Follow You Home

I roll out of bed in a great mood. The sun isn't really shining and the birds aren't really chirping, but it doesn't phase me any. I pull on a pair of ripped up jeans, a Boston Bruins tee shirt and my Doc Martens. I finger comb my hair and do my makeup, then walk out to the kitchen and have a smores Pop Tart. When I'm done, I shrug into my leather jacket, grab my purse, put on my sunglasses and head out the door.

I cross the parking lot, but when I get to my car, I'm parlyzed. Keyed across both sides is the word Bitch in huge letters. I check the hood and find it's been keyed too. I pull out my cell phone and snap some pictures and send them to my brother, Frank. A few minutes later, he calls me.

"Hello?"

"What the fuck is that shit you just sent me?"

"You're in a good mood." I comment.

"Don't joke."

"It's my car. Apparently the same person who painted my door, keyed my car."

"Painted your door? When did this happen? Why didn't you tell me?"

"Yesterday afternoon while I was at work. I didn't want you to get concerned over a small annoyance."

"You consider someone painting slurs on your door a small annoyance?"

"I guess."

"Great. I need some more coffee.... I'm opening a case if this keeps up, and I expect you to tell me if it keeps up."

"Yes sir." I say in an official voice.

"I'm going to lose my fucking mind." he trails off as he hangs up the phone. I shrug and toss my phone back in my purse.

The painted door was one thing, I could have the maintenance guy paint it, but my car is another. I don't have that kind of cash. So, I guess I'll be driving it around. I hop in and crank the engine over. My car hasn't been in great shape since it rolled out of the factory, but now I feel like everyone I see on the street is staring. I slump in my seat as far as I can and drive to the process serving office. I park in front of the building and slink in with my head down.

My boss, Mike, looks up at me when I walk in. He has his feet propped up on his desk and is watching ESPN on TV. I sit down across from him and cross my legs.

"What have you got for me?" I ask.

"I don't. You served everyone I had on file this week."

"That's not good."

"No, it's not." he thinks for a minute.

"I guess if you wanted, you could run this piece of paper down to the courthouse for me. I'll give you fifty bucks."

"Done." I say with no hesitation.

He shuffles around his desk and comes up with a brown envelope. He hands it off to me.

"Just take that up there and call it a week. I'm going camping with the wife." he tells me. I take the folder and my fifty bucks and leave the office. At least I don't have to drive the bitch-mobile all over the state for a week. I pull away from the office and drive into the center of Lawrence where the court house is. In front of it is the old clock tower. It's all a little worse for wear, just like the rest of Lawrence. I do my thing at the courthouse and when I'm done, I swing through my parents neighborhood.

When I pull up in front of the house, I notice my mother isn't standing by the door. If she isn't cooking dinner, usually she is right there when I pull up, as if dragged there by some kind of instinct. I walk up the front steps and hear my father yelling. I hear another voice, but I can't place it. I open the front door and walk in, dropping my purse on the floor. In the living room, my mother, father and grandmother are all yelling at each other. Mostly my father and grandmother. My mother is standing in between them, trying to get a word in.

My grandmother has been living in as assisted living facility since my grandfather passed away two years ago. Her and my father have always had a tolerant relationship, but they've bickered relentlessly. Now it seems their in all out war mode. I consider ducking out before anyone notices I'm here, but then my mother looks up.

"Oh honey, you're here." she says.

"Yeah, it looks like a bad time though."

"Don't be silly. Say hello to your grandmother." I smile and walk into the living room.

"Hi grandma." I say, stooping to give her a hug because she's impossibly short.

"Hello dear. Guess who's moving in?" my eyebrows raise a fraction.

"Moving in? Here? You?"

"Yep!"

"No she isn't!" my father snaps.

"Shut up, Frank!" she snaps back at him. I look at my mother, who looks like she's ready for a bottle of wine.

"Stella, you'd better get rid of the guns and knives, because if your mother moves in here with us, I'm bound to use them." he says calmly. Yikes.

"Frank, don't be so dramatic." she says, all the while looking me up and down.

"Good heavens, Isabelle, what are you wearing?" I look down at myself.

"Clothes?"

"You look like a teenager. A thirty year old woman should not be dressing like that."

