“Did Maria drop you off?”
“Nah. For me, it’s the bus, then the pedestrian shuffle.” I should’ve lied because now he’s on his feet.
“Let me run you back. It’s two miles to the nearest bus stop.”
“I’m aware. But you don’t need to—”
“Eva!” Chuch calls. “I’ll be back in half an hour. I’m taking Shannon home.”
“Pick up toilet paper and baby wipes!”
He sighs but he’s smiling. “I swear she thinks of something for me to buy anytime I leave the house. It’s like she’s proving I’m properly trained.”
“You love it.”
“It’s true. Come on.”
Chuch owns six cars in various stages of restoration, and he chooses the sportiest, a black Charger. I climb in, listening to him ramble about marriage and fatherhood. This monologue would constitute complaining from any other guy, but Chuch loves Eva so much that he’s happy she’s there, organizing his life and telling him what to do. I’ve noticed that he doesn’t always listen, however. Sometimes he nods at whatever she says and then does something else.
He’s a fast driver, but safe, so it doesn’t take long to reach my neighborhood, much quicker than the bus. I convince Chuch to drop me off at the mom-and-pop store five blocks from my apartment, and through some miracle I persuade him to let me walk home afterward. He comes in long enough to grab Eva’s requested items, but he hurries off, officially relieved of responsibility. I’m grateful that people care what happens to me, but I need to take care of my own business.
In the market, I take my time since I’m on a budget and it’s an exercise in humiliation if I bring more to the register than I can afford. In my shopping basket, I’ve got bread, cereal, milk, turkey, lettuce, noodles, tuna, tomatoes, and good cheese. Hopefully these groceries will last until my next payday.
At first, I don’t notice my shadow. I mean, the guy’s not memorable: thin, middle-aged, wispy brown hair, and a sallow face. He’s just another shopper in the small store, browsing among the pasta. But when I turn down the next aisle, I see him move in the round, silver mirror hung at the back of the store.
A chill goes down my spine.
Without my radio, I’m as helpless as the next girl, and I don’t like the feeling. As I shop, I watch the way he keeps pace. I can’t decide if this is regular pervert stalking or if he’s observing me for some other, possibly more alarming, reason.
It’s fine. There are other people around.
I’m a little nervous about walking home, but there are no back streets. One of the reasons my half of the rent is so cheap is because the apartment’s on a main road, noisy, but there’s a bus stop nearby and shopping within walking distance. It’s not upscale, but most of Laredo has seen better days. On the positive side, it only costs three hundred a month to live here, plus my share of the utilities.
The creeper’s still following me.
There’s only one cash register, so he waits for a few more people to get in line behind me, while he pretends to study a display. Then he joins the queue. My heart beats faster as I wait my turn. After check out, I have two dollars and forty-six cents left. Could be worse. I already gave Maria the rent money, and the other bills aren’t due until later. I might need to take a second job in order to afford tuition, but that leaves the excellent question of when I’ll find the time to attend classes.
Whatever. I hurry out of the store, wondering if he’ll drop his items and follow. When he does, it feels like ice freezing at the base of my spine. Instead of leaving the parking lot, I set my bags down and get out my phone. When Mr. Nondescript pops out of the market, I snap a picture.
“I’m sending this to my boyfriend, who’s a cop.” Jesse isn’t, but this a**hole doesn’t know that. “If I catch you tailing me again, I’m sure he’ll find something to charge you with.”
The man stills, scanning me head to toe at a leisurely pace, and I feel like I need a hot shower. Or maybe I need to sit in the shower to rock and weep…because I’ve never felt tainted by a look before. In the afternoon sunlight, his eyes glint strangely, first yellow, and then red, like blood’s flowing inside his sclera.
“Well-played, Ms. Cheney. I assure you, you won’t spot me next time. Not until it’s too late.”
“What does that even mean?” It sounded like a threat.
But he’s already striding away, crossing the busy street with a speed and agility entirely foreign to his build. Belatedly I realize, that bastard knew my name. At that point, my flight instinct kicks in. I grab my stuff and sprint all the way home.
Maria’s at work, so she doesn’t witness my collapse against the front door. All my natural intuition tells me that guy wasn’t normal. I feel like such a dipshit since I’ve been full of big ideas about taking care of myself, but this is weightier than dinner or the phone bill. So I type a succinct message to Jesse about my creeper and then send him the photo.
I’m surprised when he calls me five minutes later. I figured he’d be tied up in interviews today, but he might have the day off. I haven’t memorized his work schedule or anything.
