Chapter 2
Eight years later , when I was 16, my father died of a heart attack. I felt no grief or sadness. He was out of my life forever and I was glad. I donÕt know why I even bothered to go to his funeral, perhaps I just needed to be sure he was gone so that I knew he couldnÕt come back to haunt me. It was a cloudy day, I remember it well, not because it was my fatherÕs funeral, no, I remember it well because it was the first time I saw them. Three men, all dressed in black suits, their faces emotionless, their eyes cold, and their movements stiff. They were the most horrible men I had ever seen. They stood off on their own, watching me from a distance. I can still remember the feel of their icy glare fixated on me. It was a glare that would send shivers up anyoneÕs spine. But I didnÕt let them see my discomfort, I refused to let them weaken me. Instead I turned around and looked straight into their eyes. I stood there as if to challenge them, refusing to blink, refusing to move, forcing myself not to back down. They stared back at me for what at the time seemed like an eternity and then they turned and walked away.
I can remember feeling triumphant, feeling as though I had won, I had made them go away. But they didnÕt go away. Not really. After that I could feel their eyes on me everywhere, I didnÕt always see them, but I knew they were there, watching me like a cat watching itÕs prey, watching me and studying me. It was an uneasy feeling, knowing your being watched yet not knowing why. For weeks this continued, and soon the weeks turned into months and I was becoming more and more aware of their presence. I remember now so clearly the thoughts and questions that flooded my mind. ÔWho are these men? what do they want from me? why are they following me?Õ I thought then that if I could just figure this out it would all be over. I remember wanting nothing more then to find the answers to these questions. I now regret that I ever found them.
Tired of their persistence I decided to take matters into my own hands.
Eight years later , when I was 16, my father died of a heart attack. I felt no grief or sadness. He was out of my life forever and I was glad. I donÕt know why I even bothered to go to his funeral, perhaps I just needed to be sure he was gone so that I knew he couldnÕt come back to haunt me. It was a cloudy day, I remember it well, not because it was my fatherÕs funeral, no, I remember it well because it was the first time I saw them. Three men, all dressed in black suits, their faces emotionless, their eyes cold, and their movements stiff. They were the most horrible men I had ever seen. They stood off on their own, watching me from a distance. I can still remember the feel of their icy glare fixated on me. It was a glare that would send shivers up anyoneÕs spine. But I didnÕt let them see my discomfort, I refused to let them weaken me. Instead I turned around and looked straight into their eyes. I stood there as if to challenge them, refusing to blink, refusing to move, forcing myself not to back down. They stared back at me for what at the time seemed like an eternity and then they turned and walked away.
I can remember feeling triumphant, feeling as though I had won, I had made them go away. But they didnÕt go away. Not really. After that I could feel their eyes on me everywhere, I didnÕt always see them, but I knew they were there, watching me like a cat watching itÕs prey, watching me and studying me. It was an uneasy feeling, knowing your being watched yet not knowing why. For weeks this continued, and soon the weeks turned into months and I was becoming more and more aware of their presence. I remember now so clearly the thoughts and questions that flooded my mind. ÔWho are these men? what do they want from me? why are they following me?Õ I thought then that if I could just figure this out it would all be over. I remember wanting nothing more then to find the answers to these questions. I now regret that I ever found them.
Tired of their persistence I decided to take matters into my own hands.
