Don't You Love Me Baby?

1496 words

Knock, knock. Shower off, towel on, I padded to the living room, shifted the curtain, peered into the darkness. No visitor. But sometimes, if they stand close in ... With some trepidation I opened the door. Nobody there, but on the stoop, a single red rose.

I stepped out, picked up the rose. Then the thought struck, who was watching? I raced in, locking the door behind me. A shiver ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold. A secret admirer? Or something more sinister? Then the phone rang.

A wary 'hello', only his breath. Dropping the rose, I just stood there, listening. I'm not sure how long before sense took over, and I screamed into the mouthpiece "Fuck off, you perv!", slamming the handset into its cradle.

I backed away from the phone, falling onto the sofa, shaking. I waited, expecting him to call again, praying he wouldn't. The call came a few minutes later. "Did you like the rose?"

"Who is this?" More breathing and then the line went dead. I slowly lowered the handset. My stomach did somersaults. Surely nobody I knew would be so cruel.

I felt vulnerable in just a towel. What am I talking about? I am vulnerable. I live alone, my nearest neighbor several hundred yards away; nobody to hear my screams. I went into the bedroom, threw on the jeans and sweatshirt I threw on the floor before my shower. Dad wanted me to keep a gun; I refused, but now it made sense. I tried to reassure myself with the thought that he was outside and I was safely inside. Until I went back to the living room; the rose I dropped, on the table, and now there were two ...

The phone rang with a sense of inevitability. "Do you like the roses?" I dropped the phone. He had been in my house. Might still be in ...

I grabbed Granny's candlestick, the only weapon to hand, started searching. Every light on, room to room. I came to the kitchen, the back door was swinging. I locked and chained the door. Leaning against it, I gathered my resolve. I continued my search, looking in every cupboard, every space big enough for a man to hide, until I was satisfied I was alone. Then the phone rang again.

"Don't you love me, baby ..." the song played. I slammed the phone down. It rang again almost instantly. "Don't you love ..." I almost broke the phone, I slammed it so hard. If this was a sick joke, it had gone too far. "Don't you ..." Slam! "Don't ..." Slam!

I took the handset off the hook, poured myself a stiff drink; somehow it found my lips. The heat spread down my throat, but still I felt chilled. Bed? Somehow sleep would be the ultimate exposure. He was waiting, watching for lights out. I sat staring at the phone, its constant buzzing filling my head. That song!

I heard tapping at the bedroom window, rushed in, half expected a face staring in. It was a branch, blowing in the wind. I closed the curtains, shut out the night, the eyes watching my every move. The bedside light threw eerie shadows, dark corners. I exchanged its glow for the room light, stark, but more reassuring. I grabbed the chenille throw from the bed and moved back to the sofa. My home, my sanctuary, now my prison.

Not sure when I fell asleep, but it was daylight when my eyes opened. The light was that cold, eerie light just before the sun is fully up. Just after six. Surely he had given up by now? Locked out, cut off from hearing the quiver in my voice, seeing my fear.

My body stiff, I stretched, thoughts of the night rushing back. That song filled my brain, that blasted tune. Mom was a fan of Human League, I knew the song well, one line in particular, 'We will both be sorry'. Was I about to be sorry? Was he?

Then I spied the envelope protruding under the door, rose pink. From him? I rushed to the kitchen, grabbed tongs, not wanting to touch. Lifting it with the tool, I peered into the right corner. No stamp, no franking, it had been delivered by hand. By him ...

I laid it on the table, next to the roses, afraid to open it. It was time to call the police. As I dialed 911 I wondered why I hadn't done so before.

"Yes, I live alone ... no, I don't have an ex with a problem ... you will, okay."

As the tune came rushing back to haunt me, I heard the knock. I checked through the window; yes, the uniform looked right, and the badge, at least, at that distance. I opened the door and the officer strode in, standing manfully in the center of the room. The fresh faced cop smiled reassuringly as I told my story of the night before. Then he did something strange - he picked up the roses and sniffed them. "These should be in water."

Uneasy, I looked over the uniform. Something not quite right; too new, badge too shiny. He picked up the envelope with a gloved hand. "You might want to go into the bedroom while I open this, just in case." I had heard tales of nasty bugs like anthrax being sent to people, so this made sense. But what about his safety? Or did he already know the contents?

I did go into the bedroom, but I locked the door. "Nothing to worry about," he called out as he approached the room, "The envelope was empty." I saw the door knob turn. "What the ..." I started to slide the dresser in front of the door, but it was heavy. One good kick and the lock was useless.

The 'officer' closed the door, took two steps toward me. "Did you like the roses?" He removed his cap and threw it aside. I took a step backwards. "Why did you hang up on me?" He took another step, removing his tie as he went. "Cat got your tongue?"

I backed away and my legs caught against the edge of the bed. "What do you want from me?"

"Don't you love me, baby ..." he began to sing. I looked around for a weapon. The candlestick was on the night stand, just out of reach. "Don't you love me, baby ..." he was singing softly in my ear as his hand slid between my legs.

I was too scared to scream, to fight. I had seen the gun in his holster. As he pushed me onto the bed, and his weight came down on top of me, my only thought was the candlestick. If I could just ...

He had to change position to remove my jeans. As he dragged them forcefully over my buttocks I was able to reach out. Not quite there ...

I slithered up the bed, which made his job easier. His eyes gleamed in satisfaction. He mistook my wriggling for pleasure as he dived into my private place. Then the candlestick met its mark.

He was heavy. It took time to push him to the floor. I dialed 911. It rang out. He must have cut into the line, taken my first call. I needed my cellphone to get help.

I tipped my bag onto the table; no phone. He must have it. Reluctantly, I went back to the bedroom to search the body. He was gone. And so was the candlestick. I turned, he was there, barring my way.

"That wasn't nice," he said, thumping the candlestick into his palm. "Don't you love me, baby?" . He staggered towards me. Blood oozed from the wound and ran into his eyes. I moved towards the window.

As he raised the candlestick I ducked, it made contact with the glass, sending shards out into the street. I heard someone shout. I shoved at his legs and he fell back. I saw my cellphone fall from his pocket. I grabbed it and ran.

I made it to the bathroom and locked the door. This time I got a response from 911. "There's a man in my house and he's trying to kill me!" I screamed, just as the door gave way. I left the phone connected. "You don't really want to hurt me, do you? I know what you do want," I placed my hands on his chest. I looked into his eyes; unfocused, one pupil bigger than the other. Just a slight push ...

He went down easily, dropping the candlestick. I grabbed it and made my way past him. He found his feet surprisingly quickly. The blood was still flowing from his wound. "Come on, if you want some more," I threatened, raising the weapon. He sank to the floor.

I reached behind me and unlocked the front door. It opened and a hand grabbed at my wrist.

"It's okay, we've got him now.".