Frowning, I unfold one of the papers and let my eyes wander over what seems like a random timetable. Except it’s not random - not at all. A column with large squares on the left marks a specific day of the month, and the smaller columns on the right seem to mark the exact time I leave my home, get to the st
udio and then back home.
It’s a detailed schedule of my day.
And it’s precise to the minute.
I pass the schedule to Erica and, now with trembling hands, I start unfolding the rest of the documents. The next one includes a list of addresses, phone numbers and other random information; there’s information about the gym I go to, my doctor’s office and, hell, even from the vet I once went to when my cat suddenly fell ill - and my cat passed away three years ago!
What the hell am I dealing with? Who the hell is Sanders?
I feel a sudden coldness taking over my body and mind, and my hands have started to tremble so much that I don’t even know how I’m still holding all these documents. I move on to the next one and then to the next, each glance I take making my heart thump so fast I start feeling lightheaded.
In these documents, there’s my entire life.
There’s information about my parents, about my friends from high-school,co-workers, and pretty much everyone I interact with on a daily basis. Jesus Christ, he even has my immunization cards in here!
I told you so, that annoying voice comes back to haunt me, each word cracking like a whip inside my mind. You got in bed with a super-stalker, Stacy. Maybe he’s even a serial-killer.
Feeling as confused as I’ve ever felt in my entire life, I lift my eyes to meet Sanders’ gaze, and I feel the icy grip of fear taking over my heart. I thought I knew him… I thought I understood him… But now I realize that I had no idea about who Sanders really is.
And I have no idea about what he’s capable of.
“Erica…” I whisper, never taking my eyes from Sanders’. “RUN!” I cry out, clutching the documents to my chest with one hand and grabbing Erica’s arm with the other. I turn on my heels as fast as I can and start running down the street; Erica stumbles as I pull on her, but I don’t let her slow down or lag behind. As far as I know, we’re now running for our lives.
Sanders is a dangerous man, that much is for sure. And I sure as hell don’t want to find out exactly how dangerous - so I run.
I run very, very fast.
45
Sanders
I have been shot seven times during the war, and I have the scars to prove it. Each time I didn’t feel a thing until the adrenaline finally washed away; afterward, it felt as if someone had injected the fires of hell straight into my muscles. But you know what? None of these bullets hurt as much as it hurts to see her run away from me.
This feels worse than anything I’ve ever lived through.
I’d rather be shot again.
I remain frozen in place for a few seconds, almost ready to just let her go. What good can it do to go after her? It’s over, I ruined it. But, before I even know what I’m doing, my legs start propelling me down the street.
It’s stronger than me.
Stacy and her friend are running as fast as they can, shoving people out of the way almost in desperation. It’s almost as if they’re running away from a serial killer. Which I guess is what Stacy thinks I am. And, really, can I blame her?
“Stacy, wait!” I say as I close in on them. She looks back at me over her shoulder, pure terror widening her eyes, and starts running even faster than before.
Fuck.
“Get away from me!” She screams, and a lot of heads start turning in our direction.
“Stay away from her, you pervert!” Her friend shouts, throwing me a menacing look.
“Let me explain, please,” I continue, once more catching up to them. Even though they’re running for their lives, I can keep up with them with a simple jog. They’re definitely lucky I’m not some crazed serial killer.
Realizing that her escape is becoming more futile by the second, Stacy decides to do something drastic. Without even bothering to look, she makes a sharp turn to her right, pulling her friend after her, and cuts across 51st Street. She throws herself at the mercy of the morning traffic, and I feel my heart shrivel up to the size of a quarter. What the hell is she thinking? She’s going to get killed!
“STACY!” I call after her, but there are so many cars honking right now that I doubt she can even hear me. Not that it’d make any difference, anyway - she’d just run faster.