Stalk'r be stalked -5minutefreewrite (x3)
The man who had stalked him must be insane.
Must be. He had stopped stalking him. Only an insane man starts stalking someone and then stops. Bizarre, right? And this man had been able even to get a few loose napkins from his favorite cafe. So why in the world had he stopped stalking him?!
Gerard needed to know, so he set about trying to find his stalker. He began by looking in the telephone directory for anyone who had a stalkery name. Dan Follower seemed like a likely candidate, but when he answered the phone, he had such a pleasant voice, Gerard was sure THAT couldn't be his stalker. So instead, he went to the cafe he loved going to and asked about the slender blond man who always wore a fedora and had a beautiful paisley shirt that was missing a pocket button, but was otherwise pristine. They didn't know who he meant, so he started asking the patrons as subtly as he could. Finally he found one that remembered the fellow, and they said they'd seen him enter from around the corner once and he'd been holding an umbrella even though it wasn't raining. It wasn't much, but it was a clue.
Gerard looked again in the phone directory, but this time at the yellow pages. Indeed, there was a gift shop near the cafe that looked likely. It was a museum gift shop. Those usually sell umbrellas with famous paintings printed on them.
She grew pale: her voice had a harsh note in it. "It was some money I lost under the bridge..."
Gerard had heard enough. He took the money from her. "YOU lost it? More likely my stalker lost it," he said proudly and pointedly. She looked frightened. Good.
Gerard's research had led him here, to the apartment building a few towns away that had been designed by world-famous architect Arlie Schrantz. And here was the architect herself, holding several dollar bills that had paint splattered on them. Gerard had figured out that his stalker was a painter, and had deduced from that single fact that these dollars she happened to be holding outside the apartment building that his stalker lived in must belong to his stalker.
He roughly brush past her and into the apartment building she'd designed. He had his camera ready. He was going to get a picture with his stalker, this man who hadn't been near him in months. He needed to see him. He needed him to know he was important to him.
He didn't have the address of the building he was in. He'd just begun to search the likely apartments when he spotted a picture in a magazine with this apartment building and this guy's face was looking out from a window. Lucky find. And the caption said where the building was, so he just went to the town and it wasn't hard to find, but he'd never had the address.
He had figured out which apartment it was that that window had been in, and here he was, after hunting down his stalker, he was ready. He raised his hand to knock.
And that was when the police arrested him.