Alone But Not Alone

 

            Valentina sat in the half light, the sunlight outside struggling to penetrate the mostly closed curtains and managing to sneak a few rays into the darkness but feeling frustrated at the inability to dispel the darkness. Her loved ones remained in the other parts of the house, confused at her odd choices, her chosen isolation, and her seeming lack of foresight, occasionally knocking on the door in an effort to provide support to only receive cold detachment in response.

              She paced the room, clearly confused, and disoriented, wondering why she seemed to lack the ability to form a clear thought, a good opinion, or a plan for the future, uncertain of what to do next, while the sounds from the outside, beautiful, joyous, and appealing, remained beyond her grasp. Curling into the fetal position on the floor beneath the window, a single ray of sunshine nearly reached her right foot and she wondered why it wouldn't move any closer, to provide clarity and warmth.

              She began to rock herself in an effort to feel something, to know something other than darkness and confusion, pressing her face into her knees until bright lights appeared behind her closed eyes. Tipping to the side, she dropped to the floor, her hair falling over her face only to be blown out of the way by her own breath, to reveal an enormous cockroach only inches from her face, motionless. Initially shocked and revolted, as any normal human would be, she began to see the creature as a new friend, someone non-judgmental and forgiving.

              "I will call you Carl," she whispered, reaching toward the still motionless insect, to have it crawl upon her hand. Feeling a twinge of happiness with her new found friend, who though speechless and without self-awareness, offered her something in her self-chosen darkened solitude. The two played together, she watching it skitter from one hand to the next, from floor to hand to leg to other hand to other leg to the floor again.

              A singular eye peered through the keyhole, clearly with a limited view, pondering this strange activity, seeing only the slow, deliberate movement, hearing the occasional whisper but comprehending none of the words or actions. The body connected to the singular eye eventually grew tired of observing the strange behavior, stepping away to interact with those who were truly connected and involved, finding happiness in the human interaction, the love of loved ones thorough, complete, and genuine.

              Valentina rolled to her stomach, placing her chin on the floor to obtain a closer view of her new friend, Carl, to allow him access to her face, his tiny exoskeleton limbs skittering up her face and into her hair, feasting on the bits of dry scalp trapped in her oily hair. She smiled at the interaction, trusting that Carl was enjoying himself as much as she valued her time with him.

              "Carl is a beautiful, kind, and friendly man," she told herself, an effort in self-deception and delusion that redirected her attention away from his squeamish appearance into a vision of her own making, despising reality and choosing a lie simply to make herself feel better, regardless of the cost and impact upon her soul. With Carl still creeping about her scalp, she climbed on the couch, the only piece of furniture in the room, to lie on her back and pretend that they shared a deep and meaningful conversation about future plans.

              As time continued on, she began to invent a history, times and places she had always wanted to visit, not alone, placing the tall, kind Carl into each scene, each one lovely and romantic, hand in hand they walked the streets of Paris, rode the gondolas through Venice, and sat together gazing upon the Mona Lisa in the Louve. Motionless she lay, living in a world of her own making, her delusion continued, wanting to find happiness and connection, and willing to make any sacrifice to convince herself of the deluded false history.

              The days continued on and the stench emanating from the singular darkened room increased, as one by one, those throughout the rest of the house departed, a helpless sense of frustration at their inability to intervene, until the house in all of its beauty and glory now sat empty, void of life, void of activity, void of love, and silent. Valentina continued in her delusion, oblivious to the stench she had created, the loss she had endured, and the emptiness of her imaginary world, only to discover that Carl had stopped skittering about, now a motionless shell in a far corner, and Valentina again sat alone, holding onto her dreams and false memories, confused about what exactly had taken place.

              She lay again on the floor, looking upon her former lover and friend, tapping him with her forefinger, to see nothing, no life, no activity, and no response, turning her head, the light from under the door shone across her face and a small memory, somewhat distorted popped into her mind. She rose to her feet and hobbled to the door to grasp the handle and emerge from the darkness to see her reflection on the wall art directly across from her as she left the room.