"I'm trying to forget that whole thirty thing."

"Iz, you can't live in denial forever." I look over at my grandmother, who is wearing a black velvet sweatsuit and a Lady Gaga tee shirt under the jacket. On her feet are Shape-Up's sneakers. I look back at my mother.

"Exactly."

"Well, I'm going to let you guys get situated," I walk over to my dad and give him a peck on the cheek, "Daddy, don't have a heart attack."

"Easier said than done." he says. I give my grandma a hug and promise her that all four of us kids will come over for dinner soon, than I say goodbye to my mother and race out the door. That was not an uplifting experience. I sit outside the house for a few minutes. Maybe my mother was right, maybe I do need a new wardrobe. I put my shitty truck in park and drive towards the interstate to the mall.

Almost six hours later, I pull into my parking lot with a whole wardrobe of clothes that don't look too different from the ones I already had. Frank is parked next to my spot when I get there. We both get out of our cars.

"Where have you been?" he asks.

"The mall." he rolls his eyes.

"Retail therapy?"

"Mom said I dressed like a teenager."

"There are worse things."

"Grandma's moving in with Mom and Dad."

"I heard. Dad called me, asking about being institutionalized."

"He's not taking it well." I say. He shrugs. I go around to the back of my truck and unload some of my bags. Frank grabs the rest and we walk up to my apartment. I key us in and we drop our bags on the floor. I turn on a light, but stay planted in the doorway. Frank looks down at me.

"Want me to do my cop thing and make sure everything is secure?"

"Sure."

I watch as he moves through my apartment, checking everything out. When he's done, I've already turned all the lights and TV on and am moving through the apartment comfortably.

"Want a beer?" I ask him.

"Yeah, just one though. I told Sophie I'd be home before eight."

We talk for a half hour, and he leaves, warning me to be careful. I lock up behind him, grab myself a beer and plop down on the couch to channel surf. I'm getting thoroughly involved in an episode of Mob Wives, when someone knocks on my door. I pull myself off the couch and answer the door. John is standing on the other side.

"How many times have I told you to check your peephole before answering the door?"

"I saw you pull in." I lie. He doesn't seem to detect a lie, and moves into the apartment. I close and lock the door behind him and follow him into the kitchen. He looks into the living room, checking what's on TV. He shakes his head.

"What?"

"The Devils are playing and you're watching this shit?"

"I haven't watched a Devils game all season. It doesn't seem right to start in the middle of everything."

"Lame excuse." he says, giving me his full on smile. I ignore the smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"I heard about your car."

"How?"

"Darlin', everyone knows about your car."

"Great."

"I can make it better." he says, moving closer to me and breathing on my neck. I shudder, but try to keep my cool.

"Nice offer, but I can handle it." I walk away from him and pick up one of my shopping bags. The bags catch his interest and he saunters over and immediatly spots the one from Victoria's Secret. I try to snatch it from him, but he ducks out of my reach.

"What have we got here?" he asks. He pulls out a few pairs of my favorite lace waist cotton thongs and smiles.

"Nice."

"Give me the bag, you ass!" I yelp.

"What in the hell is this?" he says, pulling out a black, lacie nightie. I can feel my cheeks burning as he holds it up for inspection.

"There isn't some other guy who gets to see you in this, is there?"

"No." I say, snatching it from him. He grins.

"So, that means you bought it for me." I stuff the nightie back in the bag and toss the bag on the floor with the others. I'm pretending to get really mad, but in reality the thought of wearing it for John gives me a hot flash.

"You are so full of yourself." I snap. He seems to be amused by me and I'd like to slap that smirk right off his face.

"Have I ever told you you're cute when you're flustered about sex?"

"I am not flustered about sex!"

"Prove it. Kiss me right now."

"What would that prove?"

"Do it." I roll my eyes, then grab his face and kiss him. Instantly, he grabs me and pulls me closer, deepening the kiss. This wasn't what I had in mind, but I can't seem to stop. He pushes me up against the kitchen counter and starts kissing my throat. I hang onto his strong shoulders and my mind goes blank. His hand is under my shirt now, sliding up my stomach.

