Deadly Secrets

Chapter 7: The Stalker

[Revised]

Zara yelped as she accidentally stepped into a grungy puddle, which splattered her jeans with gunk. It seeped through the fabric. Numbing cold penetrated her skin, making her tremble like a leaf. A warm shower sounded pretty inviting just about then—too bad the shower-head back at home only blasted ice-cold water.

She reached into her pocket and ran her thumb along the roll of bills. Almost immediately, she pulled her hand back out. Then shoved it back in, to double-check that the money was still there and hadn't disappeared. A grand total of nine hundred and fifty dollars. Counted and recounted. It had been a while since Zara had such a hefty amount in her possession, and it felt good. After paying her bills tomorrow, she would take that well-deserved shower. It was worth it, to the very last penny.

The thought sent a slight jolt of adrenaline through her, and Zara incremented her pace. She briskly turned a corner onto a new block.

Despite everything, she couldn't ignore what had happened between her and Saffron. Apologising to the other two had been easier than she had thought—they had woken up as sprightly as ever, putting the night behind them like a bad dream—but with Saffron, it was another story. He tried apologising time and time again, and when Zara didn't want to hear any of it, resorted to a broken gaze and fleeting touches.

Not only had Zara been obligated to make the journey to the pawn shop on foot, but had almost gotten thrown out of it when her irritation surfaced onto her interaction with the owner. It was hard to think logically when Saffron was breathing down her neck half the time, but the worst part was that he wasn't even aware of his actions. She would need some time before she forgave him, but in the meantime, she would concentrate on other, more important things. Like getting her ass home.

The metal tinkle of a tin-can rolling across the pavement instantly averted her senses. Warning signals flashed red in her mind. Zara forced herself not to turn around and kept her eyes on the pavement. It's a stray cat, she told herself, no big deal.

Somewhere, a window slammed shut. She shrank into herself, like a turtle into its shell.

I'm just being paranoid.

She started to hum. It would distract her from her surroundings, from the empty, eerie-looking streets. She thought about Simon, her grandfather. Zara imagined him waiting back at home, in the kitchen, perched on the edge of his wooden stool. His eyes would be glued to the clock, watching the second hand complete its millionth round. All because he cared.

He may not have been perfect, but she would pick him over any of those wretched foster homes any day. Zara didn't deserve to be treated like an animal, nobody did. Her eyes glazed over as her mind became entangled with ugly memories. Her thoughts slowed her pace down.

That's when she heard the footsteps.

Zara snapped out of her trance and furrowed her eyebrows. She concentrated on the sound as she scanned the area. It was empty. There wasn't a living soul in that neighbourhood beside Zara.

Either I'm hearing things or...

There it was again. A loud squelching, the kind you hear when you're wearing water-filled sneakers. It obviously didn't come from her. Her boots, although damp, made a dry slapping sound with every step she took. The contrast was very clear.

At the end of the street, Zara took a sharp left. She hoped that it was simply a coincidence and that this person simply happened to be traveling in the same direction as her. Another road was crossed, another corner was turned. The footsteps were still there, steady, unhurried.