              Startled and confused at the face that looked back at her, she undressed, burned her clothes in the fireplace in the living room down the hall, to return to the hallway bathroom to shower away the filth. Horrified at her reflection in the mirror in the bright light of the bathroom, she sat in the empty house, listening to the clicking of a clock from another room and the occasional cycling of the furnace, wondering what had happened, bringing her to this this silent solitude, void of all life and love. "Why did Carl have to leave," she wondered.

The Godly Murderer

 

            Noah's back and head simultaneously slammed into the wall immediately inducing double vision as he saw two versions of his father glaring down upon him, only to watch him turn away and strike his mother, a blow so fierce that blood spurted from her mouth as she hit the floor. It was at that moment that Noah vowed to become the violent monster his father was, but only to stop his father and protect his mother. Too many broken bones and concussions stirred within him a commitment to become something great and powerful, someone feared and respected but only feared by those who deserved punishment and control.

              Evening arrived as Noah stayed in any room unoccupied by his father, his head still not quite right with a fierce, stabbing pain at the base of his neck, fearful of further damage from the always unexpected violence of his father's massive fist. He curled into a ball under his thin blanket, struggling to sleep as he listened to more blows from his father upon his mother, followed by the all-too-common cries for mercy. Eventually everything fell silent, and Noah waited for his father to drink himself into a stupor, giving him the opportunity to flee but at the same time feeling horrible for abandoning his mother.

              His destination was perfectly familiar to him as he passed by it every day on his way to school, the bus ride too dangerous due to additional beatings from the older kids, so he walked the mile and a half, timing his departure to align with the arrival of the bus and no one knew the difference. A series of abandoned homes resided in the exact center of his path from home to school, with one in particular having a certain appeal to him, the windows, mysteriously unbroken and the grounds lacking any garbage, seemed safer than the others.

              He slipped into the hallway, wearing three layers of clothing, and carrying a small bag with his few possessions, to see his father unconscious on the urine-stained couch against the wall opposite the front door. He stepped cautiously, having memorized the exact places to walk without generating any creaks, to slowly open the front door and close it just as slowly, again avoiding all sound. The knot in his stomach for the life that lay ahead for himself and the terrors of a life for his mother, unaware of his location or personal safety, made him feel ill but he had no other choice if he were to survive, to grow, and to one day rescue his mother.

              The presumably abandoned house was dry, relatively warm, and rodent free, and much to his surprise, somewhat furnished, providing somewhere to sleep other than the floor, as well as having running water and heat, though slightly lower than he would have like but also slightly warmer than his own home. The alarm on his watch woke him, feeling refreshed and more rested than he ever had, the typical tension always present in his neck was beautifully absent. The food he had scavenged from the lunchroom garbage can the day before provided a sufficient breakfast of apples and granola bars. Afterwards he stood in a warm shower, the first he could remember in a long time.

              Two weeks into his solitude, Noah began staying late after school to watch football practice, taking notes, getting ideas, and formulating a plan to somewhat emulate their routine, an effort to build his strength, his stamina, and his agility. With vastly improved sleep, three decent meals, and a lack of beatings each day, he poured himself into creating a new, powerful, thoughtful version of himself, the knowledge and examples from the football team, access to the internet at the local library and the freedom to exercise at any given moment created an ever changing story each time he looked into the mirror.

              His exceptional height previously presenting him as a bean pole, now with stunningly increased muscle mass began to bring him respect and fear in the hallways at school, with the usual school bullies avoiding him, avoiding eye contact and a level of respect that he had never imagined. But it was the girls that surprised him the most, flocking to him in a way that communicated he was being noticed and desired, even from those in the upper grades, the temptation was great, but he restrained himself, knowing that attention such as this would distract him from his ultimate goal.

              His second year of high school continued on and with the arrival of winter sports, he took advantage of free access to the wrestling matches, again taking notes and memorizing their techniques, irritated by the rules and the artificial setting, he eventually began a relationship with the head coach, looking for something like wresting but something more natural and freeform. He learned of something called grappling and searched the internet for anywhere nearby that he could visit and observe.

