Exposure

“Call me and I’ll come — ”

“I could be dead by the time you get here.”

Mark pulled in a long breath. “Kaycee, I’ll do whatever I can to keep you safe. I am taking this seriously.”

“Really? Or are you thinking, ‘Sure, sure, this is just crazy Kaycee.’ ”

“I don’t think you’re crazy.

Maybe sometimes your fears make you see things . . .”

“I told you that camera was here.”

Mark held up a hand. “Okay.”

For a moment they faced off, his hurtful words from last month echoing in her head. Even if they had revealed more about his own issues than hers, they still hurt. Kaycee swallowed. “And I am not making this up just to give me fodder for my next column.”

“I never said anything like that.”

“Close to it . . . last month at the birthday party for Chief Davis. You told me all my column does is stir up other people’s fears, and I don’t really want to overcome my own, because then what would I do for a living?”

“If I said that, I didn’t mean it.”

“You did say it. You know you did.”

Mark looked away, forehead creasing. Kaycee continued to eye him. Why couldn’t he just admit he had fears like everybody else? His were written all over him. Ever since his fiancee broke their engagement and moved away three years ago, he’d kept his distance from women, clearly scared to death of being hurt again. But no, he had to put on this act like he didn’t need anybody.

Mark swung his gaze back to her. “I’m sorry, Kaycee. I’d had a bad day. I don’t really think that about you.”

Kaycee’s eyes burned. She didn’t care what most people said about her — Kaycee Raye’s whole life was laid out in “Who’s There?” But this man was different.

She lifted a shoulder. “Never mind. It’s okay.”

Silence ticked by. Mark cleared his throat. “Maybe you shouldn’t stay alone tonight. Is there somewhere else you can sleep? A friend’s house?”

Kaycee glanced at her watch. Going on ten o’clock. Not too late to call Tricia. Kaycee certainly didn’t want to stay in this house. The very thought of turning out the light, trying to sleep . . .

A terrifying thought flared. “Mark, the words on that photo said, ‘We see you,’ ” Kaycee blurted. “Could somebody have hooked up video cameras in here?”

Great, now he really would think she was crazy.

He spread his hands. “I searched all over the house.”

“You were looking for people.”

“You want me to look again — for cameras?”

“Well, if I’m in a starring role, at least I should know about it.”

“Was that a yes?”

She nodded tightly.

Again they walked through every room. Mark searched corners, window sills, within the leaves of plants — anywhere a tiny video camera might be hidden. He found nothing. By the time he finished, Kaycee’s nerves sizzled.

Mark stood in her kitchen, hands on his hips. “So how about that friend’s house?”

Kaycee crossed her arms. How she wanted to leave. The darkness beat giant wings against her windows. But there was nothing in this house. No intruder. No lens. If she stayed with someone she’d be giving in. How would she ever regain the strength she’d had before Mandy’s death if she caved in to her fears?

“Kaycee, you don’t have to fight this one,” Mark said, as if reading her thoughts.

That one sentence, coming from Mark, was all it took. Any resolve Kaycee could find within herself melted away. “Maybe I’ll just . . . call somebody.”

“Good. I’ll escort you wherever you go. Tomorrow you can come down to the station and fill out a report. And if you want an officer to come back into the house with you, whoever’s on duty will do that.”

“Okay.”

Soaked in defeat, Kaycee picked up the phone and dialed the familiar number. Tricia Goodwin answered on the second ring. “Of course you can come,” she said. “What happened?”

“Tell you when I get there. Don’t freak when a policeman pulls up behind me.”

Mark waited in the living room while Kaycee threw some clothes and toiletries into a small bag upstairs. The dead man’s face throbbed in her mind.

They left through the back door. Kaycee locked the bolt and walked alongside Mark to her car, throwing glances into the dense and hovering darkness.

Mark followed her to Tricia’s small wooden house near Asbury Seminary. As Kaycee trudged up the front sidewalk, her thoughts spun back to the first “Who’s There?” column she’d written four years ago. “Soaked Up” — the story of how her paranoia began at the age of nine. Never as she penned those words could she have imagined this night.

We see you.

Only as Tricia opened the door did Kaycee realize the terrible mistake she’d made in running to her friend. What was to keep them from following her here?

WHO’S THERE?

BY KAYCEE RAYE

SOAKED UP

When did I first notice the fear in my mother? Don’t remember. You might as well ask when I first noticed I had toenails.

My father was killed in a car accident when I was a baby. My mother never remarried. No doubt because she’d make any man crazy. Every night she’d double check the locks on our windows and doors. In public she always glanced over her shoulder. And when she drove, she constantly looked in the rearview mirror as if some monster was chasing us. Made me feel all jittery. Like maybe there were monsters back there . . .

Children are sponges. By the time I reached nine I’d soaked up her habit quite nicely and was looking over my shoulder as well. In the car it wasn’t fair. My mom had the rearview mirror; I had to turn around. No subtlety in that. Mom acted like she didn’t notice. But I knew she did. And it seemed to make her sad.

I took to humor to cheer her up.

“Knock-knock.”

“Who’s there?”

“Kaycee.”

“Kaycee who?”

“’Kay, see what you’ve done?”

“What have I done?”

“Fallen for my dumb joke.”

My mom died a little over a year ago. I can’t help but wonder if her constant fear of being watched caused the heart attack that cut short her life. Not a pleasant thought, seeing as how I’m managing to carry on her