The Stalker (Elvis Presley Story)

Chapter 1

As the auditorium shook to the sound of a fifties rock-and-roll beat, Melissa and her partner, Michael Johnson, moved to center stage. Michael spun Melissa around three times, pulled her to him, then spun her back out again.

"Doo-wop da-dooby-do," the entire cast, twenty-one strong, sang as they danced the L.A. Hustle. The musical was Grease.

The set was the "Burger palace," complete with booths, soda fountain, and jukebox. The cast, guys in black leather jackets and ducktails, the girls with teased hair and Bobby socks, we're from the Regional theater company.

It was the third night and the house was packed again. Third night on tour that would take the show all over two Midwestern states.

And you're part of it, Melissa told herself. You're actually dancing with a professional theater company.

Melissa had fallen in love with dancing and the theater when she was six and saw a performance of the Nutcracker. She'd gone home, stood in front of a mirror, and danced. The sugar plum fairy, of course.

"We'll always be together!" The cast sang the final words to the song. Melissa and Michael, still prominent, ended their routine with Melissa doing a split in front of her partner with her arms raised above her head.

The audience erupted in applause. Melissa held her pose until the red velvet curtain bellowed shut, then she leaped up and rushed offstage.

Controlled chaos. The entire company scurried around in the wings, getting into position for curtain calls. Gray Fischer, the choreographer, nodded at Melissa as she passed by. He was a tall , slender man of about forty-five, with dark hair and an always serious expression on his face.

"Nice work, Melissa," he said.

"Thanks, gray." Melissa couldn't believe it. A compliment from gray Fischer was like rain in the desert.

"You've got nice energy. Good presence," Gray said. "Keep it up." He spoke causally, as if he were telling her the time.

Melissa thanked him again. Cool and casual like he was. As if she didn't feel like hopping up and down and screaming from excitement. Turning away from gray, Melissa bumped into Stephanie thompson, another dancer and one of her roommates.

"I heard what gray said," Stephanie told her. "Don't get too blissed out. The first mistake you make, he'll be all over you."

"Oh?"

Stephanie nodded, tucking a strand of icy blonde hair into place. Icy. That was the word for Stephanie thompson, Melissa thought. The only place she warmed up was onstage. "I just thought I'd let you know," She added.

But you're just as good a dancer, Melissa told herself. You deserve that moment in the spotlight. You know she's just jealous, so don't let her get to you. "Thanks for the warning, steph," She said.

Moving away from Stephanie, Melissa caught sight of Elvis presley, the assistant stage manager. He was standing offstage, making sure everyone was in the right place. That's Elvis, Melissa thought. Always in the background, behind the scenes. Always with those intense, watchful eyes. He'd caught Melissa's attention the minute she'd seen him. Jet black hair slicked back. Firey blue eyes. A lean muscular body and a way of walking that reminded her of a panther on the prowl.

Very hot.

Also very quiet. Elvis kept to himself. Was he shy? A snob? Melissa didn't know, but she wanted to find out. As she rushed by him, she threw him one of her back-row smiles.

"Hey, Melissa, got a sec?" Elvis reached out and put a hand on her arm.

Yess! She thought. He wants to talk. A definite step in the right direction.
"Sure," She said, wiping a trickle of sweat off her forehead. Elvis held out an envelope with her name on it. "I found this on the floor outside your dressing room," he explained.

"Thanks." Okay, so he didn't want to talk. This wasn't a good time, anyway. "Good show, by the way." Elvis squeezed her arm, then turned away as someone began complaining to him about a lost prop.

As Melissa started to open the envelope, her dance partner came running up. "Let's go, williams," Michael said breathlessly. "Curtains going up." He grabbed her hand a pulled her towards the stage.

The band played the finale, the applause swelled again as the curtain swept open. Melissa stuffed the envelope inside the waistband of her plaid chiffon dress. When it was their turn, she and Michael ran onstage and joined the line of other chorus members.

Straightening up from the first bow, she lifted her eyes towards the balcony. Crouched on the catwalk above the auditorium, one of the lightning crew swept the big follow spot back and forth across the stage. The sight brought back the memories of opening night. Two nights before, when she stood alone onstage and seen someone crouched behind that same spotlight.
Unmoving.
Unspeaking.
Watching her.
Throwing her a rose. Soon you'll be mine, Melissa.

Bowing a second time, she staggered slightly. Michael tightened his grip on her hand. "You okay, williams?" He muttered out the side of his mouth.

"Sure," She muttered back. "Just got dizzy for a second."

"Yeah," Michael said dryly. "Fame goes to your head, doesn't it?"

Melissa kept her smile in place. But everytime the spotlight swept across her eyes, she flashed on that solitary figure.

Who was it? Who'd been watching her?

Four curtain calls later, the show was over. As soon as she was offstage, Melissa loosened  the waistband on her dress and took a deep breath. As she went downstairs to the dressing room she shared with three other dancers, she tore open the envelope Elvis had given her and pulled out a single sheet of paper.

Melissa, it said in bright red ink, hope you break a leg.

Melissa's stomach started churning. But not because of the words. After all, "break a leg" meant good luck in theater. But whoever had sent her this message wasn't wishing her luck.
Below the words was a drawing of a human leg. Crude, but clear.

It was a dancers leg, kicking high, the toes pointed in a black ballet shoe. But the leg had been chopped off just below the knee. Shiny white bone stuck out from ragged flesh. And blood spurted out like a fountain, covering the sheet of paper in glistening red drops.

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