               As the school year drew close to an end, he knew that the free food he had been gleaning from school would no longer be available, thus necessitating the need for employment to generate income. Three days before school ended, he saw a now hiring sign in the local grocery store. His size and remarkable strength afforded him a massive advantage over nearly every other human being, and he proved himself by demonstrating that strength to the store manager.

              After wo weeks of working in the grocery store, at the end of his shift, he carried the six bags of garbage to the dumpster out back and rolled the dumpster into place to be picked up early the next morning by the garbage collection service. As he turned to re-enter the store, he heard an emphatic whistle. "Young man, that was mighty impressive," he heard someone say from a darkened corner. "If you're interested, I can pay you four times what this store is paying you." The man emerged from the darkness and held out a card with an address on it, offering it to Noah. "Come see us," he said, "our business can certainly use a young man with strength like that. This is your only chance."

              Noah stood the next afternoon with his heart in his throat, listening to the same man from the alley offer him a thousand dollars a week to act as a bodyguard and enforcer for his boss. He stood with his back to the door through which he had just entered to hear a very deep male voice, exclaim, "Wow, Tyrone, you did say this kid was big but wow, your description does not do him justice." Turning around, he introduced himself to a very well dressed and clearly very wealthy businessman, offering his hand, he looked down on the man, easily a foot shorter than him.

              "Nice to meet you, Noah," the man said. "I hope that Tyrone has convinced you to join our organization. I have to say that I would feel very safe having you with me and from what I hear you really know how to handle yourself with anyone or anyone's, I should say."

              "Yes, sir," Noah answered. "I have very big goals to accomplish, and I think we can help one another out. Yes, I can handle anyone, and I have never been defeated. I overpowered four men at once, just a month ago and they were trained fighters."

              Four years had passed since Noah began his new line of work and in that time he ascended to the role of head guard with more kills than all the other guards combined. "I don't mean to kill anyone," he said. "I just punch really hard, and I guess it's too much for them to handle." The other man, half his size and with half his intelligence merely grunted.

              "There's not much going on this weekend," he said, "can I trust you to keep things together? I have an errand I need to run, someone I need to visit and motivate. I'll be back on Monday." At nearly seven feet tall, he lowered his head to pass through the doorway to the front step. He slid into the front seat of the black Suburban and began the ten-minute drive to his parent's home, parking down the block and just out of sight. Thankful for the lack of rain, he jogged across the street, rounded the corner, and knocked on the front door, knowing exactly what he would find.

              The door opened to a haggard, foul-smelling middle-aged man in a stained t-shirt, his pants unzipped and wet down the front. "Whataya want?" he belched, rubbing his forearm across his nose, looking up at the massive human standing on his front step. He staggered forward and tried to take a swing at Noah, completely missing his target, losing his balance, and falling onto the front walkway. Noah left him where he landed, walked into the house, and closed the door behind him.

              "Mom?" he called out, "Mom, are you here?"

              The small, frail woman who slightly resembled the mother he once knew hobbled in from the hallway with one eye swollen shut. "Noah? Is that you?" she cried, "you've grown up, you've gotten so big. Where's your father?"

              "He stumbled out the door and is lying on the sidewalk," he answered. "I've come to rescue you, to take you away from this hell he's created. I've got plenty of money and everything will be good from now on. I can take care of you, like you would have liked to taken care of me. Come on, my car is out front. You don't need to bring anything because I can buy everything you need. But put a coat on, it's quite cold out."

              The unusual couple exited the house, the massive man with his arm around the frail woman, weaving past the pathetic fallen figure on the sidewalk, Noah taking the opportunity to stomp on the fallen man's hand with a sickening crunch and a kick to the teeth. The drive home was filled with long explanations, apologies, and words of thanks from both of them. The wrought iron gate slid open as Noah ascended the driveway, stopping at the front door, to hurry out and help his mother inside.

              "Welcome home, Mom," he said. "I'll make you some dinner and you can get a good night sleep. I'll have one of the servants go shopping in the morning for anything you want. Money is not an issue. Neither one of us will ever have to see that man again. Its my turn to take care of you now that I'm retired."

