The Complete Contract Series (3 page)

Laura

I’m not quite sure when it started—the fear, I just know that it has crippled me—or so the professionals tell me. It seems to bother others much more than it does me. I find it very soothing that I can live in the penthouse of my high-rise condominium, in downtown Louisville as a recluse. They have a name for what I suffer with, though I in no way believe that I am suffering,
agoraphobic
. It means that I don’t go outside—ever.

I probably should reword my first statement about not knowing
when
the fear started—I don’t know
how
it all started—because I have always been afraid. I have shown signs that I suffer from ‘anxiety’ since childhood, but the straw that broke the camel’s back was when I lost the person I treasured most—my baby girl. Life ended for me that day, but my nightmare had only just begun.

It really isn’t so hard to live the way that I do, not with the technology we have available to us nowadays, I do everything online. When I say everything, I mean everything. I buy my groceries online. I order take out online. My job is online—writing scripts for a very popular weekly TV show. It’s been lucrative enough for me to live quite well. Even my social life is online. I’m happy with the way things are because I don’t like change, but change is inevitable, it always is.

I got up and took a shower and fixed my coffee, the same way that I do every other morning. I am a creature of habit. I pretty much do the same thing every day and it gives me a sense of well being. Control, gives me a sense of well being.

I sat down at my computer and went to my blog. I had decided a couple of years ago that writing a blog on my condition would not only be therapeutic, it might even help other people going through anxiety issues. Evidently it was doing what I intended, because I had people following my blog from all over the world. It was common for people to email me because I made myself available to them. I couldn’t stand the thought of my life being spent selfishly behind closed doors, just because of the fact that I was tormented by fear.

I began opening emails and was intrigued with one from a man whose friend was showing signs of the early stages of
agoraphobia
. I guess the fact that I normally receive emails from women was what caught me off guard, that and the fact that this man had cared enough to reach out on behalf of someone else.

I found myself wishing that my ex-husband would have done that for me, but there was no sense thinking about what could have been. Ironically enough it feels like that stage of my life is some faraway place—a lifetime ago. How can it seem like a lifetime ago, and still be so painful? They say that you never get over the death of a child and I am living proof of it. I pushed through my thoughts and began reading the email.

Grasping at straws

Laura, it seems that you are quite famous in cyberspace, upon googling agoraphobia your name and blog immediately came up.

Though many would choose to get feedback from a professional, I can’t help but believe that it would be in my best interest to talk to someone who suffers from this debilitating disease.

It isn’t I who suffers, but my friend. His family is becoming concerned because he refuses to leave his home. We have approached him about seeing someone for help, but he insists that he doesn’t have a problem. I will steer him in the direction of your blog, but I would appreciate it if you would be willing to talk—online of course, when I have questions.

Sincerely,

Miller

I immediately answered the email before I lost my nerve.

Re: Grasping at straws

Miller, it is wonderful to hear from you. Your friend is very lucky to have someone who cares enough to reach out on his behalf. I have gone through this alone and that was the purpose of me starting this blog, I wanted to make myself available to others whom are alone. I am by no means a professional—only a support system for others, such as myself, who have no one.

By all means feel free to email me, and tell your friend about the blog. I’m looking forward to hearing from you about how he responds to the community I have set up here.

Have a wonderful day…

Laura

His reply was almost instantaneous.

A friend

You don’t have to be alone, Laura. Consider me a friend. If you need anything feel free to contact me.

Sincerely,

Miller

I sat back and looked at the email, how was I supposed to answer that? I wasn’t accustomed to people reaching out to me, normally it was the other way around. I did what I always do when I am uncertain how to respond to a given situation—nothing.

I spent the rest of the morning working on my blog. I thought nothing of the man who had just unbeknownst to me—inserted himself into my life. I had no idea that I had just finished communicating with a cold blooded killer…

Miller

I stretched my long legs out and plopped my combat boot up on my desk as I interlocked my fingers behind my neck and toyed with the toothpick in my mouth.

I could feel the rush of a mind fuck surge through my system. I had just successfully injected myself into a woman’s life—a woman who was clearly untrusting by nature.

For me it was just as much about the mind fuck, as it was about the kill. I could merge into a target’s life just as easily as one would merge into traffic on a day when the roads were clear. Much like the stretch of unhindered highway would be open to a vehicle on a Sunday drive, I never saw obstacles—only success.

I had a way of figuring people out and finding their interests to open the door to a leisurely conversation. I had a way of projecting what I wanted people to see. I was a man who had mastered the ability to cloak the trained killer who may be drinking at the bar with you one moment—then squeezing the life sustaining breath out of you the next.

I enjoyed the mental and psychological aspects of my job so much, that I would go so far as to dress the part. Whether I was in a suit portraying myself as a successful business man, or in camouflage portraying myself as a good ole boy—everyone believed me. They saw what I portrayed, but never saw the real me.

For just that reason I didn’t have relationships, I had one night stands—nothing more, nothing less. I was a playboy of sorts and quite a hit with the ladies, my size, demeanor, and boyish charm saw to that. Though I was a ruthless, soulless human being, you would never know it to look at me. I stood at well over six feet tall with a solid build that boasted of rigorous workouts. My long, layered, dark brown hair had been left long on the top, but shaved close to his scalp on the sides, it fell over one eye when I cocked my head and studied you, giving me the appearance of having a boyish nature. In fact, until my hands wrapped around your throat and my hazel eyes took on a yellow hue, due to my blood lust—you would believe that I was the kind of guy who lived next door.

Until I chose to reveal my true nature, you would be totally clueless to the fact that you were in the presence of a very sinister man. I was a man on a mission, and once I got something in my head, come hell or high water, I would find out what I wanted to know, and in this case—I wanted the truth. I wanted to know if Laura was a baby killing bitch—or the victim of a money hungry ex-husband.

