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They obviously knew where the cameras were and avoided them as much as possible.
I watched the footage and got nothing from it, other than the creeps.
Ever since then, my paranoia has tripled. I’m not sleeping well, if at all. Every night I’m at my apartment, I hear things, most imagined. Without sleep, my concentration at work is shot.
I thought if I had my alarm company come over and check the window sensors and door sensors, I’d feel better. I also contacted my landlord to inform them of what’s been happening and they assured me the cameras in the stairways work and are monitored.
But I still don’t feel safe.
Except here, in the clubhouse, surrounded by all the players and staff of the Revelers. Over the past couple of weeks, I’ve started to feel at home here, which is why I don’t think it’s any of these guys. I get what Mack was saying, and I know players love to pull pranks, but nothing about the emails feel like a harmless prank.
Speaking of the emails, I got a new one today from a new email address, but I know it’s the same person. They informed me my skirt was too short during last night's broadcast and I shouldn’t have to dress like a whore just to impress people.
Unlike the other emails, somehow, this one felt personal and like they’re getting closer. I don’t know how to explain it, but initially, it was like they were making broad assumptions or comments and now it feels like they’ve zoned in and I’m being targeted—me, personally.
“Is that all the footage we need tonight?” Brian, my cameraman asks. “I’m supposed to meet my girlfriend's parents tonight at dinner and I don’t want to be late.”
Without even glancing up from my notepad, I wave him off. “Go, make a good first impression.”
He’s packed up and out the door before I even finish what I’m writing.
“Ahh, young love,” I sigh to myself.
“Should we warn him it’s a trap?” Mack asks, conspiratorially, over my shoulder, causing me to jump.
Placing my hand on my heart, I close my eyes. “Shit, you’ve really gotta stop doing that.”
“Didn’t mean to scare you,” he mutters. His brows pull together as he takes me in, his gaze penetrating and assessing. “How is everything?”
Glancing around the room, I notice most of the players are either gone or in the showers. Besides me and Mack, there are a couple of trainers still icing players body parts and that’s about it. Ross didn’t pitch tonight, so he was one of the first ones out, and Owen just left a few minutes ago to meet Sophie so they could ride home together.
The game got over relatively early, but it’s a school night and Ryan and Molly needed to get in bed.
“Fine, I guess,” I tell him, assuming he’s talking about the emails. “I’ve handed everything over to the authorities.”
It’s the same bullshit line I fed Sophie, except Mack doesn’t seem to buy it or take comfort like she did.
“And?”
Keeping myself busy with stowing my notes in my bag, I reply, “And they said they would let me know if they find anything.”
“That’s bullshit,” Mack growls.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s the one being stalked.
“It just is what it is,” I say, shrugging my bag up on my shoulder. “I’ve gotta run. Good game tonight.” Not sticking around for him to ask any more questions, I speed-walk out the door and down the corridor. It’s not until I’m about halfway down that I pause, that feeling like someone is watching me coming out of nowhere.
When I look back over my shoulder, I don’t see anyone.
The corridor is empty.
Most people are long gone and the entire stadium is relatively quiet, especially in this part where it’s mostly team members and personnel, with the occasional friend or family mixed in.
Regardless, it requires a pass to get by security, which means I’m fine.
It’s fine.
You’re fine.