              With a quizzical look, his mother embraced him, and he did all he could not to break down for all of her grief and suffering, gently returning her embrace, he then led her to her room, to return to the kitchen. He finished preparing the pre thawed chicken breasts with rice just as she returned from her shower in a plush robe, seeming more relaxed and content than he had ever seen her. "Good timing, Mom," he said, "dinner is ready."

              Their meal together progressed just as he had imagined, he could sense her struggling with a myriad of emotions, but he was afraid of revealing the source of his income, knowing her disapproval would be severe. "Whenever you get tired and need to rest, please do so, I have a meeting later this evening, but you'll be perfectly safe here as the house is protected by a security company and everything is bulletproof. I won't be gone for too long."

              Just past midnight, Noah left his bosses personal residence, somewhat shaken by his negative response to his pronouncement of retirement. He had hoped that his appeal to caring for his mother would be seen as commendable, but such was not the case. When he pulled out of his driveway, he saw a set of headlights begin to follow him and he feared the worst, knowing that a hit squad would be the most likely outcome, so he drove across most of the city, switching back and forth, avoiding his own neighborhood, eventually losing them and returning home.

              The next several days were spent at home, with regular visits from Noah's personal assistant, returning from shopping excursions for his mother's needs and desires, Noah smiling more than he had for several years with this new opportunity to restore his mother to a place of joy and safety. It was on the evening of the fifth day that an enormous explosion ripped him from his sleep, immediately bolting to his security station he could see three former co-workers at his front door, fully armed. Thankful for the extra strength doors and windows he installed at construction, their use of C4 had no impact on he and his mother's security.

              His mother appeared at the door of the security room looking confused and concerned. "Mom, we're okay," he said. "No one can get into the house and the security company and police will be here in the next two minutes. We're safe." They stood together at the security panel, watching the three men outside being removed by the police.

              "Is this going to keep happening?" she asked. "It seems that someone doesn't like the idea of you retiring."

              "Yes, you're right," he said. "My former boss is concerned that I know too much and will reveal what I know to the authorities but that is not something I'm interested in doing, because you and I have a new life now. I've been thinking that maybe we should move to a different city on the other side of the country. I have another house in Montana under a different name, so we'll be perfectly safe there. We'll need to move fast though because I guarantee that those three will be released very soon."

              Three phone calls and six hours later, Noah and his mother were on a flight to the west coast, each with only a single carry on and passports. "How did that happen so quickly, Noah?" she asked. "What about your house and cars and all of your things? And my things?"

              "It's all taken care of," he said. "My lawyer will manage all of those details. Everything will be sold and anything we need can be bought in Montana. The house is fully furnished and safe, like the last one. You and I are the only ones who know where we are, even my lawyer doesn't know. It's not like we're on the run, think of it instead that we're different people, as you saw on our passports, we have new names."

(Inspired by the life of St. Moses the Ethiopian)

Finding a Way to Care

 

            Even though he lived four doors down, he could still hear the fighting and arguing from his neighbor's room, "Why cannot people just live in peace," he thought, "what is the point of life if there is no joy?" Most would call him a grumpy old man, but the unpleasant label could not have been any further from the truth, he was thoughtful, introspective, and deeply concerned for almost everyone he met and came to know, to the degree that he was capable of doing so.

              Having been both young and old his entire life, the confusion regarding his personality and demeanor grated on him most unpleasantly, leaving him bitter at times, possibly melancholic, frustrated, and usually somewhat helpless. He rolled to his side, his pillow feeling far too thin, to look at the rising sun and grumble that someone would inflict this sort of auditory abuse on others at such an early hour. He slid his feet into his slippers as he sat up on the edge of his bed, rotating his neck to work out the kinks.

              A sip of water from the glass on his nightstand cleared out his throat as he stood humming by the bedroom window, looking out across a gloomy, unkempt city street littered with sad, lonely people, despised by most and living as mere breathing rejects of society. The next hour was spent on his knees in front of his icon corner, reciting from memory the names of hundreds of those people, and many others that struggled with life despite being financially sound and socially acceptable. The morning sun began its crawl across his floor, signaling the start of day and he quickly dressed, to find a single slice of bread alone on the table, to eat while he walked down the two flights of stairs to the street.

