What's Your Biggest Fear

So unnerving for a question you hear so often, isn’t it? You’ll hear it in ice-breaking games, in small talk, on first dates, but we never respond with the truth. We tell people we’re afraid of rollercoasters, or spiders, large dogs even, but that’s not really what we fear.

Looking down, at the note in my hand, I knew exactly what I was afraid of. The meticulously folded paper had been slipped under my door, four neatly handwritten words:

What’s Your Biggest Fear?

My hands begin to shake. A prank? My throat is dry. No one I know would find this funny. My vision blurs. Is it the wrong unit? I can feel my pulse between my eyebrows. The wrong person. I take a deep breath. This building has dozens of units. My vision begins to clear. It’s for a neighbor. I take another deep breath. I’ll make a snack, I’ll call the tenant board, someone will handle this.

Except that right in front of the television sits another crisply folded sheet of paper. No one has a key to this unit. I unfold the paper to find the same perfect handwriting saying:

Enjoy Your Reward.

Fourteen hours ago, while turning down a room that looked barely used, I found a little black book. I don’t look through guests’ belongings. That would be unprofessional, a violation. But this guest was different. The guest that had insisted on paying cash, that clearly used a pseudo name. This guest that kept his baseball cap low and wouldn’t stop impatiently tapping his fingers. This guest was different. This guest was like a loud argument on a public bus. It’s no one’s, it would be rude to eavesdrop, but it’s going to drive me crazy wondering if I don’t.

Page after page was filled out like a painstakingly detailed agenda, only it wasn’t an itinerary. At the top of each page was a name, every couple of pages, a new name. A woman’s name. Vivian, Caroline, Nicole, Veronica. When they woke up, when they got coffee, when they smiled at the mailman. At the end of each woman’s section, a pattern.

Vivian, Fire

Completed: 01.23.2020

Nicole, Isolation

Completed: 03.12.2020

Veronica, Heights

Completed: 06.20.2020

I knew who these women were. I’d read their names in the paper, seen their faces on the news. I’d watched their family members pleading for answers, from the police, form the community, from anybody. Hoping their girl wasn’t like the others, that they were incorrectly grouped with the others, that their girl was coming home.

I knew what this book was. I knew these girls weren’t coming home.

That didn’t seem to matter much to the police, this was a breakthrough. I could hear the girls’ names in my head. I’d done something amazing for my community. Their family’s pleas ringing in my ear. This would lead to an arrest. Not definitely, but it would. Maybe that would bring closure. Luckily for me, that means I’d get the reward money. It’s leaving the streets much safer. I gave them my information, bank details, $20,000 is worth a lot of clean rooms. Closure is priceless though.

I jump at the sound of my phone ringing. “Hi Rebecca, its Linda from the station.” The two papers in my hand rattling as my hands shake. “Turn your television on right now, literally any channel.” There he is. On the news, the guest who paid in cash, the owner of the book. Maybe. “Isn’t this wild? This is like wild.” He looks different without the hat. “Okay so, Rebecca, honey, the like reward money is a little complicated, because it’s like, taxpayer money,” I probably didn’t get a good look at him the first time. “But I see here you signed all the mayor forms, so basically that money’s yours.” It’s obviously him. “So, 20,000. That’s a lot of money.” They wouldn’t make a mistake like that. “Any plans?” They wouldn’t bring him in if they weren’t sure.

There’s a knock at the door. Slid right under the front door is a sheet of paper. Not folded. A sheet of paper clearly ripped from a notebook. My throat dries. The top of the paper says “Rebecca.”

My eyes blur. My day, all laid out. When I got home, when I answered the phone, when I turned on the TV. I feel my pulse pick up. At the bottom of the page, a familiar phrase followed by today’s date.

Rebecca, Stalking

Completed