Eyes of a Stalker Read Online Free Page B

parents.
    â€œHe hung up,” I managed.
    â€œDid you recognize the voice?”
    â€œNo. He was whispering the whole time.”
    Greg took me to a chair and, once I was in it, he stood behind me with his hands on my shoulders. By then, Mom and Dad were there. They started askingthings at the same time until they realized they were only confusing me. Once everyone calmed down a bit, I was able to get the story out.
    I felt ridiculous because tears had started and I couldn’t seem to stop sobbing. They were only words. In fact, they were only words over the phone. There were no threatening gestures, and I was in no immediate physical danger, and yet I was as terrified as if this person had just cornered me alone somewhere on a dark night.
    My heart eventually went back to beating normally — a relief after the frantic pounding in my chest. Things came back into focus, but even so I still felt oddly suspended.
    â€œRandall, we have to call the police,” Mom insisted, sounding as though Dad was arguing when, in fact, he was already looking up the number.
    Greg suggested dialling star fifty-seven before calling the police. If you dial star fifty-seven in our area, the phone company puts a trace on the call. They won’t give you the number, but they
will
give it to the police. Before we could do this, though, the phone rang again. Everyone stopped and looked at each other. Was it
him
again? But it was a neighbour, Marilyn Hester, calling for Mom. She must have been startled at Mom’s tone, which was uncharacteristically abrupt.
    The call from Ms. Hester lasted less than ten seconds, and yet it robbed us of our best shot to find out this guy’sidentity. Putting a trace on the last caller now would only produce Ms. Hester’s phone number.
    A hopeless, sinking feeling washed over me at this realization. We’d just lost an important opportunity, one that could have ended this thing there and then.
    â€œIf he calls again, hang up and have the call traced right away,” Dad said. “And I’ll call the phone company to arrange for caller ID so that we can see who’s calling
before
we answer from now on.”
    I nodded automatically, feeling as though I was somehow to blame. If only I’d thought of calling star fifty-seven as soon as the guy hung up!
    Dad called the police, who arrived a short time later. Mom ushered them into the living room. Force of habit, no doubt. The kitchen would have done just as well — better even, because they’d have had the table surface to write the reports in their flip-pads.
    Neither officer was familiar to me, though I’d met some members of the force in the past. They identified themselves to me as officers Holt and Stanton.
    Holt was older and male, with a square face. He put me in mind of a bulldog, but when he spoke, it was in a kind and fatherly way.
    Office Stanton was female, probably thirty at the most. Her approach was matter-of-fact and professional, which I found a bit cold.
    They placed themselves one on either side of me, withHolt on the couch beside me and Stanton in the easy chair. The first few minutes were small talk, probably to relax me. She spoke first when they were ready to take their report.
    â€œCan you tell us what time you received this phone call, Miss Belgarden?”
    â€œIt was about five-thirty, I think.”
    â€œAnd can you recount the conversation, as closely as you remember it?” Holt asked.
    I did, feeling almost silly. What he’d said to me wasn’t nearly as scary sounding when I was telling it as when it was coming at me through the phone. I couldn’t capture the tone of his voice, or explain the way it had almost felt as though his breath was coming through the line.
    â€œSo,” Officer Stanton responded, “the caller said, ‘Shelby, Shelby, you belong to me, I’ll make you the queen of my world,’ and, ‘You’re mine for all time.’ Is