I've been compared to worse things than Lance before,” Chris said. “I'm disappointed, Weston. You're going to have to do a little better than that if you want to insult me.”

“I have plenty,” she said. “I've been coming up with ways to insult you since day one, Kirkpatrick.”

“Hit me with your best shot, woman.”

“You just want to keep me on the phone longer,” she said with a scoff.

“Maybe I do,” he said. “But are you going to pass up the opportunity to freely insult me like this? You know you're itching to.”

She smiled, feeling herself blush slightly.

Her relationship with Chris was...confusing, at best. Since she had lost everything in the fire and moved in with him, things had been different between them.

Sleeping with him that night had taken her by surprise. She had known for a while that her feelings for him were changing. The night before the engagement party – the night they had almost slept together – she felt a kind of heartbreak that it she hadn't felt in a long time. She wanted to hate him; the problem was, she didn't. Dousing him with alcohol in front of all of Addy and Lance's friends had been a minor comfort, but it didn't take away the pang of rejection that she had felt because of him running out on her that night.

They hadn't spoken again until the day that Lance and Justin had pulled their trick on her. That day, the sting of her feelings for Chris, the rejection she felt, and the hurt she felt after she lost her job had all compounded on her. She had broken down into tears – tears that she couldn't control.

But the way he had come to her rescue – putting aside all of their arguments, putting away the fact that she had publicly embarrassed him, and walking in as if she had been his best friend forever and he was concerned about her – finally made her realize that some part of him cared about her. Whether it was a big or small part, it didn't matter. That was when she realized that he might have actually told her the truth that night. He walked out of her apartment that night not to reject her and make himself look like the hero; he walked out that night because some part of him cared about her and her feelings, and didn't want there to be any regret over a one-night-stand.

The week they had come to a truce was the week she realized she not only liked him – she might have loved him.

She was taking things slowly and carefully. She wasn't ready to rush into a relationship with someone like him after all she had been through. The idea terrified her. She wasn't sure she was ready to be in any relationship, to be honest. They had slept together – not only the once, she admitted – and occasionally she would be in the kitchen...cooking a meal...and she would feel him sneak up behind her, snake his arm around her waist as she danced and sang along with the music she played from her phone, and she would find them having a “moment”.

He would gently kiss her right behind her earlobe. She would close her eyes in response. It felt right. It felt okay; she was temporarily in heaven. This was how it was supposed to be.

And then it would end, all too soon. He would back off to give her space, and she would go back to cooking for them, and the rest of the night would pass as if nothing had happened. That was okay, too.

The healed part of her heart wanted so much more...the still-wounded part stopped her in her tracks.

“Come on, Weston,” Chris urged, waiting for her reply. “Give me what you got.”

“Shouldn't I focus on not becoming a horror movie?” she asked with a smile. “I mean, I am walking alone, at nine at night, at a university...”

“You got nothin',” Chris said. “What a waste, I give you a perfect opening to torture me and you can't even come up with anything.”

“I have stuff,” she said. “I'm saving my best ones for a rainy day.”

Adjusting her bag over her shoulder again as it slipped, Melissa crossed the street, the parking garage coming into her view.

“Chris, I'm going into the parking garage and reception is terrible,” she said. “I'm going to lose you. I'll call you back once I'm back on the highway.”

“No, Mel,” he said. “I'm staying on the phone with you. I don't want you walking through a parking garage alone in the middle of the night with some psycho Scream-sequel wannabe on the loose.”

“I don't exactly have a choice, Chris.”

“You can talk to me until you lose reception, then,” Chris said, and she rolled her eyes.

“Don't I get enough of you at home?” she asked. “Now I have to be technologically attached to you at all times? Why don't you put a chip in my collar so if I run away the vet can track me?”

“Woman, I'm a little tired of your attitude,” Chris said, and she giggled at him trying to make his voice sound “tough”. “Don't you laugh at me. I think we need to set some ground rules around this--”

Five feet into the covered garage, his voice suddenly cut off. She lowered the phone from her ear to peek at the screen, not surprised when it said “Call Lost”.

