Olivia's POV
The moment I round the same corner as the stranger I find myself faced with a dead-end that ends with a single door. I grab the door handle, but no matter how many times I try to push it down, it remains in a horizontal position.
While I'm sure that the stranger rounded this corner and didn't come back out, there is no sign of him having ever been here.
I kick the locked door and immediately regret the action as a blinding wave of pain shoots up my ankle. Definitely not the smartest thing to do, even if my foot is wrapped in a protective cast. I glare at the door and try the handle again, but it still refuses to move.
With a huff in resignation, I turn around and then hop back in the direction I came from. As I round the corner of the dead-end hallway I steal another glance behind, but the door remains stubbornly closed. So much for finding out who the stranger is.
Halfway back to my hospital room I'm met with Mom's flared nostrils and hands resting on her hips. Thankfully she doesn't have the flowers anymore, though.
"Were you even listening to me?" She begins the moment I stop a couple of safe steps away from her.
"Of course I was." I lift one of the crutches off the ground and shake it. "That's what the crutches are for."
"What was so urgent this time? Did you see someone famous?"
"No." I shake my head and shift my cast-wrapped foot to soften the ache of my protesting muscles. "I caught a stranger looking at my hospital chart, so I tried to find out who he is, but he ran away before I could." I glare at the hallway behind me to check if the stranger has reappeared, but all I'm met with is a standard hospital-staff-filled hallway.
"This is not the time to be chasing boys. You can do that when you're not injured anymore." Mom lets out a long sigh. "Let's just get out of here before you manage to hurt yourself even more."
"Finally," I sigh and use the crutches to propel me a giant step forward.
Wordlessly we make our way out of the hospital and along the side of the building until we reach the nearest bus stop. A single small bench is positioned beside the bus schedule, but I don't even have time to sit before the bus arrives. Mom pays for both of us, while I limp down the bus's length toward the nearest empty seat.
While Mom sits beside me, I keep my eyes focused on the rest of the passengers who get onto the bus after us. Because everyone is wearing the same boring expression, I'm about to turn to the window beside me. But then my eyes land on the second to last passenger who gets onto the bus.
The stranger from the hospital.
He still has the sleeves of his gray sweater rolled up to his elbows and the same silver chain hanging from the side of his jeans. What catches most of my attention though, is the fact that he walks straight past the bus driver without ever pausing. Or more importantly without paying a single dollar.
The strangest thing of all, though, is that no oneâand I mean absolutely no oneâprotests to what he does. They simply pretend like he never entered the vehicle. Even the driver doesn't call him back, or better yet throws him off the bus.
I tap my finger against the rubber edge of the window beside me, while the stranger positions himself a few feet away from us and grabs onto the black handle swaying above his head. Inside my head, I will him to turn toward me, but his eyes only briefly land on me. The moment his caramel brown meets my black he immediately averts his eyes. Then for the rest of the ride, he doesn't glance at me again, despite me glaring straight at him.
"What are you looking at?" Mom asks.
"A cheap piece of trash that should be thrown off the bus."
Mom shakes her head at me and then pretends like I'm nothing but a stranger sitting beside her. At least until we reach our stop. Then she magically knows me again and helps me off the bus.
The moment our three shoes and one plastered foot reach the sidewalk we make our way toward our house. Just before we round the corner onto our street, I become aware of the sound of a third pair of footsteps. While we're rounding the corner, I sneak a glance backward and find the same stranger walking several feet behind us.
The fact that he was inside my hospital room, fled when I addressed him, went on the same bus, and then exited at the same bus stop as me is too much to just be a coincidence.
As fast as my aching muscles and Mom's heels allow us we walk down the familiar suburban street until we reach a tall hedge, which divides our property from our neighbors'.
"You go ahead and I'll be right behind you," I say.
"If you plan to do something that might injure any other part of your body, better think twice. I'm not paying for any other of your medical fees." Mom narrows her eyes at me and then makes her way inside the house.
I, however, crouch behind the lush green hedge, which is towering over my five feet and two inches. The moment the third pair of footsteps is close enough I push one of the crutches forward while still keeping it close enough to the ground. The stranger manages to lift one of his feet high enough, but the other one hits against the aluminum crutch. The unexpected obstacle causes him to stumble and then fall straight onto the sidewalk.
He catches himself onto his hands, but before he can think about getting up, I scramble to my feet and stab the flat circular end of my crutch into the middle of his back.
"Would you look at that?" I smile while keeping my eyes on his lying figure. "I just caught a real-life stalker."
For a moment he doesn't move a single muscle and continues to lie face-down on the sidewalk, while I hover above him. Then as he uses his arms to lift his upper body off the asphalt, I press the tip of my crutch deeper into his back.
"Don't you dare move," I warn him. "Or I'll call the cops."
Instead of getting up, he turns his head to the side and looks at me. "You can see me?"
"Of course, I can see you. I'm not blind." I loosen my hold on the crutch but don't remove it off his back. "Now, tell me why you're following me."
"Let me sit up first." He cranes his head further to the side, so his caramel eyes connect with mine. "My neck's going to break."
"Fine." I remove the crutch off his back but keep it raised in the air in case he tries to do anything other than sit up.
As promised he only turns around and remains sitting on the gray sidewalk at the edge of our front drive.
"Are you following me because you're connected to the accident?" I ask.
"Accident?" He's looking at me with an empty expression that doesn't reveal even a speck of buried guilt. "As in the reason you were in the hospital?"
"Yes." I lower the crutch and rest it against the ground.
"What happened?" He motions at the small plaster cast wrapped around my left foot.
"Shouldn't I be the one asking you that?"
"What?"
"I don't remember a thing about the car accident. I only know what the paramedics and my mom told me. But I saw you reading my chart, so I know you already know all of this."
"There was no mention of amnesia." He shakes his head.
"So you did read my chart." I point the crutch back at him. "Who are you?"
"I'm..." He moves his eyes to the side and lunges. One moment he's sitting on the sidewalk and in the next, he is sprinting right past me.
As fast as my sore body and my unsteady balance allow me I spin around, yet all I come up with is an empty street. Not even the smallest speck of his fleeing back. And no matter how many times I whirl around, he isn't here anymore. It's like he vanished into the late morning air.
"Not again." I stomp my injured foot against the ground and then immediately regret it as a painful ping shoots up my ankle.
"Liv!"
At the familiar nickname, I turn my head toward our one-story house and the light green grass stretching in front of it. On the third stair leading up to our white front door stands Mom, with her hands planted on her hips.
"What are you doing standing there looking like an idiot? Get inside." She motions for me to come to her. "It's almost time for lunch."
I take one last glance at the empty street and then hop down the stone pathway leading to the front door.
This isn't a defeat, though. It is nothing but a temporary retreat. After all, I'm sure that the stalker will sooner or later show up again. And then nothing is going to keep me from finding out who he is.
***
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Much love
- E