The Admirer's Secret (20 page)

Haley, look at what you’ve done, you worthless piece of garbage…
the voice spoke loud and clear.

Please leave me alone!
she silently begged. Why was it torturing her? Why her?

Marc never loved you. You are a liar and you’re crazy!

I’m not crazy! Marc loves me,
she inwardly retorted.

No he doesn’t. Those letters are your own confessions, not his. Look at the letters,
her nemesis commanded.

Haley reached to the middle of the table where the detective had piled his evidence against her and pulled a letter closer. Her eyes searched the handwriting while the overhead waffled lighting blinked annoyingly.

Whose handwriting is that?

She looked from one letter to the next. The c’s—the curly loops—those were hers. Was the detective right? Certainly she didn’t write the
se letters to herself. That was… was… ludicrous! Haley stared blankly into the detective’s eyes. The realization of what he was getting at had somehow eluded her throughout the interrogation; his accusation had flown right over her head. Yet now it was hovering in front of her with clarity. He was charging her with hurting the man she loved more than life itself. But that couldn’t be. She would never do that. She adored him and would do anything for him. Sure, she was hurt, but this… this could not possibly be true. There was only one other explanation: She was being framed.

Then Allen came to mind.

Chapter 40

T
he metal door sprung back and slammed shut behind Detective Patella. Marc looked up, then squeezed Julie Carter’s slender hand in affirmation that it was almost over. At least he hoped so.

The detective joined them around the circular faux wood table, taking a seat next to a policeman who scooted over to make room. Dropping a folder in the center of the table, the detective grunted as he pulled his chair in, the metal legs screeching like chalk on a chalkboard against the tile floor. The corner interrogation room, stuffy and much too small for three large men and a five-foot-six woman, was directly adj
acent to where Haley now waited, and it took every ounce of Marc’s strength not to walk over there and deal with her once and for all.  

Marc shifted his gaze from Julie’s earnest blue eyes down to the nameplate pinned to the policeman’s chest. “Officer Rice, was there anything else you needed to know?”

“No,” he answered, then passed a tablet to the detective. “I think we have our timeline.”

“Fill me in,” Detective Patella urged.

“Well, comparing Haley Montgomery’s statement to Marc and Julie’s, we know that Haley has been stalking them. We have Marc’s first encounter with Haley roughly six weeks ago, when he fixed her computer. At the time, Marc had just started seeing Julie.” Officer Rice glanced at the couple and they nodded, Julie’s blond ponytail wagging. “That’s pretty much when things got weird.”

“How so?” the detective asked, directing his question and pointed jaw toward Marc.   

“Well, I didn’t think about it at the time, but it was maybe three weeks ago when I went to the town meeting to try and catch Julie, y’know, to ask her out. Well, Julie and I talked before the meeting, but afterward Haley came out of nowhere and approached me, then invited me to lunch. I agreed, thinking little of it. I mean, I remembered her from working on her computer, and she seemed kind of lonely, so I thought lunch would be nice. She seemed normal at first, but the more I talked to her the more I noticed she was real… um, intense.” Marc paused, assessing the accuracy of his word choice, while the detective scrawled a note.

“I just thought it was her personality. Like, she had a real penetrating look. But anyway, she invited me to dinner that week, and I felt bad turning her down. She looked like she could really use a friend, so I said yes. I started getting vibes from her that maybe she liked me
as more than a friend when I had dinner at her house, but then her teacher—Allen Michaels, I think his name was—showed up and I thought maybe there was something going on between them. I don’t know. It was hard to tell with Haley.”

“Why would
Ms. Montgomery have thought you had a relationship with her?”

“I don’t know. I mean, I may have said some things that could be construed as something else, but I had no idea she would misinterpret it l
ike that. I didn’t know she was… crazy.”

Willing his brain back to each interaction with her, his brow creased as he reeled in each thought. She had been curiously attentive. Even the way she looked at him, it was almost as if she was watching his every move, examining him. He visualized those big green eyes probing him, masterminding how she could win him, or ruin him.