              He would spend the next eight hours carrying crates of fish from the waterfront to a line of wagons for delivery to local restaurants, the sand between the origin and destination was incapable of supporting any sort of transportation. With one hundred dollars in coin, transferred from boss to his hand to his pocket, he returned to the main street to return to the street in front of his apartment. His stomach complained of its woeful neglect, having seen nothing of sustenance since the singular piece of bread that morning.

              He purchased two sandwiches from a vendor at the corner and began his slow, methodical, thoughtful journey toward the scores of prostitutes two blocks in the opposite direction. Consuming one of the culinary delights on his way in their direction, he protected the other holding it discreetly until he reached the edge of the red-light district, looking over the girls as he moved among them. "There is always a certain look in their eyes," he told himself, "some are dead and cold, others are tense and fearful, keep looking, keep looking." Then he saw her, very small, horrifyingly thin, scarcely clothed, and impossibly young, no more than eighteen, they made eye contact, seeing a look of terror, of hatred, and of disgust, he could see her trembling, whether from fear or cold, he was uncertain, "Can I purchase your company for the entire evening?" he asked.

              "Yes," she muttered. He took her by the hand, finding it wickedly cold and stiff. The odd couple walked away from the darkness and depravity of it all, leaving behind the crowd, he slipped off his jacket and placed it around her shoulders, noticing a slight jump as he did so. "Thank you," she said. "I am always so cold, this is nice." He led her to his apartment, looking at her bare legs as she walked up the stairs in front of him, noticing the trembling and thinness of her flesh, with a slight blue color.

              Opening the door for her, he followed her inside, closed the door, and added wood to the fire, directing her to the couch. She slipped off his jacket, handing it to him and as he turned to hang it up behind him, he turned back to find her removing the small bit of clothing she had on, "no, no, no, wait," he said, "put those back on, I have a blanket for you, please sit down."

              Wrapping her up in the thick quilt, she snuggled onto the couch, looking very confused and uncertain, "um, what am I doing here?" she asked, "I'm confused." He knelt on the floor in front of her, slipping a pair of socks on her now bare feet, and placing the second sandwich on her lap.

              "I'm here to take care of you," he said, "and here is your money for the evening, like we agreed." Placing the pile of coins next to the food, he rose to his feet and sat in a chair on the opposite side of the room, "please eat, I'm sure you're hungry, and hopefully you're much warmer now." He watched her set the money aside, pick up the sandwich and take a bite, the look of happiness and contentment on her face only emphasized the value of what he was doing, despite the slander and disgust of his neighbors, who only judged on what they saw from the outside. "Dirty old man," he could hear in his memory from weeks before.

              He slowly rose to his feet and entered his kitchen, retrieving a glass of water for her, setting the glass on the small table to her immediate right, "I thought something to drink might be nice," he said, returning to his chair opposite her. They sat in silence as she finished her meal, mostly likely the first real meal she had eaten in quite some time, judging by her emaciated form. She sipped the water and pulled the blanket tighter around herself, leaning to the opposite side with a combined look of contentment and distrust, her eyes growing heavy from the warmth, the meal, and the comfort.

              "Wait, wait," he said, "you never told me you name. Mine is Joshua."

              "Hi, Joshua, my name is Brianne, but everyone calls me Bree."

              He stood up, extending his hand to help her to her feet. The look on her face immediately turned from contentment to disgust. "Here, come with me," he said. "You won't need your blanket." Still holding her hand, he led her into his bedroom, leaving the door open and he sat her on the edge of the bed. He rummaged through the dresser, occasionally glancing at her as he pulled out different items of clothing. Finally deciding on a pair of wool pants, a sweater, and an ankle length gown, he laid the items on the bed next to her. "Please put these things on, except the gown. You can sleep in here tonight and I'll sleep on the couch. We can talk in the morning. Sleep well, Bree, I'll close the door behind me and also, the bathroom is connected to the bedroom."