“Told you,” she said to herself with a smile, shaking her head.

The walk to her car at the other end was a short one. The heels of her black boots slapped heavily against the pavement, creating an echo through the parking garage. She had to admit, it was eerie.

Only a few feet from her car, her phone rang in her hand. She stopped in place, confused – she had signal? Only a few seconds after losing her connection with Chris?

Figuring it was him calling her back, she briefly peeked at the caller ID, and that's when her blood ran cold.

Derek W, the screen read.

“No,” she said quietly to herself, shaking her head in disbelief. “No way, it can't be.”

She panicked a moment. She wasn't ready for this moment. She had kept his name in her phone, just in case. She didn't want to be caught off guard if this moment ever came. She had thought she prepared herself for it, but now she realized...there was no way she could ever prepare for this.

She paused reluctantly a moment before pressing the green “accept” button on her touchscreen, licking her lips and taking a breath before putting it up to her ear.

“H-hello?” she stuttered, closing her eyes in preparation.

“Hello, Melissa.”

The deep voice was frightening, but for a moment, a wave of relief washed over her – that wasn't his voice. It didn't sound anything close to his voice. Then the fear set in again.

“Who is this?” she asked.

“Who do you think it is?” the voice asked.

“How do you have Derek's number?” she asked.

“I like to do my research,” the voice said.

Without having been there the day that Lance received his phone call, it was obvious to her – this was the person who had called him, the person who was stalking them.

“How do you know my phone number?” she asked, taking a few steps forward until she reached her car door, setting her messenger bag on the ground next to her.

“I've researched you too, dear, sweet Melissa,” the voice said. “This is the information age. You wouldn't believe all the details that are available if you have the right connections. Melissa Weston, born and raised in Little Rock, Arkansas, an only child. Parents Paul and Catherine Weston, maiden name Hendricks. Attended Little Rock Central High School, graduated in the year 2000 with a 3.9 GPA at the top of your class. From there you attended University of Arkansas in Fayetteville. You graduated with your Bachelor's in Accounting. You moved to New York in December 2011 to attend the Institute of Culinary Education and you worked at Bloomingdale's until you were fired a month ago. Should I go on?”

“I get it,” Melissa said. “You know your shit.”

“Yes, I do,” the voice said confidently.

“What do you want from me?” she asked.

“You're my insurance,” the voice said. “You're how I'm going to draw Addy out of her hidey-hole.”

“And how are you going to do that?”

Melissa reached into her pocket, pulling out her keychain. She reached for her largest key, her car ignition key, and placed it sharp side out between her index and middle finger as she'd heard it could be effective as a self-defense weapon.

“That's cute,” the voice said. “Thinking a key can protect you.”

Her shoulders drooped. Dropping her key-holding hand to her side, she looked around the entire parking garage, wide-eyed.

“You can't see me,” the voice said. “But I can see you.”

“It's cute how you use the lamest, most cliché scare tactics ever,” she said. “Sounds like somebody's been watching too many scary movies to me.”

“But they're effective. You don't like scary movies, do you Melissa?” the voice said. “You hide under the bed until they're over?”

Melissa closed her eyes, trying to calm her nerves and her unsettled stomach.

“That's right, I heard the whole conversation. There's a reason you don't like scary movies, isn't there? Your whole life has been like a bad scary movie, hasn't it?”

“What do you know about my life?” she asked.

“I know why you ran away from Arkansas quick fast and in a hurry,” he said. “You're so afraid of him finding you. And the very fact that I found you, to you, means that so can he.”

“I'm not worried about him,” she lied.

“Oh, you are,” the voice said. “You put up a front for Chris and Addy and Lance. You keep your secrets locked up inside because you're afraid of what they would do if they found out. You think your problems will only come in and disrupt their perfect, white-picket-fence existence.”

“And what about you?” she asked. “What's your damage, huh? Why are you so obsessed with Addy? She clearly wants nothing to do with you.”

“Damage?” the caller said with a chuckle. “Obsessed? Those are strong words.”

“Are they? I don't know that I'd call them strong for a guy who follows someone's every move for months and drops little notes in their mailbox for kicks.”