“I was trying to be her friend, but apparently she had other ideas. So anyway, that was the last I saw of her until the night of the Ice Festival. I picked Julie up at her house, and we were having a fun time. And then Haley just showed up and started screaming at Julie and me about who knows what. It was totally out of nowhere, freaking out on us in front of everyone. I didn’t even recognize her at first. She looked like she hadn’t slept in a while, with dark circles under her eyes, and her face was kind of sunken in. She looked pretty bad. But she took off before I could say anything. Then the next thing I know, my dog is poisoned, I’ve got death threats, and Julie’s getting tailed by someone.”

Marc felt the beat of Julie’s trembling leg quicken beneath their clasped hands. They turned to each other, eyes full of misery. In a way, Marc felt responsible for everything that Julie went through. If he had never been nice to Haley, nothing would have ever happened. He and Julie would probably be cuddling up on the couch talking about how many kids they want
ed someday rather than sitting on two metal folding chairs giving a statement to the police.

He wished he could have protected Julie that night; he would have erased the trauma if he could. Though time left no option other than to move forward, he vowed to never let anything hurt her again. He cared too much about her. Even after only six weeks of her being back in his life, he would fight for her, die for her, protect her no matter what.

After that day in high school when she vanished from his teenaged life, leaving him with a hole is his heart that couldn’t be filled by any other woman, he never imagined he’d see Julie again. Briefly revisiting the past, he knew he loved her more now than he did back then, as his passion matured with his developing body and mind. He was a boy when he first fell for her, and he was a man when he realized he couldn’t live without her. After all these years, she had been and always would be the one. Julie Carter inspired him to strive for something greater, something purer. She embodied everything he wanted in a wife. But after what they had gone through, he worried that it was too much. That maybe she’d reconsider her feelings for him because love shouldn’t have to be so hard, so painful. Did she believe he was worth the throes of love?

He looked down. She was still
clutching his hand. As long as she was willing to hold on, he’d be willing to safeguard their relationship. And nothing—especially not an obsessed girl with a twisted dream—was going to strip him of that.

A folder that had been sitting in the middle of the table was opened to the photo Haley had given him after their dinner. Marc harshly tapped his index finger against it.

“And then I saw this and knew it was Haley who was after me and Julie.”

Chapter
41

M
arc was finally on his way home from the police station after a lifetime’s worth of questioning and dropping Julie off at her parents’ house. Exhausted and relieved, he drove in silence, letting everything sink in. At least they figured out who had done it. Yet he was torn by the way things had turned out. Haley Montgomery. Who would have guessed? Seemed like such a sweet girl. So it seemed. How could it have been her? It seemed… preposterous. She had seemed so kind and thoughtful. But the evidence pointed to her, especially after he gave the picture she had given him further scrutiny.

After he recognized the handwriting on the back of the picture, it all made sense.
That was when he realized why the scenery in the photograph seemed so familiar. It was the view he looked at every single day from his back porch. There were telltale signs that identified the location, such as the unique tree with four trunks sprouting from a single root structure. His eyes were drawn to the silhouette of that one-of-a-kind tree in the picture and immediately he knew why he recognized it when she first gave it to him. But how did she take a picture from his back porch? It didn’t make sense… unless, of course, she had been lurking around his house. Stalking him.

The thought sent a shiver up his spine. His thoughts raced to Julie—was she okay? What if there was someone else involved
in Haley’s ploy? He needed to check up on her, make sure she was okay. There was no telling if others were also involved.

He grabbed his cell phone and turned it on. After it chimed to life, Marc saw he had a message.
Oh, God. Please don’t let that be Julie.
His hands shook as he speed-dialed his voice mail.

“You have one new message. Press 1 to listen to your message.”

His trembling finger missed the number 1, accidentally hitting 2 instead.

