J. Robb - Bump in The Night

Mr. Robins glanced at her father’s coffin. „No, of course not. And there’s still plenty of time if you’re expecting more people.“

„More people?“ She hadn’t expected this many people. „No. I think… I think this is about it. Has it been two hours already?“

„Almost. But if you’d like more time – “

„No. God, no.“ She cut him off and snatched up her purse. „I’ve had plenty of time. Thank you so much for everything you’ve done. You’ve been very kind.“

„Not at all. Everything has been arranged for the graveside service in the morning, just as we discussed.“

„Nine o’clock, right?“ She stood up.

„Our car will pick you up at 8:30 sharp.“

„Great.“ She hesitated. „Should we call someone – “ She turned and discovered that her peculiar companion had already left his seat. She glanced around looking for him. „Did you see which way he went? It might not be safe for him to be wandering around on his own.“

„Who?“

„That guy who was sitting here.“

„I’m sorry. I just came in. I didn’t see anyone leave.“

„No, he was there a minute ago… when you first came up.“

He smiled tolerantly. „You were deep in thought. Perhaps you didn’t notice when he left.“

She stared at the empty chair. Maybe it was just as well that he’d slipped out undetected. She disliked the idea of him locked up somewhere. She thought of electroshock therapy and shuddered. But he was so sweet and friendly and the world could be a terrible place for people like that. She hoped he would be all right.

Mr. Robins was looking at her askance.

„You’re probably right. It’s been a strange few days.“

The days got stranger as the week wore on.

Learning that Mrs. Kludinski and Martha White were planning to attend the graveside ceremony as well, Charlotte invited them to ride in the family limousine with her. In fact, she was prepared to beg them to join her rather than take the sad, solemn ride to and from the cemetery alone – but it hadn’t been necessary.

Like most Seattle days it was cloudy and overcast, the early spring wind was still winter chilly. The service was short and dignified… like Dad, she thought, in a moment of light nostalgia. She thought back to her seventeenth birthday and her father’s tradition of marking her height on the bright yellow wall behind the kitchen door. It surprised him and delighted her to discover they were both 5 feet 7 inches tall, and in a rare display of vanity, he’d stretched and wiggled and hyper-extended his spine a quarter of an inch up the wall to top her – then asked her please to stop growing. An inch later she did, though the marks on the wall never changed.

They were leaving the cemetery when she saw the peculiar man again. Dressed as he was in the same outrageous outfit, how could she miss him? He stood beside an angelic head stone and waved as the limo passed by.

„Stop! Please stop,“ she called to the driver. „He’s missed the service.“

„Who?“ Elderly Mrs. Kludinski and Martha craned their necks to look out every window in every direction. „Who missed the service? I don’t see anyone.“

„That man standing over there by the angel.“ She made a vague gesture with her head as she scrambled closer to the door, waiting for the long black Cadillac to come to a complete stop before getting out. „I’m pretty sure I don’t know who he is, but if he walked here I want to make sure he can get back to… to wherever he came from. He was at the viewing yesterday, remember? He sat with me?“

She glanced over in time to see the exchange of confused frowns.

„Nice-looking man? About my age? Wearing that weird black jacket?“ She was reluctant to use the kicker but she would if they didn’t stop staring at her like that. „Big, sparkling red shoes?“

„Are you feeling nauseated, dear?“ Mrs. Kludinski was all concern. „Dizzy? Let’s roll down the windows and get some air in here, shall we?“

Frustrated, Charlotte twisted around in her seat to look through the rear window, straight back to the stone angel, its hands extended in welcome, wings poised for flight – but there was no tall, handsome man in big red shoes. A hard, painful knot of anxiety formed just below her sternum as she got out of the limo. He was nowhere in sight.

And yes, she did feel a little sick about it.

He crossed her mind again two nights later as she sat alone at a table for two eating an early dinner in her father’s favorite Italian restaurant just down the street from their apartment.

No, it was her apartment now.

She hadn’t taken more than two bites when she glanced up and saw the bizarre man in the window, looking in longingly at her favorite scaloppini.

Thrilled, but mostly astounded to see him there, she sucked in a sharp breath and choked on a small piece of shrimp – coughing and hacking and beating her own chest. When she could breathe again and focus beyond the tears in her eyes, he was gone again.

It didn’t occur to her until late the next afternoon that he might be… well… stalking her. It wasn’t something she normally worried about. She wasn’t rich or beautiful – there were whole days, in fact, when she suspected she was invisible to the human eye. What could be safer?

But all that changed as she sat in the narrow, second-story office of Chancellor’s Furniture Store, downloading the last of the month’s sales invoices off a tediously slow computer. It had been raining off and on all day, and she glanced out the small pane-window to see which it was, on or off.

It was gloomy and bleak and the street lights glowed in soft pools along the sidewalks below. In the pool directly across from the store, the pale light ricocheted off a very large pair of ruby slippers.

He leaned against the lamp post, as if waiting for a bus, but came to attention when he saw her looking down at him. He waved wildly and flashed a wide white grin. He looked delighted to see her. She felt a little delighted herself.

Still, the coincidence of him showing up at her father’s viewing and funeral, then their favorite restaurant, and now outside a client’s business were adding up. And not looking good.

But, weren’t stalkers more stealthy than this? Considerably less obvious? Shouldn’t she feel him watching her, not see him everywhere? And where were his keepers? Surely he’d been missed by now at whatever facility he’d escaped from. Shouldn’t there be people out looking for him?

How could anyone miss seeing him, she wondered, observing the absolute indifference to him in the other pedestrians. Seattle was not an indifferent town. Big and busy, yes, but the absurd and outrageous still turned heads. Her heart twisted at the thought that she might be the only one watching this poor, unfortunate man slipping through the cracks of society.

She did have the good sense to be afraid of his sudden attachment to her… or would have had it, if he exuded even the mildest wave of rancor or aggression. But the plain fact was, he didn’t. Approachability, congeniality and kindness. She sensed these things about him – along with a faint underlying familiarity.

The real problem was that even if he weren’t dressed like a clown, even if he seemed like the most normal guy in the world, she still wouldn’t know what to do about him. More to the point, what she should do about his perplexing interest in her. She wasn’t great with men. He clearly needed a friend and for some reason he’d chosen her, but… wouldn’t the best and kindest thing for her to do for him be to call the authorities, get him the help he so obviously needed?

„Charlotte?“ She turned from the window as Henry Chancellor entered his office with two styrofoam cups of coffee. „Am I too late? Are you finished? You take yours black, don’t you?“