“Make? You can’t make anyone accept you, Mr. Lowell. It’s their choice, not yours. You just have to live with it.”
Countering with, “We’ll see about that, won’t we?” he engaged in a long staredown with me.
“Not necessary, Mr. Lowell.”
“Oh, but it is.”
Ah damn. That was a threat if there ever was one, stirring up flashbacks of fifteen years ago when a warning not as mysteriously-worded as Mr. Lowell’s was made to me and Malaysia. At least, the gangsters in Long Island made the boss’s plans to harm us clear if we didn’t play ball. Neither of those men was half as creepy as this one. One of them was actually rather appealing.
Mr. Lowell didn’t care if the object of his obsession, currently me I believed, played ball or not. He’d unleash a terror campaign perfected long ago, slowly guiding me toward a mental minefield then serenely watch me get blown to figurative smithereens while fighting to regain control of my life. He was narcissistic enough to think he’d do me a favor by destroying my world if I didn’t give him what he wanted, acceptance.
It was time for him to leave, so I blinked, losing the staredown by choice. Winning was all he wanted. As predicted, he turned to leave but not fast enough for me.
“Good day, Cherise.” Only when the door closed behind him did I take my first full breath since he got up from the couch. There was no blood flowing in my fingertips when I stumbled to my feet, over to the desk to dial up Dr. Lambert.
Expecting his voicemail, it was a little jarring to my disturbed system when he called out my name enthusiastically in greeting. “Cherise! It’s been a long time, no new patients from you.”
I fell in my chair. “Well, that streak has been broken. I have one hell of a new case for you, and you will be in my prayers every night.”
“That bad?” he voiced gravely.
“Much, much worse,” I promised. “His pupils were dilated when he arrived, but he doesn’t give off dope-user vibes. His compulsive disorder wouldn’t allow him to spend money frivolously on drugs.”
“His eyes never returned to normal during the session?”
“No.”
Darrell whistled low. “You’re thinking what I’m thinking?”
“Yes. Probably. At first, I thought borderline psychopath, but I’m sure now he’s a fully homegrown one with constant adrenaline high and no ability to feel fear.”
After giving Darrell a verbal report on Chad Lowell, I forwarded a hastily written one to his office and left. Home was where I wanted to be most, where I could shut out the screwed-up world. Parking on my driveway in front of the single car garage, I took a moment to just breathe. I hadn’t had a day this bad since Long Island, a place I was never returning to.
“A hot bath will make it all go away, Cherise,” I rambled to myself then staggered out of the car.
Following the sidewalk to the front porch, a long, white rectangular box with a big red bow waited for me on the bottom of three wooden steps up to my starter home. Amongst the red ribbon folds was a tiny card sticking out. Expecting an early birthday present from Malaysia, who was visiting her aunt and uncle in Long Island while attending fashion week, I plucked the card from its holder attached to the bow. It read,
Acceptance begins now, Cherise.
There was no sender’s signature. I didn’t need one. Who sent the flowers was plain as day from the wording on the card. I legitimately had a stalker. It was useless to wonder how he got my address. The internet didn’t keep secrets.
My paranoia mounted up to the tips of the coils on my head. I checked the street for anything, anyone out of place, and found both. A lone, white Dodge truck with heavy tint and a shadowy figure in the driver’s seat sat in front of Mrs. Henley’s home three houses down. She didn’t own, would never buy that type of vehicle. Neither would her two snobbish sons. My Homeowners Association didn’t allow for side street parking. Only someone who didn’t live in this neighborhood nor visited frequently wouldn’t know that.
After the day I had, it was no coincidence that truck was there on this day. I was convinced Mr. Lowell was keeping his word to get what he wanted. What he would get was a good cursing out. Beyond furious, I snatched up the box and stomped across my lawn toward his truck. The engine roared to life. The driver backed up hurriedly into Mrs. Henley’s driveway, squealing tires as he drove away like a bat out of hell. I should’ve expected that. Stalkers didn’t get confronted, they did the confronting.
Putting on the brakes halfway between Mrs. Henley’s home and mine, I raised the flowers and screamed after him, “I got your acceptance, you bastard!”
After a quick call to 911, I realized convincing the cops my life was in danger was a nonstarter. Mr. Lowell hadn’t done anything illegal. One flower delivery and parking on the street in front of someone else’s house wasn’t harassment. I had no proof, no tag number, no interaction with him outside of our one consultation that it was him leaving unwanted gifts on my porch. For the police to intervene, he had to break a law, any law.
Gifts began arriving daily. Chocolates. More flowers. Lingerie. Champagne. Even a dead rabbit, the weakest species in the animal kingdom. Each package came with the same message. Phone calls at all odd hours of the day and night began. Each time, Chad asked me if I was ready to submit to him. The answer was always no. The numbers he called from were always untraceable. Having a friend speak to a friend about using their influence with the judge over Mr. Lowell’s stalking case didn’t bring any good results either. He couldn’t be mandated to a
mental institution without proof he had added me to his agenda. I found no peace at my home any longer.
By the time Malaysia suggested a month later that I relocate to Long Island with her, I had already packed up to move anywhere but here. Her comforting presence won me over. A fashion house in New York made a lucrative offer to back her clothing line. She and I rented a three-bedroom townhome together. I snuck out of Los Angeles, getting my first night of fitful sleep since meeting Chad. He had won the battle in California.
The war was about to begin in New York.
Tobin