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Back Stalker Save as PDF
Chapters (66)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. 43
  46. 44
  47. 45
  48. 46
  49. 47
  50. 48
  51. 49
  52. 50
  53. 51
  54. 52
  55. 53
  56. 54
  57. 55
  58. 56
  59. 57
  60. 58
  61. 59
  62. EPILOGUE
  63. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  64. MORE FROM GEMMA ROGERS
  65. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  66. ABOUT BOLDWOOD BOOKS

A photo, I could handle a photo, couldn’t I? Exhaling the breath I’d been holding, I gave her a quick nod and she flipped the pages over one at time. The first was the CCTV image and I couldn’t tear my eyes away from it. My attacker was striding past someone’s driveway, dressed in black, his hood pulled up and face hidden. I could see what Emmerson meant, there was almost nothing to go on, but it was definitely him.

‘You think it’s him?’ Emmerson asked as I tapped the image of the CCTV.

‘Yes.’ My voice was quiet, like a mouse.

After a minute, I looked at the other photos. Men aged between twenty and forty, some dark, some blond, all with white skin. One had a kind of tribal tattoo on his face. I looked at them in turn, waited for an emotion, any kind of emotion, but nothing came. I was numb. I searched for blue eyes, but none were his. These were the eyes of other people’s nightmares, not mine. They didn’t fill me with a sense of dread and they weren’t the ones I saw every time I closed my eyes, as if he stood right in front of me. My attacker’s eyes were bright blue, the colour of topaz. On anyone else they would have been a handsome feature, I was sure. But his were blank and lifeless, they looked straight through you.

‘I’m sorry. It’s none of them.’

‘Are you sure?’ she asked, still hoping for a positive identification.

‘I’m sure.’

I walked home from the police station in a daze, unable to shake the feeling I was being watched. I kept hearing footsteps behind me that weren’t there, turning around every few steps. Perhaps I’d been spooked by seeing a picture of him. My stomach felt tied up in knots and I couldn’t wait to get back to the safety of the flat. There was only one thing I wanted to do and that was to block him out of my mind.

Twenty minutes later, armed with a mug of tea, I headed to my room and popped the small white pill out of the blister packaging. The spaced-out feeling crept up on me slowly. It was like slipping into a warm bath with no worries or cares. My mind wandered, never settling on anything. Time slowed and I with it. When it wore off at around seven, I took another, intending to keep going until I’d run out.

11

FRIDAY 6 OCTOBER 2017

On day three, Ben staged an intervention. The whole thing was ridiculous, and we argued. I didn’t have the energy for confrontation, my mind dulled by medication, but I made my point. How was it different from him getting stoned in his room every time his knee twinged? I knew I wasn’t being fair, but I felt under attack.