Eyes of a Stalker (8 page)

“I'm sorry, hon. I just wish I could do something.”

“I know you do. So do I. I think that's the worst part. I feel so
helpless
. I mean, I don't even know who this psychopath
is
, let alone how to handle all of this.”

We talked for a while longer, mostly about other things, and it helped a bit. But once we said goodnight it all came back, and I realized this thing had taken over my life. It was in the back of my head all the time, even when I was not consciously thinking about it.

It wasn't just scaring me. It was wearing me down.

I crawled into bed that night and lay there awake in the dark and feeling very alone for a long time. After a while I found myself crying — softly, so I wouldn't disturb my parents.

I kept thinking that it wasn't fair, that I hadn't done anything to deserve what was happening. Of course, that must be true of anyone who's ever been tormented by a stalker. It's just hard to remember sometimes that it's not your fault.

After a few moments, Ernie left his usual place on my spare pillow, crept over, and head-butted me. He plunked down on my pillow and stuck his cold nose on my cheek.

It was oddly comforting having him there. I wiped the tears away and concentrated on the soft sound of his purring.

At last, I fell asleep.

It's funny how differently things look after you've slept and woken to a day where the sun shines and the world looks normal. That's how it was the next morning when Dad drove me to school. It was bright outside, the air was cool and crisp, and it seemed impossible that this nightmare could really be going on in my life.

“Oh! Can you let Mom know that I have a drama club meeting right after school?” I asked Dad as I got out of the car. “It'll probably be over at around 4:30 or 5:00. I'll call when I'm ready.”

As usual, Betts was waiting near the front entrance for me. Only this time she wasn't alone. Jimmy Roth was standing by her and they seemed to be deep in conversation. He turned with a smile when I reached them.

“I was just telling Betts about Webster and how freaky he's getting,” he said. “We should write our own
play about him for drama.” He paused to make bug-eyes and twist his mouth in a weird shape. “We could call it ‘The Author Who Flipped Out.'”

Betts giggled, soaking up the gossip.

“Yeah, well, last night we all agreed to give him a break,” I reminded him, annoyed that he was spreading this around, “so I don't think that's the greatest idea.”

“I'm just kidding,” he said right away. “You don't have to take everything so seriously.”

“Okay, but I still don't think any of us should be discussing him,” I said, “especially since we know he has, uh, problems. This kind of talk could ruin his reputation.”

“Oh, don't be ridiculous,” Jimmy said with a slow smile. “Anyway, writers
want
people to think they're eccentric.”

“Whatever,” I said, still angry. I told myself I was overreacting because of everything that was going on. “Anyway, I have to go. I need to get some stuff out of my locker before class.”

“You
do
go a bit overboard sometimes,” Betts said as we made our way down the hall.

“About what?”

“Don't snap at me. Anyway, I mean, you know, about not gossiping. Like, if someone acts all psycho in front of a whole group of kids, you think that's going to stay quiet? In Little River?”

She was right. There was no way there wasn't going to be talk about Webster.

“Yeah, well, I don't have to be part of it,” I said.

“No, but you don't have to jump down someone's throat over it either.”

“I'm surprised at you,” I added, though that was an out-and-out lie. “You've seen how much harm gossip can do.”

“This is different,” she insisted. “Anyway, maybe we should just drop it.”

Typical, I thought. The second Betts thinks she's going to lose an argument, she changes the subject. Then I decided I wasn't being fair.

“I'm just so stressed,” I said, and I told her about the e-mail I'd received the night before.

“You mean he was stalking you when Greg was walking you home?”

“There's no other explanation for it.”

“That is
so
creepy.” Betts shivered and looked around. She lowered her voice to a whisper, even though there were only a few students at the lockers, and none of them seemed to be paying the least attention to us. “Do you think he could be listening to us right now?”

“I doubt it,” I said, but I found that I was whispering, too.

“So, you think the police will really find out who it is today? After they check the e-mail and stuff?”

“Hopefully.” I thought it was odd how normal my voice sounded, as if it wasn't that big a deal to me. The truth was, it was pretty much all I thought about all day. I somehow managed to get through my classes, but I was really tempted to ditch drama.

“Let me use your cell phone,” I said to Betts when we got to our lockers. “I think I'll call Mom to come and get me now. I don't think I can handle drama today.”

“I don't blame you,” she said as she dug through her book bag. “Now where is that thing? I'm sure I put it in here this morning.… Oh, wait, here it is.”

I dialled our number and listened while the phone rang seven times. “No answer,” I said. “That's odd. Mom knew she had to pick me up today.”

“Did she know you were supposed to have drama?”

“I told Dad to let her know.” “So, she's out because she thinks you won't need a drive for another hour.”

“I guess so. It looks like I'm stuck here, then.”

“You can probably catch Greg before his bus leaves,” Betts suggested.

“No. I mean, I know he'd walk me home if I asked him to, but when I mentioned that I had drama after school today and Mom would be picking me up, he said that was great because he needs to study for a big history test he has coming up.”

“So, what… are you going to stay then?”

“I guess.”

“You might be able to get a drive home with someone else,” she said.

“No, I'll just go to drama after all, and call Mom later.” I didn't want to admit to Betts that I was afraid to be home alone, even for such a short time. To be perfectly honest, it wasn't easy to admit that even to myself.

The drama club meets in the auditorium, which Ms. Lubowski insists on calling the theatre. Almost everyone else was already there when Betts and I arrived and took our seats. I heard Betts sigh and, seeing that the chairs around Kevin were all occupied, I knew I didn't need to ask why. A mean thought flashed through my head that it served her right if she never got to sit next to him, much less go out with him, after dragging me into something I knew I was going to hate.