              The opening of the bedroom door stirred him from his sleep, as he had spent the majority of the night in prayer for the young girl, finding only two hours of sleep himself. She emerged from the room, fully clothed, including the gown, rubbing her face, and smiling. "Good morning, Joshua," she said. "I don't understand what happened last night. Do you not like me? Why did you bring me here?"

              "Good morning, Bree," he said. "Yes, I do like you, I brought you here because I like you and wanted to help you. I hope you slept well. Would you like some breakfast? I have eggs, cheese, and bread."

              "Yes, thank you," she said, sitting down in the chair, now occupying opposite positions from the night before. She looked at him with a puzzled, quizzical look on her face. "You remind me of my grandfather but only a little as I was very young when he died, he was the only one who was ever nice to me."

              Joshua puttered around the kitchen preparing breakfast, to sip water as she ate, still looking confused and uncertain. "There is one more thing," he said, and as he spoke, he watched her heart sink as if she thought that this was all too good to be true. "No, please don't be troubled, this is a very good thing. I know some women who live on a farm far outside of the city. They can give you a room of your own, teach you how to take care of a garden, to take care of animals, and give you plenty of food and protection, as there are no men anywhere near them. This is a chance for you to enjoy life, to escape the abuse you have been part of. Can I take you there? They are very good and kind people."

              He watched her form relax as her mind struggled to comprehend all that had happened and had been said. She swallowed the bite in her mouth and simultaneously shook her head to respond verbally, "Yes, that sounds very nice."

              "Oh, very good," he said. "We can leave as soon as your done eating. A wagon will take us to the edge of the city, and we will need to walk about a mile to their farm. That will give me a chance to get to know more about you, if that's okay." She slid her chair back from the table to bury her face into her hands, releasing years of tension, stress, abuse, and neglect, a sobbing, broken girl, overwhelmed by the goodness of a complete stranger."

              "I had no idea there were good people anywhere," she said. "Yes, I would like to go right away and thank you for the food, the clothes, the sleep, and your kindness." They stood up at the same time and she embraced him, slightly trembling, he stood motionless, simply placing his hands on her shoulders.

              After the wagon ride to the edge of the city, they walked the mile to the farm, and part way through the journey, she took hold of Joshua's hand, still in shock of what was happening. They talked most of the way and his heart continued to ache as he listened to her detailed description of the abuse from a mother in the same line of work as she and the men she would bring home. Passing through multiple fields they approached a small farm surrounded by cows, pigs, chickens, fruit trees, and numerous gardens of both vegetables and flowers.

              Joshua knocked on the front door to be greeted by two middle aged women wearing clothes nearly identical to Bree's. Joshua took Bree's hands, kissed them, introduced her to the sisters and the sisters to her, gave her a slight hug, said goodbye, retracing their steps back to the edge of town. Bree stood on the front step of the farm and watched him disappear down the road.

              "Hello, Bree" one of them said, "we are so glad that you have chosen to come stay with us. Our stories are the same as yours. Joshua brought us here years ago and we can promise that you'll be safe, happy, and protected here. Welcome, all of the sisters are here to help you."

(Roughly based on a true story)

Always Watching

 

        Janelle stood on the subway, her purse clutched tight to her chest, the muscles at the base of her neck were in a knot, and she cringed at the smell of BO and the press of too many strangers around her. "God, please don't let me be groped," she begged under her breath. At each stop, the car continued to fill, pressing tighter and tighter, she held her panic at the base of her throat, with her arrival to her destination she escaped the oppression, the stench, and the panic.

She joined a small group of fellow female passengers as they moved en masse to the street above, each with the same overwhelming feeling of vulnerability as they went to their respective destinations. She paused just inside the main entrance of her workplace to try to relax before joining another crowded space in the elevator. Overjoyed with her arrival to the 17th floor and her private office, she closed her door behind her and collapsed at her desk.

She glanced at her phone to see the numbers tick over to 7:55, her typical arrival time, but equally confused she peeled a post-it note from her screen, to read the words, "You are beautiful when you sleep." As the only one with a key to her office, besides the cleaning service, she returned to the front desk to inquire of the secretary of any visitors that morning. 

