I acknowledge the fact that I do not own any of the characters. This story is completely fabricated. Any similarities to any actual event or persons are a mere coincidence.
Thanks for all of the reviews, sorry about the formatting, It was my first fanfic.
I'LL BE WATCHING YOU!
Dr. Garret Macy looked up from the clip board he was viewing as the elevator dinged, to see his colleague, Jordan Cavanaugh. She looked worn out and frazzled from lack of sleep. "Jordan!" Macy commanded, as she dreamily passed by. "What is wrong with you?" She looked reluctant to respond. "Let's go into my office" he offered. Once inside Jordan sighed heavily and nervously paced the office while Macy closed the door behind them. He looked at her very seriously; saw the wild fear in her bloodshot eyes, and his brow furrowed. He had never seen Jordan this vulnerable before. For once she looked…human.
"I…I," she stuttered. "I haven't had much sleep, Garret." By the time his name crossed her lips she had stopped pacing, sunk down on his leather sofa, and buried her face in her hands. "I'm scared---terrified really!" She squeaked. He let her continue without a word. "I've gotten some phone calls; some frightening phone calls. At first it just started as heavy breathing, then it progressed to him saying things like, 'I'll be watching you' and 'I see you'." Macy shifted uneasily. This was sending chills up his spine just thinking about it.
"Have you told the police, they can put a trace on his number, or block it for you!" He said bewildered. She nodded affirmatively.
"They've only been able to trace it to phone booths at local gas stations near my house. They can't stake out every phone booth in Boston to try and catch a guy making crank calls." She said depressed.
"Jordan! Near your house! This guy knows where you live! He could---"
"I know!" She cut him off. "I know!"
A knock interrupted her from going into further shrieks. Nigel popped his head through the door, "I'm sorry to interrupt," he said in his perfect British accent, "but I think you two should take a look at this."
They followed him into an exam room where there was a cadaver lying on the table. When Jordan caught sight of the wounds, she gasped. Not because she wasn't use to seeing this kind of thing, but because she had seen it too often before. It was a young girl, probably in her early twenties. She had been strangled by what appeared to be a guitar string.
Earlier that year they had six girls who were killed in the same way. Jordan had examined every single one of them and had finally helped put there killer behind bars. She got so much publicity for it, the rest of the morgue talked about it for weeks. This was obviously the work of a copy cat. "Well," she sighed, "better get started."
The first thing that Jordan did was examine the wound and probable murder weapon. She concluded that like the six preceding victims, this one was strangled with the string, and died of asphyxia. She had veticial hemorrhaging behind her eyes which further proved her conclusion.
Macy came to see how she was holding up. He loved to watch Jordan work. She was always so absorbed in what she was doing that she never noticed anyone come in. This could also be a dangerous trait, he thought. His eyes drifted over the corpse and onto the murder weapon that Jordan had painstakingly pulled from around the victim's neck. There was a yellow tag hanging off the end of it and he assumed Jordan put it there as a marker of some kind. He picked it up and further examined the cord. He ran his fingers along the ridges and felt how small it was. It amazed him that something so fragile could cause such a disaster. He let his fingers run along the wire until they were caught by the sticky note on the end. Curious of the label, he pulled his glasses up from around his neck and read the scribble. #1 4 U JC was what it read. "Jordan," he finally said aloud, "what does this mean?" he finished indicated the inscription.
"What does what mean?" She retorted, obviously startled by his presence in the otherwise quiet room.
"This label on the wire? Why did you write this?" He questioned.
"I didn't." she replied flatly and grabbed the cord from his hand. She read it aloud. "This doesn't make any sense," she said confused. She read it over and over in her mind, and then suddenly it clicked. "J.C. Those are my initials! Jordan Cavanaugh! Number one for you JC!"
"Oh, My God!" Macy exclaimed. "Do you think this is the same guy that has been calling you?"
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Jordan slouched into the Pogue and plunked her tired body on the barstool. Max Cavanaugh looked at his daughter and grimaced. "What'll it be little lady?" He asked trying to sound upbeat when his daughter was obviously very weary.
"Hmmm." She said sleepily. "I guess just get me a dark beer."
"Hey Kevin, get the little lady here a dark!" Max shouted at a young guy Jordan had never seen before.
"Who's he?" she inquired.
"Some kid who came around here asking for a job. I told him I couldn't pay him much but he insisted." A shy looking red headed boy of twenty four walked sheepishly in from the kitchen and handed Jordan her beer. He seemed to blush when her hand accidentally touched his. Jordan made a mental note of this fact and turned to notice a new costumer entering the almost closing pub.
It was detective Woody Hoyt, his muscular body framing the doorway. Jordan scanned him, her eyes moving slowly on his form until she reached his face on which he had an innocent crooked smile. The sight of him sent chills up her spine and somehow rejuvenated her. He came up to the bar and put his arm around Jordan as if to claim her. "Hi" was all he said. She smirked and pressed her back harder into his arm. His presence really sent Jordan into a spin, although she would never admit it to anyone else but her diary. As much as she wanted to pursue a relationship with detective Hoyt, she was too fearful of having her heart broken again. Too many times had she been a victim of casual sex that she deemed as more, or worse, sleeping with the enemy!