“You all right, sugar?” His voice is buttery sweet, warm with concern, and my toes actually curl.
“Yeah, he just freaked me out.”
“Tell me what happened, exactly what he said.”
So I repeat the encounter, word for word. He sounds troubled when he replies. “Sounds like you’ve drawn somebody’s eye.”
“Not a normal perv, right?”
“I’d say no. Be careful, okay?”
“Do you think this has to do with the spell?”
He hesitates. I so wish I could see his face right now. “Hard to say. Maybe.”
“Chuch and Eva know something, by the way. But they’re not talking. Did you find anything out?”
“Sort of. There’s no relevant chatter on Area 51, but…today, my boss asked me if I was still dating that sweet redheaded girl.”
He’s seeing someone? What the hell. Somehow I keep my voice from trembling. “Well, are you?”
“That’s the strange thing, Shan. To the best of my recollection, I’ve never gone out with anyone like that.”
“Just how big is this spell?” I wonder.
“No idea. But we need to get to the bottom of it.” His voice deepens, softens. “You’ll stay safe for me, right?”
“Anything for you,” I answer breezily, and I guarantee he has no idea how much I mean it.
Five
Sunday is laundry day. I use two bucks to wash my work uniforms, which is almost all I wear during the week, so I’m set when Monday rolls around.
The next morning, I take the bus to work, as usual, and I’m jumpy, watching for the spooky dude, but I don’t spot him. There’s just the usual bunch of commuters who can’t afford a car or insurance or both. They nod at me as I board; I lift my chin in response.
I sit next to an older woman who clutches her bag as if I’m likely to mug her. People often respond that way to the piercings and my general style. It’s not personal, though. I’ve watched folks with similar looks receive the same treatment.
It’s a decent day, bright enough and unlikely to rain. Most of us hop off at the mall and I traipse inside, ignoring the kid from the hamburger stand who’s puffing away near the ashtrays; he looks like he isn’t even old enough to buy smokes. I give him a wide berth. Despite my cold shoulder, he falls into step beside me.
“Shouldn’t you be in school?” I ask.
That makes him scowl. “I graduated last year.”
“And you’ve come so far. Your mother must be so proud.”
“I don’t know why I bother trying to be nice to you.”
So maybe he’s attempting humor when he makes the paper pirate hat? Or possibly it’s a nerd courtship ritual. “It’s a mystery to us all.”
He follows me to the food court. During this interminable walk, I learn his name is Felix and he wants to be an optometrist but his grades weren’t good enough to get into the university of his choice, so he’s taking a year off to figure out his next step. I’m puzzled why he thinks I care enough to merit this vomitous outpouring of personal information.
“Now you,” he prompts as we cross through the tables. “That’s how conversation works.”
“My name’s Shannon. I was born in the Deep South in a cursed little town, one full of witches, demons, and shit. Then some horrible things happened, and I probably killed my mother, but because I have partial amnesia, I can’t be sure. Now I’m working at Pretzel Pirate, which might literally be an annex in hell. Who says there’s no such thing as karma?”
To my surprise, he cracks up. “Okay, I get it, I’m pushy. Talk to you later, Shannon…if that is your real name.”
Huh. Telling the truth is fun, boys and girls.
Bemused, I head toward my penance for the bad deeds I don’t clearly remember. Opening at Pretzel Pirate has become second nature; I could do it in my sleep. I set the dough in the machines, put pretzels in the oven, and turn on various gadgets. Work passes with routine issues, like people bitching that their pretzel is too soft, not crispy enough, or I didn’t top it with enough jalapeño cheese.
The hamburger stand closes an hour before Pretzel Pirate, so I get to chat with Felix before he gets too hungry to wait any longer. This is good because if he’s still here when I close, he’ll ask me to dinner. I can read the signs, but there’s no way in hell that would ever happen. We may be the same age, but he looks like a toddler to me. He’s barely pubescent, let alone interesting in a sexual fashion.
As I’m locking up, I get a text from Jesse. Come out the west doors. I’m taking you home. If I didn’t have the dude from yesterday fresh in my mind, I’d bitch at him. It’s only nine fifteen, and I’ve been taking the bus for weeks. Yet tonight, the mall seems silent and faintly ominous as I pass through the food court; I don’t see any security guards and the stores have all shut down. Metal gates cover the shops, and the fountains aren’t flowing. Maybe I’ve seen too many zombie movies. Despite my best intentions, I quicken my steps.