"I'm sorry, ma'am," she said. "No one out of the ordinary has been in the office this morning. I was the first to arrive and have not left my station." Accepting the note from her, she too was equally confused. "This is really creepy," she said. "You should probably talk to Mr. Harrington or maybe the police. If someone is watching you, something should be done."

Repeatedly distracted by the note, now stuck to the corner of her desk, the tension and fear from earlier that morning continued to resurface and ravage her. "Maybe it's just someone's joke," she told herself, hoping for a simple, harmless explanation but still sick to her stomach at the idea of being watched in her sleep. At the end of the day, her boss, Mr. Harrington, offered to accompany her home and walk through each room, ultimately finding nothing.

The next day was an unsurprising repeat of the day before, revealing a second note on her computer monitor, with an exponentially creepier message than the first, "You're beautiful when you shower," it read, except this time with a large smiley face accompanying the comment. As this comment passed through her eyeballs, a sense of violation passed through her as well, giving her the urge to either move or find a roommate.

After dinner that evening, she explored literally every inch of her apartment, hoping and simultaneously not hoping to find something, some explanation, some shred of evidence that would explain the notes. Midnight drew closer and she finally collapsed in exhaustion, finding nothing, disappointed but at the same time relieved but also sickeningly curious regarding who and how.

The following day, overly tired from the late evening, Janelle paused at her office door, fearing the possibility of a new note, that hopefully would not be next level creepy. Checking her phone, she watched it tick over to 7:55 and she pushed through the doorway to find a third note, which read, "I really enjoy watching you undress," accompanied by an even large smiley face. A wave of revulsion cascaded over her with the threat of her breakfast demanding an escape the same way it went down.

That evening after dinner and before her shower, she squeezed into her closet with the light off, to get undressed and wrap in a towel, terrified to think of someone hiding somewhere or watching her from some obscure, miniature device. She placed her phone on the bathroom counter with the flashlight on and the bathroom light off, she kept herself covered until the water started to flow, showering quickly without washing her hair, she rewrapped herself before opening the shower curtain.

Looking toward the bathroom door in the vaguely lit room, the shape of a face, somewhat and somehow merged with the woodgrain stared across at her, eliciting a muffled scream, she steadied herself on the counter, to sit on the closed toilet seat. Looking a second time, she thankfully realized that the face was gone. "I'm losing my mind," she muttered. "There is no way that was real." Still trembling, she quickly dressed and wrapped herself in a blanket to distract herself with a movie, trying to obliterate the terrifying image from her mind.

Ninety minutes later with a comforting rom-com in mind, she lay in bed, blanket to chin, praying that sleep would erase her horrible evening. The grating of her morning alarm dragged her from a thankfully restful sleep, and she hurried through her morning routine, through her always traumatic subway ride, to find another note on her monitor, which read, "That wasn't very nice last night, you are making me angry," accompanied this time by a drawing of a sad face.

Sickened, confused, overwhelmed, and angry, she crumpled the note and dropped it in the trash, determined to do something, anything, to make this stop. A brief phone call and a short visit from a relatively friendly, female police officer, left her with no resolution or explanation. After work, she walked from the subway to her front step to be confronted by a little girl, clearly no more than ten or eleven years old. "You're very pretty," she said. "Seeing you makes me happy, so I watch you every day and wonder if I'll be beautiful like you when I grow up."

Janelle paused, squatted down to look at the little girl at eye level, substantially confused but also relieved at what really made no sense whatsoever. "Have you been leaving me notes?" she asked, knowing full well that such a thing was impossible. 

"Oh, good," the little girl said. "I'm glad you've found my notes, it was not easy to have those delivered each day but I'm glad you found them and please don't hide like you did the other night. I missed seeing you." As she finished her sentence, she skipped away to disappear around the corner at the end of the block.

Janelle stood in silence for a moment, trying to process the bizarre conversation that just took place. "Watching me, thinking I'm beautiful, delivering messages, none of this makes sense, all of this is impossible, there is no reasonable explanation," she heard herself mumbling to herself. "I guess that could have turned out much worse."