Obsessed

Chapter 3

I woke up and remembered that Jessie was in the other room. When I got up, she wasn't in there anymore but a little note was left on the neatly made bed. "Sorry for getting drunk and passing out," it said. Her handwriting was so distinctive from anyone else's; all of the letter g's had were written with a curly loop. "We have to hang out soon. Next Saturday? Love, Jess."

I laughed and folded the note in half and stuck it in the little bedside table next to the guest bed. I stretched and went into the kitchen where my black home phone attached to that cork-screw curly cord was sitting next to the black coffeemaker. The red button next to the "new voicemail" button was flashing. I clicked the tiny button next to it and the beeping of the machine stretched out. "You have--one--unheard message. Press one to listen to it now." I pressed one and started up coffee as it played out loud from the speaker.

"Hey, Jerra, it's Aaron Clemmons. I just wanted to know if I could possibly come in two extra days next week so you have me four days instead of two? I feel like all this space in between sessions is like taking one step forward and two steps back. I get there's home therapy type exercises I can do but I can't do it without all of your help. Just call me and let me know! I'd be okay with even just three days. Anywhere you can squeeze me in. Okay, uh, thanks." He hung up.

Something was weird about the voicemail. I listened to it two more times. I could tell he was in a car that was on the highway through the voicemail. I shook the thought out though; he probably had someone who drove him around. But ever since I thought I saw him going down the road outside of my house, my suspicions were so high up. Then, there was another thing I realized.

I don't think I ever told him my full name. He'd addressed me at Jer, and no one at work calls me Jerra.

I took a deep breath, telling myself I was just being paranoid.

I called Aaron back a few hours later. I told him I could squeeze him in on Thursdays, along with his Sunday and Tuesday scheduled visits. He thanked me and said he looked forward to our next session--tomorrow--and with that we said our goodbyes and hung up. 

I sighed, wishing I had the whole weekend off instead of just one day but I couldn't complain. It was something I loved to do. 

Saturday dragged on and I sent Aaron's doctor the proof he'd been coming to physical therapy. Immediately afterward, an email from that "donotreply" address shot back, saying the email I'd tried contacting was an invalid email. I frowned and chewed at my lip, looking down at the sticky note. My eyes flickered from down at the paper to up at the screen. I'd typed everything accurately. With a deep sigh, I just saved it in my drafts and decided I'd talk to Aaron about it tomorrow. 

The whole thing was making me think the best decision would be to call the police before anything happened and it was too late, but of course, I didn't. And now, I wish I had.