“A little fun never killed anybody.”

The way his voice had changed made chills run down her spine.

“Oh wait,” he said. “It did. Oops.”

“It was you,” she said.

“He got in the way. Collateral damage.”

“That's what people are to you, aren't they?” she asked. “Collateral. Accessories. Disposable.”

“You missed your calling, dear, sweet Melissa,” he said. “You should have been a psychologist.”

“You need one,” she retorted. She knew it probably wasn't smart to provoke whoever it was; it was probably as stupid as poking a hungry bear in the woods with a stick. But she was keeping him on the phone – and the longer she kept him on, she knew she might be able to figure out important details about this person.

“You should probably be more careful,” the man finally said. “Walking alone at night, through a parking garage, all by yourself...not a wise move.”

“What are you going to do?” she said. “Attack me? Bring it on.”

The caller chuckled. “I like you, Melissa. You have a fire inside of you. Those are my favorite kind of people.”

Melissa lowered the key from in between her finger and put her hand on the handle of the door, pulling it up to open the door.

“Eh, eh, eh,” the caller said, stopping her in her tracks. “If I were you, I'd take some precautions before you drive off. Tire pressure, headlights...perhaps check your brake lines...”

Her stomach dropped.

“I'm glad we had this chat, Melissa. I look forward to talking with you again.”

And before she could blink, she heard the click of the call disconnecting.

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“Are you nuts?”

Addy paced the living room, her hand held to her lower stomach, staring at Mel.

“Oh, here's a harmless kitty. Look at his pretty orange and black stripes. Oh, he has sharp claws and pointy teeth. Let's poke him and see what he does!”

“Addy,” Lance said, slightly scolding. “Come on. You're being a little unreasonable.”

“I'm being unreasonable?” she asked, giving him a death glare. “She told a killer that he needed a psychologist.”

“In Mel's defense, he didn't disagree with her,” he said.

She reached down to the couch to pick up a set of knitting needles, attached to a partially finished blanket of fabric in a light yellow color, along with a string of yarn attached to a ball.

“I will finish knitting this, smother you, and bury you with it,” she said, holding it up to him.

“And there's the death threat. This is where I make my exit, Mel,” Lance said, lifting himself up out of the recliner he was seated in. He stopped as he was passing Melissa, leaning in slightly. “Pregnancy's...just great,” he whispered before walking off.

Mel smiled, watching him walk away before turning to Addy and crossing her arms across her chest.

“What are the two of you thinking?” Addy asked, throwing her arms into the air before dropping the blanket back to the couch. “Let's provoke the guy who follows our every move and shot an innocent man in the head. What's the worst that can happen?”

“Addy, he wants us to be afraid of him,” Melissa said. “He feeds off that. If we don't give him the satisfaction, it throws his whole game off.”

“You'd really take that risk?” she asked. “You'd risk your own life that easily?”

“Think about it,” Mel responded. “If what he wanted to do was hurt me, how hard would it have been? He was watching me the whole time. He was even close enough to hear my conversation with Chris. I couldn't see a trace of him anywhere, and it wasn't as if the parking garage was loaded with people. He had access to my car the whole time. But what did he do? Threatened. That's it. Threatened to attack; threatened to cut my break lines; threatened me with personal, private information.”

“I don't get it – who's Derek?” Addy asked. “Why would he use someone that none of us knows against you?”

“Derek is...no one,” Melissa said hesitantly. “Just a guy I used to know in high school. He probably knew that seeing his name on the phone would rile me up and I would be more likely to answer it.”

“Mel,” Addy said, her tone softening, “you have to be careful. Whoever this is, he's not playing games anymore. It was cute at first – they seemed more like creepy love letters. But now a man has been murdered, he's stabbing our doors with knives, he's calling my husband at work...he's not going to get over it and quit. He's going to keep going until he gets what he wants.”

“He doesn't want Mel,” Lance said, coming back into the living room, a bottle of beer in his hand.

“And what exactly is it that you think he wants?” Addy asked, her hands on her hips.

“He wants me,” Lance said, leaning against the door frame. “Dead.”