“Dang it! C’mon!” he seethed.

“You’ve pressed an incorrect key. Please press 1 to—”

Cutting off the computerized lady, he jabbed the 1.

“I kept my promise.”

That was it. That was the message. Whose voice was that, anyways? He repeated the message, listening carefully.

“I kept my promise.”

He knew the voice. Too well. Solemn, sad, yet sweetly feminine.

Haley. Haley must have left him the message before the cops brought her in. Not only was he stuck in a nightmare with her, but now her voice was plastered in his brain. What did she mean? She kept her promise? What promise? Questions plagued him, cursed him, mocked him. There was no way to find out the answers, but he needed to know what she meant. Was it another threat of some sort? A clue to something terrible about to happen? He had to stop the thoughts. Preferably before he went nuts too.

The drive became one fuzzy moment after the next. It was the kind of drive
that felt as if he’d awoken from a daze, unable to remember how he arrived at this point in the drive. Marc blinked, forcing himself to pay attention. He wasn’t anywhere near his house. The street sign up ahead slowly formed the familiar letters of her street name. He was approaching the intersection of Haley’s street. Yielding to the request of the stop sign, Marc halted then forced his truck forward. Had the idea actually occurred to stop by her house? He shook it away.

A
s he sped off, an overwhelming urge sent him into a U-turn back in the direction of her house, with “I kept my promise” replaying in his mind. About a quarter of a mile down, he slowed his vehicle to a stop directly in front of the cookie-cutter dwelling. Her house was completely dark. He had expected that. She was in jail, so of course no one would be home. It made no sense for him to be here.

His F-150 crawled up the driveway and he turned off his vehicle. Marc sat in the car staring at nothing in particular, but feeling compelled to stay. After a while he opened his door and got out. Without a thought, his l
egs took strides forward toward the front door of Haley’s house—a place he knew he shouldn’t be.

Internal sirens couldn’t stop him now. This was beyond his control. Breaking and entering held no weight today as he wanted to know why. Something told him he’d find his answers inside.

I kept my promise.

Marc numbly approached the front porch and reached for the door handle. Click. It was unlocked and easily swung open. This whole experience seemed so familiar, as if he’d seen it before—a solitary man standing in an empty doorway. Probably a horror film showing the scene right before the guy got brutally bludgeoned by the waiting killer.

A smell of burned paper greeted Marc immediately, emanating from the fireplace. He stood in the dim hallway staring in. Patting his hand along the wall searching for a switch, he had to step in to reach it. He flicked on the hall light and peeked around the living room. Nothing unusual. He walked through to the kitchen, finding everything pretty much the same as he remembered from being there before. The dining room connected to the kitchen, which circled back to the entryway.

Back at the entryway with nothing catching his attention, he paused at the foot of the stairs leading up to the bedroom and office. It was mere stupidity
to do what he was thinking of doing. But he just had to know what was up there. There had to be something, some clue as to what made someone so seemingly normal in fact insane.

He started his ascent, vaguely remembering the first time he saw this stairwell. At the second floor landing, he creaked open the office door where he first helped Haley with her computer. It
felt like eons ago, but it had only been a matter of weeks. Upon looking inside, everything appeared the same as it had. Except a little more cluttered. Papers mostly. He recognized the tablet of heart-shaped paper—the same paper on which several notes were written enclosed in the box he had received. He walked to the desk and found half a dozen notes on the desk. He read a pink heart-shaped one on top:

My darling Haley
,

It struck him as odd that the salutation was addressed to Haley. He continued reading…

I am so sorry for my betrayal. I never meant to hurt you. You are my everything, and Julie means nothing to me. I promise you, we will be together forever. I assure you that my heart belongs to you alone, and together we can get rid of Julie so that you’ll never have to worry about her again.

His eyes widened at the threat lurking between the lines.

