Leticia (2 page)

I woke abruptly, it was
now
8:
45a
.
m
.
, my first client was in forty-five minutes. I flew up the stairs,
washed off
and threw my clothes on. I grabbed my car keys and pulled the front door
shut
behind me
.
I got to my clients house just in time.

The day went by very quickly, which was a nice change
;
possibly
because the events of last night
were
still running through my head. In all honesty I couldn’t remember one conversation I’d had today with any of my customers. I know it shouldn’t but that
had
really got
ten
to me last night
.
I got home at about 4:30p
.
m
.
and made
the best
cup of
tea
I
’d
ever had. I went back into the living room, clutching my cup
and
turned the TV on to s
ee what time Death Detectives started
. A guilty pleasure I know but I
’ve
become fond of this TV show over the past year or so. It was on at 7
:
30p
.
m
.
,
which meant I had just under three hours to have a nice meal, lovely hot bath and a bit of a pamper session.
As I was about to get up,
something caught my eye, a confused look swept across my face as I saw a note taped to the front of my mirror. I pulled it off and opened it with some caution. It read
:

“
What a lovely home you have, see you at the full moon
”.

As soon as I read it, my blood started to boil, my jaw tighten
ed
in temper.

“If you had only done your research you would know you didn’t have to wait that long
,
” I said out loud, as though the writer of the note could hear me
.
“
I
diot!”

The next few days passed by quickly. The daytime was filled with little talks with my clients,
while
the evenings were spent watching through my windows, waiting for someone or something to either attack, or taunt me. I could feel the anger building up slowly as I sat and thought about it more. I snapped out of it, looked at the clock and saw that it was 7:20pm. I made myself a cup of tea and sat back on the sofa ready for the next episode of Death Detectives.

It was
almost
finished
when I heard a scratching noise coming from the kitchen area. I ran in there to investigate. I flicked the light on but there was nothing there, I checked the back door - it was unlocked. How could that be? I knew I’d locked it
earlier, it was
never left open at night, I’m too security conscious. I’ve always had to be.

I locked and bolted the door again
;
p
ulled the same knife out that I’d had a few nights before and
made
my way upstairs. At the top of the stairs I peeked into my bathroom, nothing. I crept over to my bedroom door and pushed it open, no one was there
either.
Next
w
ere
the spare rooms, again, nothing. I started to doubt myself. Did I really lock the door earlier? Was someone trying to break in
,
then noticed
my
lights
were
on and decided not to? With a short sigh of relief and slight tiredness kicking in
,
I decided to
take a
quick shower and flop in front of the TV for the rest of the evening.

I walked into my bedroom and clicked the light on. I stopped dead in my tracks and stared at the bed. What the hell was going on? After a minute or so, I walked over and saw seven pictures of me
placed on the duvet. Each had been taken as I was
about to go into
one of my
clients
homes
. I noticed they had been taken over the past three days. I looked at the back of the
pictures;
each one had a letter
written
on them in black marker. After moving them around, I found that they
spelled
my name. LETICIA.

I grabbed hold of all of the pictures, ripped them
up, then ran down
stairs
and set
fire to them in the kitchen sink
, watching
them burn into nothing but black and white ash. I got my duvet and pillows off
my bed and put them on the sofa, and
pulled my book shelf in front of the living room door to barricade myself in. This was my home and no one was going to push me out of it, no way.

I woke up slightly earlier than
normal;
it was 6:43am.
Because of
the photographs on my bed
,
I had a restless night
.
I decided not to go to work
or out of the house for that matter
,
for the next few days. I called all my clients and told them I
’d
developed a migraine
overnight
and would re-schedule their appointments. Luckily all of them were very understanding.

I ate my breakfast
while
watching a program about a couple buying a home here and abroad. Just as I took a sip of my tea
,
my phone vibrated and my alarm tone rang. I looked at it and my heart
sank
.
I
’d
forgot
ten
to put money in the bank for bill
s
to come out tomorrow morning.
Nerves started kicking in
, I
really
didn’t want to leav
e
the house at all, but I had to, otherwise not only would I have someone messing with me I
’d
also have companies chasing me. I threw on some comfy clothes and got my
money together. This was definitely one of the downsides to working cash in hand.

