Mike Omer - In the Darkness

“Ungh!” A loud grunt erupted behind her.

Much better than this . The man had been grunting intermittently for the past half hour as he tackled the various weight-lifting machines. Men weren’t grunting around her when she jogged through Boston Common.

When she’d moved to Dale City, she couldn’t wait to get away from Boston. But it wasn’t Boston she wanted to escape from. It was her soul-crushing job as an insurance claims agent. It was Derek and their shambles of a relationship. It was her mother, less than an hour drive away, constantly nagging her to get married, ten times worse since Andrea’s father had died.

So when Zoe had told her she was leaving Boston, moving to Virginia, all Andrea could think of was that she wanted to leave as well. She had a romantic idea of the two Bentley sisters conquering Dale City together.

“Ungh!” Another grunt pierced the air. Andrea rolled her eyes and increased her jogging speed, regretting leaving her earphones at home.

Reality had hit her fast. Zoe had a very busy job at Quantico. All of Andrea’s work experience was at a job she’d sworn to never do again, so she’d ended up as a waitress in a mediocre restaurant.

The dating scene in Dale City wasn’t much to talk about either. It got to the point that one sad evening, she’d called Derek to ask how he was doing. Worst. Phone call. Ever. Derek wasn’t brokenhearted, pining for her. No. Derek was just fine . In fact, he had a girlfriend. He’d lost weight.

And now she didn’t even have her job anymore. Her savings account was emptying at an alarming rate. Sure, Zoe would be happy to lend her some money. Hell, Zoe would be happy to just give her money—she’d actually offered to. But Andrea hadn’t hit that rock bottom yet.

“Agggggh!” This time it was a woman grunting. What was with these people?

A month before, when she’d found out about Rod Glover, she’d been horrified. She hadn’t remembered what he looked like, and he’d seemed like a nice, somewhat quirky man when he’d approached her on the street. Hugging her arm as he took the picture, thanking her politely later. Sure, she knew about that event when they were kids, the horrible night Rod Glover had tried to break in to the room while they huddled inside. Zoe had talked about it more than once. But she had no recollection of it.

Except, maybe, a fragment: her sitting on the bed, terrified of something outside, and Zoe hugging her, whispering, “Don’t worry, Ray-Ray. He can’t hurt us.”

Now she knew. The man from the street had been the same monster who’d killed three girls in Maynard and at least two more in Chicago. He’d attacked her sister in Chicago as well, tried to rape and kill her. This was the man who’d told her “Smile” before taking the picture.

Sometimes her upper arm where his fingers had touched her tingled, as if hundreds of tiny insects were crawling on it. She’d have to take a shower for the sensation to pass.

“Ungh!”

“Agggggh!”

They were synchronized now, sounding like a couple engaged in the world’s most uncomfortable and unpleasant sex act. The girl on the treadmill next to Andrea stopped running and left, a disgusted look on her face.

At first Andrea hadn’t been able to sleep. She’d have nightmares and would wake up, listening to the building’s noises, every creak, every neighbor’s footstep, every unfamiliar sound—they all became him . Coming for her. To rape her and strangle her to death, like he had to those other girls. She’d found Zoe’s notes about him, read some of them, seen pictures from crime scenes. These things were seared in her mind, impossible to scrub away. She’d been terrified.

But no one had seen him since that day. Slowly she’d become convinced he’d left. He’d wanted to freak her and Zoe out, and now he was far away. Agent Caldwell, Zoe’s coworker, had explained that Rod Glover was an opportunistic sexual predator. He struck when an opportunity presented itself. He didn’t target specific women. And he didn’t want to get caught. They had no reason to think he was still around.

The fear had abated, though Zoe was still anxious, hovering over Andrea, suffocating her, to the point that Andrea had begun to resent her. And now she missed Boston desperately.

She had nothing going for her here. Running on this treadmill was a perfect metaphor for her life in Dale City.

Another grunt behind her, so ridiculously loud that Andrea shot a furious glance backward. A glimpse of something snagged her attention. She faced forward again, her mind sluggishly processing what she’d just seen.

A man was staring at her from the corner of the gym, partially hidden by one of the machines. Middle aged, lanky hair, a weird smile.

She’d looked at the photo enough times to know who he was.

Rod Glover.

He was here right now, watching her.

Her heart was racing, but she kept running, eyes locked forward. She was suddenly thankful for the grunting man and woman and the rest of the people around her. They all kept her safe.

Tears of fear filled her eyes as all the images from the crime scene photos popped into her mind. The dead, naked women, their bodies discarded on the ground. He was here, the monster who’d done this. Just behind her. Did he realize she’d seen him? Was he walking toward her right now, that sick smile on his face, hand wielding a knife? She couldn’t look.

Her feet kept moving, running. She was living through that common nightmare—trying to run away from a monster but staying in the same spot.

Zoe had given her clear instructions for what she should do if she saw Glover. She should scream and run, fight if there was no other option. But if she screamed now, he’d just know she’d seen him. And then what? She tried to scream anyway, but her throat was clogged, empty of breath.

She had to get away from him. Her hand reached forward, stopping the treadmill. The machine slowed down, and she got off, walking away, doing her best to seem casual. She desperately tried to catch a glance of him from the corner of her eye. Was he following her? No way of knowing.

She hurried to the locker room. Her phone was in the locker room. She could call the police or the FBI or Zoe. She glanced at a mirror on the wall, didn’t see him. She was trembling, lips quivering, trying to reassure herself by the people around her. Glover struck women who were on their own. He didn’t want to get caught. She’d call the police, get cops to surround the place. They’d arrest him—she’d be okay.

She dove into the locker room, going for the lockers, momentarily confused. Which locker was hers? Then she found it, grabbed the combination lock, wrestled with it, fingers shaking.

The locker room was empty, she suddenly realized. She’d entered an empty room with only one door. She was essentially trapped.

She nearly bolted out right there and then, leaving her bag and phone behind her, but suddenly she wasn’t sure he wasn’t waiting for her outside the door. Wasn’t it what he did? Hide, waiting for his victims to walk by?

The lock clicked, and she wrenched the door open. Fumbling in the bag, she found her phone and dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

“I . . . Rod Glover. There’s a serial killer. He’s following me. I’m in the gym.”

“Ma’am, calm down. You’re in the gym? Are there people around you?”

“Not right now.” Her voice was high pitched, panicky. “I’m in the locker room. There’s no one here. And there’s a murderer who is stalking me.”

“Can you get to somewhere public? Ma’am?”

She held the phone to her ear, unable to talk. The locker room door had a window of frosted glass, and a shadowy figure appeared in it, looming as it came closer. She quickly ran to the other end of the room, entering the farthest shower stall.