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Chapter 11
Skylar
A miracle happened today.
Dad finally let me go to the store on my own. It felt weird driving a car, but as I walk up and down the aisles, I feel empowered.
That’s until the eerie sensation I’ve been experiencing since I left the hospital ripples down my spine.
Shaking my head hard, I do my best to ignore it as I grab flour and baking powder from the shelf.
Unable to help myself, I glance over my shoulder, and for a split second, I catch sight of a man in a light brown suit.
Like an idiot, I stand frozen while staring at the end of the aisle.
I’m not insane, and there is no such thing as ghosts.
Fear tightens my stomach, and tearing my eyes away from the spot where I saw the man, I push the cart to the next aisle.
I keep glancing around me, and by the time I reach the fruit and vegetables, I’m second-guessing myself once again.
I’m digging through zucchinis, looking for the biggest ones, when someone comes to stand slightly behind me. When I see the light brown suit from the corner of my eye, I freeze, and my heart explodes in my chest.
Abandoning the zucchinis, I take a few steps away, and as I glance over my shoulder, it’s to see the back of the man as he walks away from me.
It’s definitely not my imagination. That man is watching me.
Feeling a need to escape so I can get back to the safety of my house, I rush to the checkout point and quickly scan the groceries.
When I have everything packed and paid for, I exit the store, but as my eyes land on the Mercedes, it’s to see the man leaning back against the car with his arms crossed over his chest.
Shit.
He’s staring in my direction, watching as I stop walking, then he tilts his head in a sinister way.
My heart pounds against my ribs, and my lips part, my breaths rushing over them.
It’s the same man I saw the day we went to the cemetery, and I’m one hundred percent sure it’s the man I saw at the hospital.
I’m being stalked.
My chest rises and falls with heavy breaths as fear ripples over my body.
I’m just about to abandon my cart and dart back into the store when the man pushes away from the Mercedes and walks to where a black Bentley is parked.
What does he want?
Why is he watching me?
Only when the Bentley leaves the parking area do I rush to Dad’s car and quickly load the groceries into the trunk. My heart is still racing a mile a minute, and feeling like I’m being hunted, I hurry to climb behind the steering wheel.
All the way home, I keep checking the rearview mirror, and I’m only able to suck in a relieved breath when I park the car in the garage.
When the door slides shut behind me, I switch off the engine and slump back against the seat. Sweat beads on my forehead, and with parted lips, I just stare at the steering wheel.
After what’s just happened, I’m sure this man is watching my every move.
My eyes widen when I think of all the times it felt like I was being watched while cooking, watching TV, or sitting in my bedroom.