"You look tired," Woody interrupted her thoughts.
"I am, a little." She sighed, "I haven't slept much the last few days."
"Anything on your mind?" He inquired.
"Well, I have been getting some phone calls," She stated wearily. His eyes showed concern. She continued, "Some guy keeps leaving me creepy messages. And then today…" she trailed off as she noticed Kevin eavesdropping intently on their conversation. "Let's dance!" She said excitedly as she grabbed his hand and pushed him onto the dance floor.
Startled by this, Woody began to protest, but a light touch of Jordan's finger across his parted lips, and her quick glance insinuating Kevin's intrusion, made him stop. Although he was anxious to hear more about the threatening calls, for the moment Woody decided to enjoy himself. He couldn't stop himself from thinking about Jordan every moment of the day. She had kissed him that night in the desert, and it felt so right at the time. Her lips firmly pressed against his, his heart fluttering and his stomach leaving. He was sure it had meant something, but when she insisted that they forget about it, he decided it had just been a passing moment for her. He was crushed when she didn't inquire about his thoughts on the matter.
At first he held Jordan's hand in his, and she rested her arm on his shoulder, keeping their distance. She continued her story about the murdered girl in hushed whispers. They didn't seem to notice the redhead glaring at them. Max came out of the kitchen wiping his hands with a dishtowel. "I'll close up Max!" Said Kevin eagerly, but one glance in the dancing couples direction made Max decide otherwise.
"I think I'll let Jahdan close up tonight." He said in his thick Boston accent. Kevin looked dejected. "Maybe another night." He said assuredly. Kevin nodded, obviously miffed by the last order.
As Max and Kevin opened the door to leave, a cold wind swept through the bar and it made Jordan shiver. When the door shut, Woody pulled Jordan a little closer to warm her. This almost made Jordan shiver more, just at his sweet gesture, but soon she was rather warm from the blood rushing to her face. She wanted to run away, to make more excuses of why she can't be with him, but instead, without thinking, she moved her arms and wrapped both of them around his neck. Woody shifted his arms to her waist and pulled her yet closer. She rested her head on his chest for the remainder of the song. When it finally drifted to a halt, neither of them seemed to notice, and continued to sway to the same beat as before without noticing the lack of music.
As if an alarm had gone off in her head, Jordan jerked her body away from Woody. He knew it was too good to last long. He looked in her wide eyes pleadingly as if to say, "don't shut me out". She choked on something to say.
"I, I uh, have to get up early in the morning." She finally managed to get out. She couldn't do this! It was too soon. All he would do is sleep with her and then avoid her afterwards. Painfully she peered into his eyes that seemed innocent.
"Ok," he said hesitantly, "I'll help you close up." He didn't want to push her. He knew that she didn't feel the same way about him. She was too scared of getting hurt. He could not think of a way to express to her that he would never hurt her if he could help it.
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Jordan unlatched the many different locks she had on her apartment door and cautiously pushed it open. She actually had to admit to herself that she was scared. She lived alone, and loved it, but she always seemed to have some psycho killer after her. Her flat appeared just the way she had left it. Relief filled her head and lightened her heart. What I need is a good night's sleep, she thought to herself. But first a shower.
As the hot water spilled over her aching muscles she tried not to think about Woody. It had felt so incredible to dance with him tonight. To have his strong arms around her, making her feel….safe. What was she going to do? The thought of their kiss was still lingering on her lips and made the blood rush to her face once more. I just really need to relax, she thought, maybe I'll play my guitar a little before bed. The image of the girl with the chord through her neck snapped in her head. On second thought, maybe not.
She turned off the shower and stepped out on to the mat, drenching it with water and reached for her towel. As she did, she thought she heard a noise. Her blood froze in her veins, preventing her from moving. Her breath came quick and her pulse was frantic. What could she do? Lock herself in the bathroom? No, that definitely wouldn't work. She kept picturing herself with a guitar string around her neck.
Peering out of the bathroom and into her bedroom she quickly scanned the room. Nothing out of the ordinary. She listened as hard as she could but couldn't hear anything else, the apartment was perfectly quiet. Why am I scarring myself like this?, she thought. It was probably just something outside. Still, she grabbed the baseball bat from the corner of her room and took it with her into the living room. No one there either, window shut, door locked. However, an ominous feeling still loomed over her head so she picked up the phone.
"I'll just call Woody for some company," she announced aloud half trying to convince herself that she wasn't scared. She clicked the talk button, dialed his number by memory and put the phone up to her ear but there was no dial tone. "That's funny." She said nervously, and went to the cradle of the phone. Her eyes followed the chord to where it was suppose to be plugged into the wall. She frantically picked it up and found the severed end. Next to the plug was a disturbingly familiar yellow sticky note, it read: "So you don't like the phone calls? Oh well, I guess we'll have to meet in person."
To be continued………………sorry it was late or uh early in the morning, and I had to go to bed.