Of course, I felt ashamed of myself immediately, and I made up my mind that I'd try to be more supportive and helpful. Not that there was a whole lot I could do, but maybe I could try to get there early next time and pick seats near Kevin. He wouldn't think anything of that, since everyone knows I'm going out with Greg.

These thoughts were interrupted by Ms. Lubowski, who had risen and gone to stand in front of us.

“Group, can I have your attention please?” she said. “There has been some discussion about which plays we're going to put on. I have decided that, in the spirit
of democracy, we will choose the second and third plays as a group. First, however, we will proceed with
Macbeth
. This will give everyone time to think about what they'd like to do next.”

This announcement brought on a buzz of whispers, which was silenced when she lifted her hand. “Today we're going to go over some suggested readings you may select for your tryouts. I'd like each of you to come ready to read for a part at our meeting next week.”

A pause, and then, “After all, this is what we've been leading up to the past weeks, with our mini skits and breathing exercises and voice projections and all of the other things we've practised over and over.”

Right. All of the things that felt silly and unnatural when we were doing them, I thought.

“I know this is an exciting time for you,” she continued, “so I hope no one will be too terribly disappointed if they don't get a part for our very first play.”

I know I'll survive, I thought, almost laughing out loud at the idea of being crushed because I didn't get to make a big fool of myself on stage in front of an audience.

“And I want to reassure you ahead of time that everyone will be on stage before the year ends!” Ms. Lubowski clasped her hands together in delight at this reassurance. I figured I could always drop out of the club by the next play anyway if I wanted to. By then, Betts would probably have lost interest in Kevin.

That reminded me that she'd asked Greg to do something for her, only she hadn't said what. I was making a mental note to ask her about it after the meeting (it's always good to know what kind of mess your boyfriend's gotten himself into) when her cell phone rang.

“Oh, sorry,” she said, fumbling through her things for it. “I forgot to turn it off.”

“It's all right,” Ms. Lubowski said. “Just make it quick.”

Betts nodded as she said hello.

“What do you mean, who is this?” she said. “
You
called
me
!”

That got everyone's attention, so of course the room went silent.

“Well, I… uh, wait a sec, is this Mrs. Belgarden?” Betts's frown switched to a smile at once. “No, this is Betts.… It's my cell phone number.… Oh, I bet you thought maybe the call was from that weirdo who's been stalking Shelby. Am I right?”

Naturally, every eye in the room shifted from Betts to me.

As warmth crept up my neck and into my face I saw Betts's expression change to horror as she realized (too late) what she'd done.

Poor Betts. Even when she tries to, she can't keep a secret!

The second Betts hung up the phone everyone started talking to me at once. Even Ms. Lubowski had a question, though I couldn't really hear it in the jumble of voices. I didn't have to, though, because they were all basically the same.

“Someone is
stalking
you?”

I thought frantically, but couldn't come up with a single thing to say that would squash what was almost certainly going to be instant gossip. I could practically hear it racing through Little River phone lines — that ugly word rushing from mouth to mouth: stalker!

Betts decided to help. Unfortunately, I couldn't stop her.

“Well, it's kind of a secret, if you know what I mean,” she said. Then she smiled almost flirtatiously. “So maybe you guys shouldn't, like, say anything about it to anyone.”

Right.

“And, anyway, we don't even know who it is yet.”

Oh, great. Add intrigue to the story. Much better.

“Besides, the police are supposed to have the whole thing solved today, so, in any case, it's probably almost over with now.”

I looked at Betts in disbelief. The police are supposed to have the whole thing
solved today
? What did she think the stalker's reaction would be if he heard that? Our biggest hope in catching him was if he slipped up. Word that the police were closing in wasn't likely to make him careless.

I took a couple of steps to where Betts was standing and held out my hand.

“Give me your phone,” I said.

She passed it over without hesitation. I got just a smidgen of satisfaction seeing that she looked, well, kind of scared. I flipped the phone open and dialled home.

“Mom, could you pick me up now?” I said as soon as I heard my mother's voice.

“Of course, dear. I'll be right there. Wait for me at the
front entrance
, though.”

“Okay,” I said. I didn't think much about that, occupied as I was with other thoughts, but I usually got picked up at the side entrance, not the front. That was just habit, since the front is prohibited during times that buses are coming or leaving.

I slung my book bag over my shoulder, told Ms. Lubowski I needed to leave (as if she wasn't already aware of that) and walked from the auditorium. All of my concentration went into keeping my knees from shaking, but I'm not sure I was entirely successful at that.

Mom drove up just as I got to the front door. I slid into the car and she gave me a sympathetic look and asked, “So, was anyone else around when I was talking to Betts?”

“The whole drama club. And yes, they all heard her mention a stalker.”

“That's too bad. But you know she didn't mean to let it slip.”

“No, I know that.” I tried to sound more forgiving than I felt at the moment. I was glad I had a good reason to change the subject. “So, did the police find out where the e-mail was sent from?”

“Yes.” Her face was grim and I knew before she went on that it wasn't going to be good news. She took a deep breath and said, “It was sent from the computer lab at the school.”

“
My
school? But, how.…” I couldn't quite form the questions that were gathering in my head.

“You're wondering how someone got into the school when it would have been locked up by the time that message was sent.”

“Yes.”

“The side door had been tampered with. Someone
jammed a piece of metal into the catch so that even when the door was fully closed it wasn't latched.”

“The side door.” I realized with a jolt why she'd wanted to pick me up at the front entrance. Then something else occurred to me. “But Webster went out that door last night. Wouldn't he have noticed something was wrong with it?”

“Who's Webster?”