Stella yawned as she sat up, rolling her shoulders glancing at the table to her right. Blinking away the sleep from her eyes, 3:00 am…what the hell?

Cocking her head to the side, she hears it. A faint noise. Out of habit she grabs her cell…nope still on silent. There it is again…sounds like some sort of buzzing. Shrugging she lays back down and finds her spot quickly, sinking deeper into the mattress. BUZZ. BUZZ.

“Of course,” she mutters to herself as she drags her 40-year-oldbones out of bed and down the hall. Cursing as she stubs her toe on her Doc Martins she drunkenly kicked off as she stumbled in only 2 hours ago.

Finally in the kitchen, Stella staggers to a stop listening. BUZZ…what the hell IS that. Looking at the counter she can’t see anything turned on or blinking. Now acutely aware of the headache starting to form behind her eyes, thank YOU Tequila for another brilliant night! Stella heads for her work bag slung on the back of the kitchen chair when a blue light from the breakfast bar catches her eye. BUZZ. BUZZ.

Standing in front of the offending object, Stella’s mind goes blank as she registers that it isn’t hers. It goes off again and she is perfectly still, staring at it like it may grow arms and slap her. Her eyes adjust to the dim light coming from the kitchen window. Wanting to glance around her apartment but too terrified to move. What if she isn’t alone? What then? She is not prepared for this. She glances around as much as she can without moving her head. Just her eyes, her very wary eyes.

BUZZ BUZZ. Jumping out of her skin and before she can think twice, Stella snatches up the phone and flips it open. Who uses a flip phone anyways? She ponders looking at the unknow number alert on the blue screen.

On instinct she flips it closed and spins around to the living room behind her. She has never been more thankful of her open concept one bedroom condo as she is in this moment. If there is someone else here, she would know, there is literally nowhere to hide.

Slowly letting go of the breath she was holding. In the moment she remembers that she is still clutching the offending object in her hand, it goes off again. Feeling more secure that she won’t be immediately hacked to pieces in her still probably drunken state, Stella finds her courage and answers the phone.

Holding it up to her ear, she isn’t going to be the one who speaks first. Not this time. It has always been her. “I love you” first, “I miss you” first. Always offering first and getting nothing back EVER. She is done with that. All of that. She feels the tightness in her chest rising to catch in her throat. Shame threatening to strangle her. His face floats across her vision, never too far away. Always taunting, reminding her, judging her. Disappointingly, Mr. Tequila hasn’t been able to sooth, to scrub clean, no matter how hard she has tried and boy oh boy has she tried. Impressively so, unless you are her liver then…sorry, so sorry.

Listening intently, Stella can hear breathing. Nothing else, no background noise, no static just slow almost silent breath. Almost.

Gripping the phone tighter, Stella can feel herself digging in. If you want to play chicken…I’m game. Unsure of how long she has been listening but not wanting to make any noise Stella quietly as she can, moves to the couch and sits silently on the edge.

“Ahhh, that’s better.”

Stella frozen in place, looks around her 710 square feet of modular living and then back to the phone. Where is he? Panic just seconds away from its debut. Her gaze locks on the hall closet she didn’t check. Thinking of the closets in the bedroom, pounding her fist on her thigh. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

“There there sweetheart, no need to worry You're alone, for now”.

The smugness of his voice jars her out of her self-flogging. She spins to the window behind her, blinds still open from the day before. Too drunk last night to pay them any mind. Looking out to the buildings across the road, then to the ones on either side she realizes he could be watching from anywhere. Stupid condo alley. So many gaping windows…so many eyes.

As her heart is about to win the race for freedom from her chest, Stella sinks down into the sofa so she can’t be seen from the windows.

“Nice try, that won’t help.”

“Who are you?”

“Finally, she speaks.”

Trying to slow her breaths, “I asked you a question.”

“So, you did.”

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

Stella jumps up and hastily closes the blinds in two seconds flat which earns her a soft chuckle from the idiot on the phone.

“Who are you? If you don’t answer me, I am hanging up and calling the police”. As she said it out loud, Stella couldn’t stop thinking that she should do that right now. Maybe they could trace the call. Spurring herself into action, she races down the hall to her bedroom, grabs her phone and is about to dial 911. Before she can dial the numbers,

“That would be a waste of time. Time that you are already running short of”.

Spinning around, Stella frantically checks under her bed, her closet and the ensuite bathroom. Nothing, its empty.

“I told you that you are alone, tick tock Stella”, that mocking tone.

Steve had that tone, doling out criticisms and contempt like he was the adult, and she was the petulant child. She never saw it until the end. Maybe it wasn’t always there. She liked to think it came later as he wielded his passive aggressiveness as a blunt instrument to cover up the rest. She liked to think that she wasn’t that blind. To at least give herself some credit.

“How do you know…”

Cameras! Fear and dread filled her gut. “How long?”

“You know Steve said you were smart. He said he could see glimpses of it underneath your desperation.”

People say that when they get angry, they see red. It really is more of a feeling. All-consuming rage bubbling up from your gut, the heat of it as it courses through your body, filling up every nook and cranny. You can hear your blood rushing in rhythm with your heart, drowning out all other sounds.

“Steve? What does Steve have to do with this?”

“Everything.”

Stella at a loss for words and after another small chuckle from the phone “He is a finder of things.”

“What things?” Not sure if she wants to know but is compelled to ask. Stella didn’t think he was going to answer.

“Well, you.”

Wendy Hines

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