As
I was
walking
out the front door
I got an idea. If this person was truly after me, he or she would be watching, waiting for me to go out so they could sneak inside. Well, more fool
them
this time. I walked into the kitchen and closed all the curtains for a moment. I pulled one of my large glass bowls out of the cupboard and emptied my bottles of vinegar and lemon juice into it. I got the roll of string out of my draw and wrapped it around the bowl several times, before placing it on the shelf above the kitchen door. I led the string down and around the door handle and tied it tight. Now, if they tried to get in, not only would they get a nasty bump on the head, but also, when the liquid landed on them and went in their eyes it would hurt like hell. I couldn’t help but smirk
at the thought
. I opened the curtains again, then walked out the front door.

I got in the car and drove off. It’s all well and good living out in the sticks, but it is a pain in the
ass
getting to a bank just to
put money
into my account. As soon as I got out of my car in Holmfirth
Center
, I felt as though I was being watched from every angle. I found myself looking over my shoulde
r most of the time, so much so,
I bumped into an elderly lady. I screamed and jumped
.
It
must have frightened the lady to death. I apologized profusely and ran the rest of the way to the bank. The
line
seemed to last a lifetime, finally I got to
put
the money in and
left.

As soon as I walked out of the building, I could feel the eyes on me once more. It felt like they were everywhere. I started to panic, I couldn’t help it. I had to get back to my car
and
get home. I ran through the
center
and down one of the back streets to the
parking lot
,
rummag
ing
through my bag frantically, trying to find my keys. Just as I found them I saw the reflection of two men in the window. I turned around quickly, and gasped as one of them
grabbed
hold of my throat and pushed me against the driver’s door.

“Hello Leticia!” the guy who had hold of me smirked
.
“You’ve been a hard one to track, but we
’ve
got you now
.
”

I tried to breathe but he gripped my neck
so
tight
that it was near
ly
impossible.

“This time…”

Before he could finish his sentence, he let out a grunt and dropped to the floor, he was out cold. The second man looked around just in time for a fist to connect with his
jaw;
he hit the deck instantly, but sadly was still conscious. He looked up at the guy who had struck him.

“Who the hell are
you
?
”
He
managed to say
.

I looked at the man who had just saved me, I too wanted to know who he was.

“Who I am is of no importance. What
is
important
is what I will do to you if I ever see you or your crack-head friend ever again
,
” he replied with a blank
but
cold expression.

The conscious guy picked himself up and grabbed his
friend
who was just coming to. Then they both ran away as quickly as they could.

“Thank you
,
” I sighed, looking at the guy who helped me
.

“You’re welcome
.
”

He turned and started to walk away from me.

“At least tell me your name
,
” I shouted after him, but he didn’t reply, he just continued to walk.

I walked through my front door and slammed it shut behind me. My adrenalin was still pumping from the attack. I ran into the kitchen to check on my trap, hoping to God nothing had triggered it. But that was too much to ask. The bowl was in pieces on the floor with a pool of my concoction around it. Someone had been inside again. The back door had been left unlocked and there were wet footprints leading into the garden.  I locked the door once more, then searched the house for any little messages they may have left. But there was no sign of anything this time. Maybe my little welcoming gift had put them
off;
personally I hoped it had blinded the bastard.

After cleaning up the mess in the kitchen,
I sat down at my dining table and tried to relax, but so many questions were going through my head. Who were the guys that attacked me? Why had they come for me? And what the hell did they mean by ‘
You’ve been a hard one to
track’
? How long had they been looking for me? I didn’t
recognize
them, and I have a fantastic memory
.
If
I’d seen them somewhere before I would have remembered. Then I thought about the guy who helped me. Where had he come from? Why did he help me and threaten them so nastily? I didn’t know
him
either.

I spent eight years completely isolated, in the last year I’ve been here, I’ve only spoken with my clients and
a
few shop owners, I don’t really know anyone else
and
don’t really want to. So how did the two guys know me? They didn’t look like the sort of people that lived in this area, nor the type of people I would associate with. I’m not a snob, I couldn’t be if I tried, but I don’t speak or have anything to do with druggies. And that was one thing they
definitely
were. One of them looked in his late thirties, he may have been younger but due to his lifestyle, the things he did and the way he treated his body, it’s probably a case of ‘looks can be deceiving’. The one who grabbed hold of me, yuk! I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He
smelled
like a brewery and
then
some. He was painfully thin t
hough, his skin was really pale
and he seemed to constantly glare. Probably a heroin user as well as a piss head.

As for the mystery guy who saved me, well, he was gorgeous. Around 6ft tall, with very dark brown spiky hair and big green eyes. He had the perfect jaw-line and was well built but not all buff, thankfully, I hate guys that are too buff, I don’t think it looks right. I’d never seen
him
before either, but I hoped I would get to see him again.