Back to Haunt You

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Back to Haunt You

Sunday, June 8, day 8

in the beginning there was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.

—John 1:1

“I’m not crazy, I’m not crazy,” I rocked back and forth, my arms around my knees. Christopher had his arms around me, rocking with me. He would be leaving me in an hour, to go back to Canada. This wasn’t a dream, this was a nightmare.

I cried out in genuine pain.

“Maybe you just imagined it, Hanuara.” Chris hugged me close, trying to stop my rocking.

“I t-touched her,” I stammered. “I f-f-felt her skin. You have to believe me, Chris!” I kept seeing her face, hearing her scream, Chris telling me he couldn’t see her. I replayed the scenes over and over. And over and over.

Chris wasn’t saying anything.

“Hanuara, I know you think you saw someone, I believe you about that. But it might have been a very vivid daydream. It’s probably best if you let it go.” he was using a condescending tone that I couldn’t stand.

“Chris! I’m not making this up! I heard her scream!”A violent shudder racked me.

“I never said you made it up, I’m just saying you think you saw something that you didn’t.” He began to rub my arms fervently. “It’ll be alright.”

“No it won’t!” I twisted around to hold his gaze. “Tell me you believe me, Chris! You have to believe me.”

Chris ran his fingers through my hair. I tried to focus on the soothing motion. Normal people didn’t have to deal with this stuff. I couldn’t deal with it. All of a sudden, my entire body relaxed, and I sank into his solid warmth. I was drained to the core, my mind, my body, my soul. I was cried out. “Okay, Chris. I guess I did imagine it. I’m sorry for yelling at you.” My voice was almost monotonous.

He smiled and pushed me off of him, telling me he should probably start packing. I looked at my clock: he only had twenty minutes before he would be leaving. I got up and washed my tear stained face, glancing in the mirror for signs of aging. I felt about four-hundred years old. I didn’t talk much on the drive to the airport. Christopher just held my hand. The time with him had been too short, and he was leaving me with the conviction that his best friend was crazy. If only he didn’t have to work to make a living. He was going to college to be an architect, and he had only gotten a half-scholarship. He father was a shoe salesman and his mother was a seamstress. She designed some of the dresses I had worn trying out for modeling jobs. “Say hi to your mom and dad for me,” I said sadly as Evela pulled into the airport No Parking zone. I stood beside the car as he grabbed his one suitcase out of the trunk. I hadn’t bothered with the disguise today. People took second looks all around, but those were the same people who were late for their planes.

“I had a lot of fun this weekend. Thanks for having me.” he offered me a hug. I dove into his arms, fighting tears.

I didn’t want to let go of him. I told him that I loved him and that he meant the world to me. he blushed and said he loved me too. “Everything is going to be okay, Hanuara. Don’t forget to call me, please. If you want to. Oh, and PS: I’m still praying for you.” With one final kiss on the cheek, he pulled his suitcase toward the doors. Before he went through, he turned and waved.

I was so choked up as I climbed back in the limo, I was completely oblivious to the man sitting across the street, watching me.

There was a note waiting on my bed when I opened the door. I smiled. Christopher was into last minute surprises. I unfolded the sheet of paper.

Dear Miss Hanuara:

You thought you’d forgotten about me

After all of these years

You tried to erase me from your memory,

But I found you and I’m here.

You thought you could hide from me

But I’m so close, right in front of you

So tomorrow I’ll see you in your red dress

PS: I miss you too.

My hand flew to my mouth to cover my gasp. The note fluttered to floor. I sat down slowly on the edge of the bed. He was back. I was going to die. Tomorrow. He had been in my room…

Snap out of it, I told myself as I felt myself being plunged into the depths of despair. This was a clue, a piece of the puzzle. He had found us, but did that necessarily have to be a bad thing? If he hadn’t given up, than that just gave us a new opportunity to find him. But it was just so painful. Fresh wounds on top of my old ones.

I picked up the note again and shoved it between two books on the shelf. If the police got this, my parents would have the place surrounded. I didn’t want to scare the killer away.

He said he was going to see me in my red dress. Tomorrow night, on my date.

I would be ready.

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