We both jump, as something crashes through the window in the living room, shattering the glass. I yelp in surprise and John runs into the living room. I follow and we find the window completely shattered. There is what looks like a big rock in the middle of all the carnage. John picks his way over the glass in his work boots to the window and looks out. We're both breathing heavily and stone silent. He bends down and picks up the rock and brings it out to the kitchen. I realize then that it's wrapped with a piece of paper. John unwraps it, sets the rock on the counter and starts reading the paper. The lines around his mouth set in anger and his eyes turn hard.

"Call the cops and report it." he says.

"What does it say?" I ask. He hands the paper to me and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket. I look down at the paper and find it's a letter of sorts. In scribbled black Sharpie, it reads, 'You're going to die, bitch. You'll pay for what you did to me. Get ready.' My heart drops into my stomach and I look up at John. He's on the phone with the cops. His expression hasn't changed since he read the letter. He hangs up the phone a minute later.

"Ready to take this seriously yet?" he asks.

"It could just be someone playing a prank." I reason, even though that possiblity is getting smaller.

"Can you think of anyone, at work maybe, who has threatened you...More than usual. Anyone who freaked you out more than usual?"

"No, I honestly can't."

"What's your super's number?" I give him the number and he dials it. He talks to Steve, the super, for a few minutes and then hangs up.

"He'll be up shortly." Someone knocks on the door and I walk over to it. Knowing John is watching me, I check the peephole first. I open the door and find the police cheif and a uniform standing outside. They walk in and survey the situation, then read the letter that came with the rock. The four of us stand in the kitchen and they ask John and I some questions. In the middle of the questioning, Frank walks in.

"I think I've been here tonight already." he says. The uniform shows him the letter and he turns on his expressionless cop face. He gives the letter back to the uniform and then pulls me aside.

"I'm making this a case. Someone is stalking you. I don't like that." he says.

"I figured." he pulls a business card out of his wallet and hands it to me.

"Tomorrow, I want you to go to this guy, tell him I sent you and tell him you want a stun gun. I don't trust you with a real gun yet."

"A tazer?" I ask.

"Their not the same thing. A stun gun, you have to touch the person with the prongs and then push the button. A tazer you just point and shoot like a gun. A stun gun is safer for the user also. You can keep it in your purse or pocket at all times."

"Do I need a permit?" he glances over his shoulder before answering and lowers his voice.

"Legally yes, but the paper work takes forever and you can't wait that long. So for now, don't tell anyone you have it."

"OK."

"You scared yet?"

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?"

"Because, in this past year, you've become almost steely in these kinds of situations. It freaks me out. You should be scared, but you're not."

"I'll try harder." he rolls his eyes, gives me a hug, then leaves. I tuck the business card into my jeans pocket and walk over to John, who is talking to the cops. When their done, they leave, pulling the door closed. Just a minute later, Steve knocks on the door. John lets him in and he gets to work cleaning up the glass and boarding up the window. He tells me that it will be another two days until he can replace the window. When he leaves, John locks up behind him and turns to me.

"Are you staying the night?" I ask.

"Yeah." I nod and start turning lights off. Secretly I'm happy he's staying. I never would have been able to sleep alone.

We go into my bedroom and I go into the bathroom to get dressed. I pull on a tee shirt style night gown and wash my face. When I come back out, John is sitting on the edge of the bed. He turns and looks at me.

"Not the black nightie, but still not bad." I roll my eyes and shut the light off.

We jostle for position for a minute, until we settle on our sides, his arm wrapped around my waist loosely. We lay together like that for almost a half hour and I'm still not asleep. I can tell he's not either. I blow out a sigh. I've stopped thinking about the stalker, and now I'm fully aware of his body against mine. We were so close out in the kitchen. I wiggle around a little, trying to get comfortable. John's fingers tighten at my stomach.

"If you keep up that wiggling, that dress comes off." I ponder that for a second, and then roll over to face him. I press my hand against his chest and in a matter of moments, we're sitting up and he pulls the nightgown over my head. Fifteen minutes later, I'm on my back, feeling very relaxed and ready to sleep. John, on the other hand, is ready for round two. I try to shoo him away, but he pulls me into him and nuzzles my neck.

"It's all your fault." he says.

"You're a sex addict."

"There are worse things." I admit that's true.

"OK, one more time. I have to get up early so I can go buy a stun gun."