The Watcher by Akil Victor Page B

if exercise as well.
    Her neighborhood was quiet. Middle-class suburban with seldom townhouses between mostly three bedroom homes that followed a white, beige, pale blue, and yellow color scheme, individually.
    By the tenth dozen set of roses, the teddy bears came, along with the designer chocolates. The notes also began to be bizarre, obtrusive rather: 'I love watching you sleep. Can’t wait until we wake up together.' That’s when she voiced her concerns to a friend who promptly instructed her to call the police.
    “Hello!” Broke into her thoughts.
    “Hi, Mrs. Murphy,” she smiled, pausing to greet her elderly Betty White-ish neighbor. “Hey Butch,” she mushed, getting a friendly bark in return as she petted Mrs. Murphy’s Great Dane.
    Moving along she thought about how detective Isabel Gonzales was very sympathetic as a woman and wanted to help but couldn’t until whoever her admirer/stalker was said or did something criminal.
    The question was, what should she do about it? Whoever this person was, was getting closer and closer and it was becoming scary.
    Maybe I should get a dog, like a big guard dog , she thought about a block and a half away from the café when an eerie feeling crept over her. She paused, spinning heel to peer over her shoulder. Mrs. Murphy and Butch were about a block away, headed towards their townhome. Nothing else was in view but the clean sidewalk with a spattering of young birch trees here and there to her left directly in line with the vehicles parked alongside the street. To the right were the well-manicured lawns of the various home and apartment buildings.
    She continued walking, her unease still present. She tried to lower her hackles by listening to the sound of her footsteps, the tap-clack that the toe and heel her Steve Madden's made. Tap, clack, tap clack, tap tap, clack, tap tap tap, clack. Her heart picked up speed as she paused and spun around to barely catch a glimpse of the rustling of medium sized bushes in front of a home to her right. Without a second thought, she turned around and started running. Which was really a brisk jog in her heels. To her horror, her tap-clacks were met with the additional taps she thought she'd heard.
    Her breathing grew ragged with the onset of fatigue. Shit! She'd only ran half a block. She swung her small purse around to reach for her phone,- “Aagh,” she yelped, dropping it the moment it passed the flap. She felt something brush her arm and began screaming.
    “Maryann,” she heard the unfamiliar deep voice behind her before the neckline of her turtle neck was cut or torn; she couldn’t tell which, down to her shoulder. Her scream increased in frequency. Her legs gained momentum and ankle twisted awkwardly with a reverberating pain that caused her to crash hard to the pavement.
    A figure in dark clothing ran past her as the lights of homes sprang on behind shadows peering through curtains of windows.
    She was near the corner diagonal of the café she was to meet Brett in. A siren pierced the night somewhere in the distance as the dark clothes figure disappeared around a corner. Maryann, frightened and in pain, began to sob uncontrollably on the pavement as someone from a house nearby rushed to her side.
     
     
    *     *     *
     
    Terrance scaled down the side of the Carnage Credit and Loan building. Clocking his digital watch at two minutes and thirty-two seconds from the time he got the safe open, secured the money and made his exit.
    Briefly, he pressed his back against the wall to quickly scan the perimeter. Mostly clear. There were the few people within the warmth of business establishments lining the Market Street here and there. But for the most part, Downtown Carnage was nearly empty on this Sunday night as usual.
    His getaway vehicle was parked a short jog around the corner from the alley in which he stood. Knowing that one should never park a getaway vehicle right in front of or alongside a target establishment. It