UNINVITED

Chapter 13

   
  “You’ve reached your destination,” a computerized female voice announced.

     Tapping End Route, I steered the wheel and veered the car to my left, parallel parking to the side road in front of Richie’s Trading Enterprise. I sighed, unfastened the seat belt, and stepped onto the pavement, shutting the door.

     I scanned around momentarily and tucked the gray scarf close to my neck. No trailing being. Not that I expected someone to be following me. It was unlikely Tom had been able to track my location. I was certain he was desperate—too desperate to think from that angle. He must be languishing in my absence. By the time he’d be smart enough to think about tracing my location, I’d have gone off the grid. He wouldn’t find me, and I’d finally have the peace to contemplate.

     I crossed the road to the shop nestled between a boutique and a small restaurant. A lone woman with a shopping bag sprinted out of the boutique. Her hair was brown and short. For one silly moment, I thought it was Amy. Gripping my purse, I neared the shop with the OPEN tag dangling on the large glass panel.

     The bell above the door jingled as I entered the shop. A tall stout man in a leather shirt and jeans leaned over the counter, flipping through the pages of a newspaper. He looked disinterested—bored perhaps as his eyes skimmed the pages. There weren’t many people here. Good. I could ask the shopkeeper any question without fear of being overheard.

     I decided against heading to the counter and suited myself, moving through a short aisle and looking at the array of the latest models of smartphones. I traced a finger along the shelf lined with colorful cases and chargers as I passed by them. I was wasting time. I should get what I came here for and leave immediately.

     Darting my eyes around the shop, I finally found the display of burner phones near the rear. I moved to the counter and cleared my throat. “Excuse me,” I said, fingering the burners. “I need one of those.”

     He set the newspaper aside, glanced at the display, and landed his eyes on me. He cocked his head and said, “You’re new.”

     “Yes. I just moved in.” I drummed my nails on the counter. “Can we speed this up?”

     “Sure thing, ma’am. What kind of burner are you looking for?”

     From where I stood, I saw that all the burner phones were almost identical, only different in colors. I pointed to one of them. “That one will do.”

      He went over to the rear. My eyes lingered across the counter, pausing on the newspaper. The fan rotating above me rustled the papers. The sheets flipped rapidly, then stopped on a page. I discerned the headline. CYBERSPHERE TECHNOLOGY ON THE VERGE OF RELEASING ITS FIRST-EVER DRONE.

     Below it was the sober face of the man I swore to love till death do as part. I frowned. On paper, he looked different—like a gentleman. Maybe his expensive suit was what made him different and the beautiful smile plastered on his face. His broad shoulders, sharp jawline, and pointed nose were perceptible from where I stood. When he was drunk, he was like a madman, a sharp contrast to the man in the photo.

     He’d mentioned this project to a friend and I had overheard them. Tom didn’t discuss his business matters with me. I didn’t know much about technology, but I could do one or two with my smartphone and my other electronic gadgets. IT made me edgy. Funny enough, it was an interesting concept back in school.

     While Tom was a god of IT, I was into clothes. Lately, I felt we were drifting apart because of our different tastes. When he came home from work, there was nothing to talk about with him. I couldn’t walk up to him with news of how my day at the shop had been. He wasn’t interested in clothes, and I wasn’t interested in IT. I knew that from day one, but I thought I could manage. After all, he seemed Iike an easy-going guy. We’d get along just fine.

     He viewed my boutique as my escape from home to hook up with men. The very reason I stopped dealing in men’s collections, but that didn’t curb our problem. He’d told me once to quit my business and sell the shop. He wanted me to become a housewife—his possession. That wasn’t what I wanted. I wasn’t going to give up my shop. It was the only thing that truly belonged to me, but he wouldn’t understand. He hated my boutique more than anything. When we argued, he’d bring it up and promised he was going to burn it to the ground someday.

     My clothing business wasn’t the problem. Our marriage was. It was easy to get into counselling, but Tom wouldn’t see a shrink, as he’d called them. He didn’t have the luxury of time. I wanted so badly to fix our marriage. Tom wasn’t and I couldn’t proceed without him. Our four years of marriage had died. I was only being delusional thinking I could revive it.

     Seeing his face on the paper made my skin crawl. It was as though he was haunting me, making my life miserable. He wasn’t going to grant me the divorce. I was certain. I had to do this the hard way. I looked away from the newspaper before I did something crazy with it.

     The shopkeeper neared me with the phone.

     I collected it and turned it in my hands, checking it thoroughly. “No one would be able to track my location with this?” I peered at his oblong face, his dark stubbles standing stiff, as though he didn’t shave before opening the shop.

     “They’re not totally untraceable, but it can provide you with a degree of anonymity,” he said.

     That didn’t sound pleasing to my ears. I’d have to manage for now till I went completely off the grid. I couldn’t meet Tom face-to-face for so many reasons, and I had to break the terrible news to him. It was a slow move to tell him such sensitive information about our marriage on the phone, but from the looks of things, I didn’t have any choice.

     I nodded, not very satisfied. The bell jingled, and two men spilled in. They chatted and laughed as they went further into the shop.

     When I glanced up, he was just staring at me while ringing up the item.

     Creep, I thought and rummaged through my purse.

     I pulled out my credit card but decided against using it. If I continued using my credit card, I’d be leaving trails behind for Tom. For now, it was best I didn’t use it. I dipped it back and went for cash instead, sliding it across the counter.

     “Are you an agent or something?” the man finally asked.

    “Excuse me?” I pretended I didn’t hear it. Why would he think I was an agent? Did I look like I could stand a day in the police academy?

     “Do you work with the police?” he asked again, the polythene bag squeaking as he lowered the phone into it.

      “I’d rather not say.” I stretched out a hand. “Can I have that?”

     “Yeah,” he said, handing it over.

     I took it and waited while he dealt with the cash register, coins clinking loudly as they bumped into each other. I hit my nails on the counter again. Tap, tap, tap. What was keeping him so long?

     I had wanted to ask him if a smartphone could still emit a signal even when it was off, but I refrained. I’d be giving away too much and this man was creeping me out. Already he was getting this crazy idea I was an agent. I had read a dozen articles on it, but I still wanted to confirm from a phone dealer. No such luck.

     Finally, he turned to me with a smirk. He gave me my change and a receipt. I collected them, dropping everything into my bag. Then I turned without so much as a thank-you.

     As I began to walk away, he said, “Have a nice day, Elodie.”

     My heart skipped a beat. How did he know my name? I was about to retrace my steps but stopped when I remembered I had taken out my credit card. He’d read off my name the very second I brought it out. Probably peered into the transparent counter and caught sight of my first name.

     I sighed, then headed out of the shop. I felt his eyes on me even as I stepped out. He’s watching me. He was still staring at me through the glass panel. My peripheral vision picked up his gaze. I increased my steps to my car, the bag swinging in my hand. With clumsy fingers, I pressed the key fob as I neared the car. No sooner had I opened the side door than a hand touched my shoulder. I let out a gasp.