Laura

“Mark, we have got to talk.” I eyed my husband as he sat on the couch in the dark, nursing his snifter of bourbon.

“Talk about what Laura, the fact that you killed our child?”

“How can you say that?” My legs crumbled beneath me as I leaned against the wall and then slid down it. Was it my fault—was he right?

“You killed her. You’re the one who put her in bed with us.”

I looked up at the man who was now towering over me, spewing hatred in the form of words. It was evident that he was angry—but when wasn’t he angry? Drinking only made it worse. I knew that I should shut up, but I couldn’t. I was so tired of having to defend myself. The autopsy showed that it was SIDS—sudden infant death syndrome—the doctor had gone so far as to tell me it wasn’t my fault. But still I had questions, so many questions and so much guilt.

“The autopsy showed that I wasn’t at fault, why do you blame me, Mark?”

“Because it is your fault! You fell back asleep, you could have stopped this.”

My arms flew up towards my face as he tossed the bourbon in his snifter in my direction before he walked away. My eyes burned in pain but the tears would wash them out. I couldn’t move—his words ran over and over through my mind solidifying the guilt that plagued me. You killed your baby…You killed your baby…You killed your baby…

I started awake out of a dead sleep, wrapped in sheets and covered in a cold sweat. The dreams were always the same, and they always served the same purpose—to deepen the guilt that I had killed my daughter.

I could remember the night I placed her in bed with me to nurse. I looked down into her perfect face, swooning over her as I rubbed the top of her head softly. While she looked up at me with perfect trust, as she latched onto a nipple to feed.

I had never known what love was, until I felt the purity of it when I looked into my daughter’s eyes for the first time. We had stared at each other as if no one else in the world existed. The doctors call it bonding—all I knew was that I fell in love that day.

Would things be different if I hadn’t placed her in my bed that night to feed? Was it my fault? Over and over, time after time, I willed myself back in time to do things differently, but I always woke up in my reoccurring nightmare. I lived in a continual nightmare, and whether I was awake or asleep, the fact remained that my nightmare was now my reality.

I knew sleep would elude me now so I made my way over to boot up my computer and started coffee while I waited. I would do what I always did when I was tormented—I would write.

The chat box on my blog chimed and I chastened myself for not having it placed on invisible. For some reason when I looked down and saw that it was Miller some of the irritation left.

Miller:
What are doing awake at two in the morning young lady?

Laura:
Writing, couldn’t sleep.

Miller:
I could help you with that you know.

Laura:
I’m sure that you are quite the ladies man.

Miller:
I’d give them all up for you.

Laura:
I bet you say that to all the girls.

Miller:
No, but even if I did, I mean it when it comes to you.

Laura:
Oh please, I can tell that you’re a player.

Miller:
Yes Ma’am, I am. I have no desire to be in a relationship. The same way that you cut yourself off from society physically, I do emotionally.

I found myself taken aback by his candidness, but I found myself respecting his honesty. I couldn’t help but wonder what he looked like.

Laura:
I’m shallow Miller, if I’m going to flirt with you, then I want to know what you look like.

Miller:
I’m fifty-five with a gut, balding hair, and bucked teeth.

Laura:
I almost spit my coffee out I laughed so hard Miller, and you have a sense of humor? What more could a girl ask for?

Miller:
I asked you a question little lady, when I asked you a question I expect an answer.

Laura:
And you’re bossy, I forgot the question.

Miller:
What. Are. You. Doing. Up. This. Late?

Laura:
I’m writing. What are you doing up this late?

Miller:
I’m on a stakeout.

Laura:
So you’re a cop, huh? Who are you staking out, a criminal?

Miller:
You.

Was the only thing he typed. I thought that he had misunderstood me.

Laura:
Excuse me? Did you just say that you are staking me out?

Miller:
Yes Ma’am, I did. How else am I supposed to make sure that you are ok? I don’t have your cell number to call or text.

Laura:
How did you find out where I live? You’re not some deranged stalker are you?

Miller:
Deranged is questionable and I’m paid to stalk.

Laura:
Ok, you either give me a valid website to go and look you up, or don’t ever contact me again!

He rattled off the website and my fingers flew over the keys to get to it—what I saw literally took my breath away. I viewed the screen and a man well over six feet tall donning a suit stood in front of a cherry wood antique desk with his arms crossed. He looked like he could solve all of the world’s problems—or give you a set of new ones. His chocolate brown hair laid in long layers on top and his eyes looked like two yellow orbs burning through the computer screen.

Laura:
Boy, you weren’t kidding when you said that you were a ladies’ man, were you?

Miller:
I never kid. I say what I mean. Are you ok up there?

Laura:
Yes, I’m fine, just writing like I said.

Miller:
Okay, I just stopped by to make sure you were ok.

Laura:
Why do you care if I’m okay?

Miller:
Because you intrigue me. Now, do you have binoculars?

He didn’t wait for my answer.

Miller:
Come to the window and look down at the black SUV and wave goodbye, then text me at the number that I just typed in so I’ll have your cell number.

I cautiously made my way over to the large plate glass window and looked down where he told me. There, right in front of my eyes, was the gorgeous specimen of man that I had just seen on my computer screen. I felt my breath hitch somewhere in my chest and it wasn’t due to fear. The man was the most handsome man that I had ever had the pleasure of staring at. He waved, rolled up his window, and drove off into the night, as if he were some fantasy I had dreamed up in a fairy tale.

I made my way over to my cell phone and typed in the number he had given me into my contacts. The message that I sent was short and sweet.

Laura:
It’s nice to formally meet you, Miller.

Only one word came back in reply.

Miller:
Ditto.