May Kill Me

Eleven

New Glasgow had a population of 3,216 people, priding itself on being one of the safest towns in the state. They had a very small police department: a red-brick building in the center of town.

Sheriff Sullivan — a grey-haired man with tan skin and well-defined biceps — stared at the letter I placed on the polished top of his heavy wooden desk.

"I got a letter just like this in my senior year of high school." I pointed at the paper.

Oldies rock was coming from the next room where an elderly secretary was knitting tenaciously with her glasses sliding down the bridge of her nose. In my mind, she was knitting something like mittens or a scarf for her tiny grandchildren.

"Just like this one?" Sullivan glanced at the letter, his place expressionless.

I could tell by his tone, though, that he wasn't impressed.

"Well, not word for word. But someone left a note on the door of my mom's apartment. The note said my ex-boyfriend was an asshole." I leaned back in my chair.

A sinking feeling formed in the pit of my stomach: the sheriff wasn't taking me seriously.

"This could be a stalker, someone who's been stalking me since high school!"

"So, you have a stalker?" Sullivan also leaned back in his chair, one hand on the table.

He was fit, in his fifties, in very good shape, and had a healthy tan. Not the overweight, donut-guzzling tv stereotype.

"I don't know for sure that I have a stalker. When I was in high school, I thought the note was a joke... However, since it happened again, it looks like..."

Sullivan raised his hand, silencing me.

"Why would anyone send you this kind of note?"

That was exactly what I wanted to know!

"I don't know why... Maybe to scar me."

"Uh-huh. But why now? How long has it been since you got the first note?"

"Several months."

"And how long has it been since you moved into the apartment?"

"I've been living there since August. August of this year... Maybe whoever sent me the note only found out about my new place recently!" I exclaimed, feeling the pieces of a puzzle coming together, "My ex! He could have easily followed me home, and found out my whereabouts through social media."

Sullivan only nodded.

"And this mention about 'better friends'? And what that's about?"

"It was about..." I cleared my throat, recalling the group chat and how freaked out Abigail was about getting expelled, "My friend, argued with her boyfriend. She used profanities."

"What was she so upset about?" Sullivan glanced out his office door, and towards the front of the station.

I wasn't sure how any of this worked, but I did note that he wasn't recording anything I was saying.

"I don't know," I said impatiently.

What did this have to do with anything?

"Your friend was arguing with her boyfriend and you know what it was about?"

I paused before answering, considering my options: I didn't want to lie to a sheriff, however, getting Abigail in trouble wasn't something I wanted to do either — especially since it sounded like whatever she did might call for a complaint with the police.