My angel, we will be united as one. You are my perfect match. But I need you to help me realize my mistake. Please do not give up on me, for without you I cannot live. Without you—

The letter ended there. Apparently she had left it unfinished. He scanned further down to the bottom; something was written in the corner. He picked up the partial letter to see it better, as the pen blended into the bright pink heart image. It was a signature…

Love, Marc

“Love Marc?” The sound of his own voice was startling. He crumbled the note, slamming it onto the desk, and then backed away. This wasn’t any girlish infatuation. No, this was deep. This was psychotic.

Something drew him to the desk. A journal was flipped open next to the stack of notes. He moved closer. If there was something else she had planned
, this was where he’d find it…

Entry 6958

Help me, please. Last night I woke up with that choking sensation again, like two cragged hands were wrapped around my neck, strangling the life out of me. Do I feel this way because Marc—my reason for living—has been stripped from me? I remember this very same feeling when my father died. It’s frighteningly familiar. I don’t want to suffocate anymore. 

I almost had a moment of freedom, a moment of relief. But the sacrifice was too much to bear. Marc had once told me about how I can have peace. It was a conversation that left me yearning for whatever it is that I’m missing, but it seems so out of reach. For I know if I reach out for peace I’ll have to let go of Marc. I just can’t do it. I’m sorry.

So tonight I write secret thoughts, hoping that by writing I will bring Marc back to me. It’s been so long since Marc and I have seen each other or spoken to each other, but in my dreams we meet every night. In my dreams we’ve shared so much. It’s so real that sometimes I’m not sure what’s real and what’s not anymore. But I do know this: love is real, and I love Marc. And his letters to me testify to his love. That is the only thread I can cling to in order to keep my faith alive that we’re meant to be.

Marc wrote me another letter. He told me he was sorry. So I’ve decided to give him one last chance. But I admit I fear his answer. If he ends up choosing Julie, how can I go on? He’s my life, and without him I have to no reason to live. But if he chooses me, I can’t risk Julie sticking her nose in our future. So it has to be one or the other. Choose wisely, Marc. For us, for our love.

The creak of the door behind him scared him from the depths of Haley’s journal. He wasn’t alone. Sensing a strong presence of darkness, of evil, Marc turned and rushed to the closing door. He hated her for messing up his life, for making him afraid. He was vulnerable to fear because of her, and there was no way to erase what she’d done to him. And he despised her for his newfound weakness.

When he turned toward the staircase, the open bedroom door invited him in. Though his gut wrenched, warning him to get out of the vacant house, his fierce anger triggered another idea and he carefully entered the room. He slowly stepped over the threshold, and the floorboards groaned under his weight. Everything appeared feminine, decorated with soft floral patterns on the bedspread and pillows, and soft pink and beige hues. It was clearly a woman’s room. A normal woman’s room. Nothing unusual that he could see, but within that woman’s mind a fantasy world ruled. A fantasy that sought to kill his girlfriend and seduce him.

Marc sat on the edge of the bed. He covered his face with his palms, wondering what he did to deserve this. 

“What is going on?” he mumbled into his hands. “Please help me understand.”

When he opened his eyes, he found the unwanted answer plastered to her closet door. A picture—the same one Haley had given him—was taped to her closet door. He walked to the closet. His hand gripped the door handle, leaving a cool, moist residue on the brass as he opened it. What he found inside forced the air out of his lungs. 

Inside were hundreds, if not thousands
, of pictures—scattered all over the floor, taped to the walls, stuck to the ceiling, and lined along the back of the door. They appeared to be pictures of him. Marc sitting on his couch at home. Marc in his car. Marc with a superimposed picture of Haley next to him.

He stumbled back a couple of steps. A shiver crept up his spine as he backed away, unable to pull his eyes from the closet shrine dedicated solely to him. Haley Montgomery was mor
e than infatuated; she was insane. Truly obsessed. She had been stalking him all along, taking pictures, watching him, forging letters from him. And if the police let her go, who knows what would happen next.