Because, Brett... [BxB]

Chapter 4: Windowless Vans & Rapists

I turn the paper over in my hand, noticing an address in the top lefthand corner. I can reply if I want.

How do I even take something like this? This creep, whoever he is, somehow knows my name, he knows where I work, he knows too much already. It causes me to wonder what else he could possibly know?

Thinking back to those striking eyes staring at me from the back of the club, I feel a slight shiver run through me. The pieces of the puzzle finally begin to come together in my mind, this letter the glue. Whoever this is, this man, it's no coincidence that I see him and a letter just so happens to show up at my workplace, you don't run from a coincidence. The prospect is unsettling to say the least. 

I sigh, picking my fatigued body up from my perch on the bench outside the club and decide that I'll contemplate this more at home.

I take my usual route to the train station, my way guided by the dim street lights. As always, they cast shadows onto the pavement. Now though, in the turmoil of my mind, they seem to twist and turn with the light, creating all manner of nightmare-worthy creatures and haunting figures. Occasionally, I glance over my shoulder to see my own spitting image following me down the street. It's as though this whole incident has made me hyper-aware of everything. Whenever I hear a noise, footsteps, a bang, a bark. My heart rate increases tenfold.

It's exhausting paying so much attention, but I can't help it. What if this R is a serious stalker? What if he'd seen me dancing and had decided he'd wait to kidnap me later? What if he's watching me now?

I blame my overprotective mother for my skittishness, always filling my head with stories of windowless vans and rapists hiding in alleyways. It's made me oversensitive to these kinds of threats. Especially considering it's past midnight. The words are ingrained in my head from years of scolding, 'Just because someone seems safe, that doesn't mean you can trust them. You remember what happened to Mrs Carter down the street, don't you?'

How could I forget? Stabbed on her way home from work by none other than her own next door neighbour.

On the rest of my treck, I make sure to stick to the well-lit streets and before long I'm at the station waiting for the last train of the night along with the rest of the town's population who have been up partying all night. You'd think it'd be deserted at this time of night, but it never is. The university nearby sees to that as the students there make up the majority of the nightlife.

+ + +

Home, finally. Safe. I kick my shoes off by the door before heading up to my room and slumping down onto my bed. Moments pass, but I can't shift the letter from my thoughts. When I can no longer take the buzzing of my own anxiety I sit up and pull the nasty thing out of my pocket.

"Yours sincerely, R," I read it aloud and almost grimace at the words. It's just so creepy. Stalkerish. People don't write letters anymore, not letters to strangers and certainly not strangers they've been following for weeks on end.

I need to figure out what to do. Chances are this is just some crazed fan from the club who's a little too overinvested and I should let security know so they can. . . I don't know how security would stop someone from entering when I have no description of what they look like. My mind wanders to other scenarios, what if it's just some idiot playing a prank and wanting to psych me out? Honestly, I wouldn't put it past some of the younger guys I work with, they think they're right pranksters but they're really not.

Then my thoughts drift back to those blue eyes peering at me from across the room and I can feel my insides twist and contort with anxiety.

I shake my head as determination sets in. I know that if I just let this sit, I'll be forever worried and wondering. If it's some shithead or fan or some creep who just wants to meet me maybe the best course of action would be to meet and confront them about it.

Like a corpse, I drag my body to the table I have set in the corner of the room. I place a fresh sheet of paper in front of me and take a pen between my fingers.

Now, to start?

Dear R,

I stare down at my writing scrawled on the first line, contemplating before I cross out the 'Dear'.R is by no means dear to me. He's my stalker.

R,

Better.

I received your letter. You said you would like to meet and I would be agreeable to that, but on my terms:

Saturday the 16th, 12:30 at the Starbucks on Heath Road.

Brett

There. Short and sweet, no terms of endearment and absolutely no chance of me getting murdered in Starbucks on a Saturday. The date is still a few weeks ahead of us but I figure I need to allow enough time for him to have been delivered the letter before the 16th.

Without much care, I fold the paper in two and enclose it in an envelope before hurriedly scrawling his address on the front.

First thing tomorrow, I'll post it.