11

The seconds that followed felt like hours. Abi had her back to the open door and her hands raised in submission. She expected to hear Robert’s voice—for him to shout, scream, or even just swear at her. When she heard nothing, she gradually turned around.

The door was closed. Robert was nowhere to be seen.

The room filled with the sound of rushing water and the sharp pitch of a tuneless whistle. Abi relaxed, lowered her arms, and breathed a sigh of relief. Her house was built at the same time as Robert’s and was all but identical except for two features. The first was the patio doors, which had been changed when Abi’s paranoid obsession became too much; the second was the downstairs toilet. An elderly couple had lived in the house before Robert. After the wife fell seriously ill and could no longer climb the stairs, the husband turned the downstairs coat closet into a powder room.

Abi had never much liked her old neighbor Mr. Parker. He was a loud, bigoted creep with an annoying laugh and wandering eyes. He tried his luck with her on more than one occasion, and even got hands-on. When she rejected him, he had called her a prude, then a lesbian, and then a slut, contradicting himself with a flurry of insults that led to her leaving his house and escaping his grubby clutches.

She’d only wanted to borrow a few tea bags.

But despite everything he had said and done before his very timely passing, at that moment she was thankful for the old Nazi bastard and his amateur plumbing.

With another glance at the laptop, more in forlorn hope than anything else, Abi shuffled toward the patio door and beat a silent retreat. The patio door slid shut just as the living room door swung open and Robert made an appearance. Seconds later, as Abi pressed herself tightly to the wall and peeked through the glass doors, she saw him retreat upstairs and then return with a laptop bag. He stuffed the laptop in the bag, checked his watch, and then hurried out the front door.

Abi was relieved, but that relief quickly turned into anger, incredulity.

What’s in that folder and why is it named after me?

Who or what are the “victims”?

What is he up to?

The police wouldn’t help her, she knew that. Robert was up to something, and his laptop confirmed that. It was obvious, but it was also obvious that they would be even less receptive and more mocking than they had been the night before.

“He has a file named after you and your grandmother on his laptop, you say? What’s in this file?”

“I don’t know.”

“How do you know he has it?”

“I broke into his house and used his laptop.”

The idea that he could have been taking pictures of her without her consent infuriated her, as did the idea that the police would deem her concerns to be unfounded at best and neurotic at worst. What worried her most were his intentions, and what it would take for her and her grandmother to be moved into the other folder.

Unless we’re already there, she thought suddenly, feeling her heart sink. Unless his victims are women that fell victim to his stalking, his harassment.

He could have upskirt pictures, hacked nudes, and sex videos.

He’d have a hard time getting anything like that from me.

But my gran …

But as scared as she was, she had to find out what he was doing, and with the adrenaline still coursing through her veins and giving her a high she had never felt before, she reasoned that now was the perfect time.

She decided to follow him, to see what he was doing. She looked different enough for him not to recognize her, especially if she kept her distance, and she also knew that if she didn’t strike now, when her adrenaline and anger were at their peak, she might let doubt and fear get the better of her.

—

Abi exited the cul-de-sac that she shared with her grandmother, budding stalker, and neighbors she barely knew. It led to a busy road, flanked on this side by a row of terraced houses and on that side by a large industrial estate. The former traced a path down to the center of town and to a row of shops, pubs, and other failing businesses struggling to stay afloat in the digital age; the latter spanned a vast chunk of open space, filled with factories, parking lots and garages, and the odd concrete-and-chalk soccer field.

Robert was visible in the far distance, heading toward the center of town. She put her head down and followed him, keeping a brisk pace to ensure she didn’t lose him.

Her heart rate had slowed since her close encounter in the house, and she wasn’t an anxious mess. She no longer felt like she was doing something wrong, no longer had that niggling sense of criminality in the back of her mind.

Robert turned a corner at the end of the street, and Abi seized the opportunity to increase her pace, taking fast but short strides, smiling at passersby as if to confirm that she wasn’t up to anything suspicious. The town was small but dense, with a population of more than fifty thousand. In winter, the streets were empty, with the residents holed up in their homes or local watering holes, but in summer, it was a different story entirely.

“They’re like ants,” her gran often said. “You don’t see them all year but as soon as the sun is out and you’re ready to enjoy a nice picnic in the park, the fuckers are everywhere.” The park was at the other end of town and would no doubt be filled to the brim with picnicking residents and tourists, all keen to soak up the sunshine. Robert was heading in that direction and Abi was hot on his heels. She didn’t know what he had planned, and she certainly didn’t expect him to be up to anything suspicious on a summer’s afternoon in full view of the entire town, but that didn’t stop her. She was drawn to him, knowing that the laptop bag he carried over his shoulder contained something that she needed to see.

A family of four turned the corner just as Abi raced toward it. They startled her and she nearly ran into them. The man, wearing a tank top and shorts—tufts of hair poking out of every crevice and a strong smell of cheap deodorant wafting from every pore—held up his arms to steady her.

“Watch yourself, love.”

Flustered and breathless, Abi quickly apologized.

“It’s a lovely day!” He grinned from ear to ear as he spoke, a faint whiff of beer on his breath. “It’s too nice to be rushing anywhere, take it easy!”

The family brushed past her. The sun-kissed wife left her with a bright, tanned smile; her spirited children exploded into energetic conversation.

Abi didn’t share her grandmother’s disdain for the season and the people it attracted. She didn’t consider herself a people person, but she liked the heat and the way people responded to it. Rain and cold made people miserable, angry, and petulant; sunshine brought out their cheer.

She wore a smile as large as the hairy man and his happy family, but it quickly faded when she turned the corner and realized that Robert had stopped a few feet ahead of her, ducking into the shade of a pub doorway to chat animatedly on his phone.

He sounded angry, although Abi couldn’t hear what he was saying, and while she could only see his profile, she guessed that he looked angry, as well. She was about to take a step back and duck out of view when Robert stared right at her. A young couple had exited the pub, and as Robert stepped aside to let them by, his gaze fell upon her.

Abi froze, her mind racing as she prepared to talk herself out of what could be a very embarrassing situation.

Hello, imagine seeing you here!

So, what are you doing here?

Should we get a drink?

But before she surrendered to her own awkwardness and began a conversation with her wannabe murderer, Robert turned the other way and continued his phone call, his words still out of earshot. There was no recognition in his eyes, nothing to suggest he identified her underneath the hat and behind the glasses. He hadn’t even given her a second glance.

You may be obsessed with me, Abi thought to herself. You may have a bunch of creepy little photos on that machine of yours, but you’re clearly not smart enough to know when I’m standing right in front of you.

Abi pulled out her phone and rested against the wall, lest she look as odd and as out of place as she felt. She strained herself to hear what he was saying, but only caught a few stray words above the chattering noises from the pub on her left and the traffic on her right. He said no a lot and also blurted out “I’m working on it.” It wasn’t enough for Abi to deduce who he was speaking to or what he was speaking about, but she doubted it was relevant.

Stalkers and serial killers work alone, she told herself. He’s probably just having an argument with his boss.