Obsession (3/13)

Chapter three

It's funny how time seems to stand still when you don't know what to do with your life. Minutes stretch into hours, hours slowly turn into days, but you still feel as miserable as before.

In the following two days, Faith realized just how much she'd underestimated her old, predictable life. She missed her kids, but most of all that false sense of security that a family gives you.

Coming home to an empty apartment after working not to cross her ex best friend's path for eight hours had left her emotionally drained, and she'd always wondered over the years how he'd managed not to lose his sanity.

But then again, maybe the new Bosco had already lost it, along with the spark that once lit his blue eyes.

All she wanted to do was fix herself a sandwich and crawl into bed, only to wake up to the same problems the next morning and start it all over again.

The hallway seemed longer than ever as her feet tiredly pounded on the pavement.

When did this mess become my life? She asked herself, absently sorting through a pile of mail until a hand-delivered letter caught her attention.

She recognized the writing immediately. It was the same creep who'd sent her the roses and the other letter two days before.

He's watching me, was the first thought on her mind as a feeling of uneasiness settled into her stomach.

She reached for her keys and opened the door to her apartment, quickly kicking it shut behind her and turning the lock.

A tremble of fear coursed through her body and she shivered as if the temperature in the place had suddenly dropped below zero.

She took a few steps forward and sat down on the couch, her coat and purse still on. Careful not to wipe away any fingerprints that this person might have left, she opened the letter and read the message:

You look beautiful when you're asleep.

I hope you were dreaming about me, 'cause I dream about you every night.

P.S. Have you ever realized that being dead is like being asleep forever?

Faith dropped the piece of paper on her lap and looked around. The sense of being watched was still there, stronger than ever.

She stared at the phone. The impulse to call someone was strong, but her rational side quickly dismissed the idea. She'd bring the letter at work in the morning and tell Swersky about it. Then they'll figure something out.

A thought suddenly crossed her mind and she got up, quickly heading towards the kitchen.

She sighed in relief when she spotted the old trash bag sitting on the floor. The first letter was probably still there. She bent down and started to rummage through it.

There it was. She smoothened it and put it on the kitchen table next to the other one, then went from window to window, locking them and fastening the bolts.

It was going to be a long night.

The man slid a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket, resting it between his lips, then got out his lighter and looked up, smiling to himself.

A clap of thunder could be heard in the distance, and a few droplets of rain splashed on his windshield but he kept staring outside.

The light was still on in her apartment.

He hadn't meant to scare her with that line about death, but he'd watched her lock all the windows just a few minutes before and realized that was probably what had happened.

Don't worry, honey. I won't let anything happen to you.

He longed to hear her voice, to touch her delicate skin. The need was driving him crazy, but he knew he had to wait.

He'd seen a change in her over the last few days. She looked sad, tired, clearly unhappy.

Dropping the ash off his cigarette, he glanced at the old picture. He could spend hours just looking at it.

I'm going to put that beautiful smile back on your face, my love. Soon.

When the light in the apartment finally went out, he dropped the cigarette butt out the window and started the car, disappearing into the night.

Faith was lying on the bed, eyes open, sheets tangled around her body.

She was tired, but not sleepy, and wishing like hell she could erase the last few weeks of her life from her memory.

A streak of light coming from a streetlamp outside filtered through the room and she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. 3:15 am. If only it was morning already, she thought to herself.

A couple of minutes later she finally gave up and dragged herself out of bed, feeling worse than when she'd crawled between the sheets at midnight.

Shuffling to the bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, then walked to the living room and sat down on the couch trying not to think about the letters.

She couldn't.

She turned them over and over in her mind, then got them out and read them again, staring at the words until they blurred.

This man knew her. He'd watched her, probably even followed her around. How long? Was he sitting outside fantasizing about her?

The thought made her skin crawl.

She wasn't afraid of much, but as she lay there staring at the door, her knees pulled up to her chest and a blanket draped across her, she realized she had no one to turn to.

If she died tonight, no one would bother to look for her until she didn't show up for work or to Fred's new place to pick up the kids.

She sure wasn't going to sit and wait for something to happen, but she felt the urge to talk to someone, to be close to someone.

With a shaky hand, she picked up the phone and dialled the number.

"Yeah." His voice was thick with sleep.

"Fred? Fred, it's me."

"Faith?" there was a pause on the other end of the line, and she pictured him running a hand through his bald head and looking at the clock. "Jesus Faith, it's four in the morning. What happened?"

"What? Yeah, I know. I just... I got this letters..."

"What are you talking about?"

She could hear the anger in his tone and shook her head. Always the sensitive guy. How could I've been so stupid?

"Faith, listen. The kids will be up in two hours. If you've got something to say just say it, or we'll talk about it later."

She sighed and closed her eyes. "Okay. Sorry."

"I'll see you on Saturday."

"Bye."

The phone still cradled in her hand, Faith lay back against the cushions and rubbed her tired eyes. Calling Fred had been a mistake, but she needed to hear a familiar voice.

She wasn't expecting him to say that everything would be alright, or that she could come to his place if she needed to, but his harshness and lack of understanding had hurt like a slap to the face.

They'd been married 15 years after all. Whatever problem they'd had, she didn't deserve this.

I'm gonna get through this, she reasoned. Even if I have to do it alone.

TBC...