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Brandon
After last night’s ordeal and the eerie encounter in the deli, I only wanted to take a long nap. Too keyed up to actually take a nap, I start strategizing instead.
Now I knew how pathetically easy it is to access Ava’s building. Whoever was behind the threatening messages could have easily followed her home, but why wait until she’s in a crowd?
The protection of the second floor, though minimal, meant there wasn’t a fire escape in the front of her place like some other apartments. But the fire escape in the back of the bedroom window could be just as easily accessed. Someone could push the window and come inside from the alley where they weren’t likely to be seen.
On the notepad on Ava’s coffee table, I added fire escape to the list of access points into her apartment. Added to the key under her front door mat and open building door, Ava was essentially a sitting duck until I came along.
With what research I’d done on stalking, oftentimes the offenders didn’t want to actually harm their desired. In their mind, this person felt real to them because they see them in movies, listen to their music, or, in Ava’s case, watch videos on social media and feel like they actually know this person.
At some point, the stalker would tire. Feeling like they’re being ignored or pushed out of life of whoever they are obsessed with, they could get angry, wanting the love they created in their mind to be reciprocated.
I agreed that Ava shouldn’t need to change her life because of this stalker. It wasn’t fair, but clearly this person wasn’t just admiring anymore.
I lean back on the couch, the glittery throw pillow cushioning my back as I review my list again, trying to figure out what I’m missing. The only way to stop all this was to catch whoever was doing this and hand them over to NYPD. Tomorrow, when the Tri-State office reopens, we’ll put our minds together and figure out the best next course of action.
I only hope Ava will begin cooperating this time.
Just as she springs to mind, Ava emerges around the corner from her bedroom, silently passing me and going straight to the kitchen.
We’ve studiously ignored each other since Sierra left and I returned with my bag. Thankfully, I always keep at least a week’s worth of clothes and toiletries in case I’m pulled for an assignment on a moment’s notice.
Ava slamming pots on the counter has me turning around to see she’s already started prepping for dinner. After setting a pot down on the stovetop, she spins around at the kitchen counter to meet my gaze.
“I’m sure you’re starving after only eating that little sandwich earlier,” she says. “It’s been ages.” She flicks her hand toward the living room window. I’d been so caught up on researching and making my list, but now I see the setting sun and near dark outside.
“You’re right,” I say. “What a luxury to have the great Ava Wells making dinner for me.” I can’t resist goading her.
She comes around the counter and sits next to me on the sofa. It’s small like a love seat and her knees brush mine. “Don’t let it go to your head. I’m starving, and I don’t want to go back out in this weather.” She pauses and twists her curls up into the elastic from her wrist. “Also, cooking relaxes me, and as you can guess, I’ve been on edge since last night.”
I break eye contact and peer down at her sock-clad feet with little llamas adorning them. “Foot feeling better?”
“Yes, doesn’t hurt as much to step down. I guess luckily its mostly the side of my foot.” She shakes her head. “At least it wasn’t a bullet.”
A shiver runs through me. Thankfully, not a hair on Ava’s pretty head was disturbed. I resist the urge to grab Ava closer and tuck her to my side. Instead, I reach for the MacBook she let me borrow.
“While I have you next to me, can you show me some of the messages you received?”
“Sure,” Ava says, taking the laptop from my hands but avoiding where my hands are placed. She must feel the tension too. Each time our bodies touch, a spark lights through me.
This is Asher’s sister.
No matter how the yearning in her eyes shows when she looks at me, I can’t ever cross that line. Ever.
Ava quickly maneuvers into the login for her email. “I made a folder for the emails I received. I’ve only saved the three most recent messages. Not much is said in them. The notes near my front door I turned into the police but they were similar to the emails.”
“Show me,” I say, bracing myself for what I’m about to see. I slip my right arm along the back of the couch where Ava’s body is leaning against it. She takes stock of our positions and sits up, leaving a space between her back and the couch.
“Here’s the first one I received. About two weeks ago,” she says, turning the computer on her lap to face me.
BiG FaN oF YoUr ChAnNeL. JoIn Me FoR DiNnEr?
Not a terrifying message by any means, just oddly typed with lowercase and uppercase letters. “Almost looks like a bot-generated message,” I say, zooming in to look for the sender.
“Yes, that’s what I thought and deleted it. Only when more started coming with the exact letters did I think to add them to a folder, filtering them out of my inbox.”
I nod. “Show me another.”
