terrorize my view

You can’t frighten me with phantoms of dead people walking, but you can terrify me with visions of you.

You, frighten me when you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be—turning up mysteriously in my photo album.

In some bizarre way, significant moments of my life turn out to be significant moments of yours.

Who are you anyway and why do you trouble my dreams?

I’m James Talbot and I write murder mysteries. I should add, ‘for a living’, but lately that’s not really the case.

You see, I’m stuck—not in the sense of writer’s block, but in the sense that lately, whenever I open my laptop, I keep picturing this strange girl’s face.

Emily, my literary agent, is getting worried—my production is way down—actually non-existent and my mystery novel is stalled.

It all started when Emily asked for some pics of me from when I was growing up—she wanted to use them in a bio. It all seemed innocent enough.

We got out old family albums and then, Max dropped by with a bottle of Rosemount Shiraz 2005. The three of us sipped wine and flipped through old photos.

Did I mention my attention span is extremely short? Well, it is. So, here I am sitting on my floor, looking at photos and getting antsy.

I think I suffer from ADHD, but Emily figures I’m just undisciplined—usually, she’s right. At any rate, I’m totally zoning out when suddenly Max stops turning album pages and whistles softly.

“Hey pal, who’s this cool-looking chick that keeps showing up in your pics?”

He tosses a pic to me and I stare at him blankly.

The photo shows me at Ontario Place sitting on an outdoor patio while behind me a beautiful girl is staring into the camera.

“I have no idea who she is—I’ve never seen her before in my life.”

“Ya sure, pal. Then I guess you can explain why she’s in this other photo at your book signing in New York.”

He hands me another photo showing the same girl standing in a crowd of people behind me.

Emily peers over my shoulder. “That’s really weird—I’ve heard of coincidences, but this is beyond belief.”

She eyes me as if I’m holding something back, but I’m not.

We’ve got a weird relationship, Emily and me. When she comes up too close for comfort, I Back her off by calling her Mel. She hates it, but it works for me.

Anyway, Emily’s got me on her radar now and she’s relentless as a bum after a ham sandwich.

“How could the same girl end up in the background of two photos, five years and 400 miles apart?” she asks.

I don’t know what’s worse—being cross-examined by Emily playing prosecuting attorney, or being stalked by a phantom.

I look again at the photo album and shake my head, “Beats me! —Seriously, I have no idea who she is, but I wish I did.”

“I’ll bet,” snickers Max.

They’re both smiling, exchanging knowing looks.

“You guys don’t believe me, do you? I’m telling you, I’ve never seen this girl before in my life.”

Emily rolls her eyes and Max compresses his lips into a hard, straight line.

They’re not buying what I’m selling—except it happens to be true.

“Uh huh,” says Max and gets up slowly, stiff from sitting too long on the braided rug of my living room floor. “Well, I’ve got to leave.”

He pauses at the door and looks at me narrowly.

“You know, James, you may be right about this girl, but if what you’re saying is true, then there’s a better mystery here than the one you’re trying to write. I mean, this so-called coincidence is really bent.”

Emily furrows her brow. “You know, James, Max is right. What if this girl is stalking you?”

I crack up. “Really, Mel? You think I’d toss her out of bed? C’mon, we’re talking about me here. If this cool chick is really stalking me, I say, bring her on!”

Max frowns disapproval. “Watch what you wish for, pal. I saw a replay of Play Misty for Me on the late movies the other night. That girl was cool too and handy with a knife and you ain’t Clint Eastwood.”

“Thanks for reminding me, bud. Maybe I’m not that sexy—just nice looking maybe, but —definitely not the type beautiful women stalk.”

He claps me on the back and laughs heartily.

“For once, you’re right, pal. I have to agree with you on this one—it doesn’t make any sense. Still, I’d be looking over my shoulder, if I were you.”

“Ya, well, this is probably just a blooper—a one off—a really weird coincidence. Unfortunately for me, I’ll probably never see the girl again.”

“Then, consider yourself lucky, pal. Just keep on writing mysteries and try to stay the hell out of them yourself.”

“I hear you, guy.”

He bends over and pecks Emily on the cheek. “Keep an eye on this guy, Em—he’s paying you enough.”

As a second thought, he smiles at her, “Hey, maybe you should think of packing some heat yourself.”

“Who do you think I am—Lara Croft?”

He looks her up and down. “Um, not quite, but you might do okay in leathers.”

She gets up, grabs him by the shoulders and turns him back toward the door. “Good night, Max.”

“Night, guys,” he smirks and exits.

She shakes her head in disbelief and leans back against the door, eyeing me.

“He’s seriously cracked, but I have to agree with him—there’s something strange going on here.”

“Now, Mel—no more of your vibes. I admit this thing is weird but I’m not living in a bubble. I’m a celebrity and if someone wants to get to me, there’s not much I can do.”

“And I guess it kind of helps if that somebody is beautiful and sexy, eh?”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” I hold out her coat to her. “Eleven a.m. comes early.”

“The arduous life of a writer.”

“Don’t joke—you benefit too.”

She gives me her best frosty glare and breezes out the door. “G’night, James.”

“See you in the morning,” I call after her.

I watch her walk down the drive to her Ford Explorer.

Besides being my agent, Em and I are friends—we watch out for each other.

I think Em’s secretly jealous of the phantom girl, and the way this mystery chick looks, I don’t blame her.

To be continued

© 2017, John J Geddes. All rights reserved

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