Someone knocked on the door, and assuming it was Edmund, I walked over and answered. “Hey, back already…”
The words died on my lips because it wasn’t Edmund. It was some man I didn’t know, and he had a huge bouquet of white roses in his hands. He was tall and slim with black hair and the strangest blue eyes I’d ever seen. He smiled, and a flash of memory raced through my head of a movie I’d watched. The actor, Steve Buscemi, had played a serial killer, and this guy looked just like him in that movie. I pushed those thoughts out of my head. He was not a serial killer, and I shouldn’t allow myself to make those kinds of associations. He was probably a decent person, and it wasn’t fair to judge based on a resemblance.
“Hi, I’m Gene, one of the stagehands, and a fan asked me to bring these to you.”
My gaze fell to the roses he was holding. “Really? Wow, they’re so beautiful.”
“I’ll put them in a vase for you.”
He gave me a friendly smile and before I could protest and tell him I’d prefer to do that myself, he pushed his way through the doorway into my room. After he passed by, I kept the door open, noting that no one was around, but I felt safer knowing someone might hear me if I needed help. Not that I expected a problem, but after being mugged four years ago, I didn’t like to take chances. It was eerily quiet, and I figured that must mean the staff were setting up on stage.
The guy started randomly opening cabinets, so I followed him into the room and opened the cabinet I knew had the vases. “They’re in here.” I took out a large one and made my way to the bathroom. Filling it up with water, I glanced over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t behind me. Something about him made me edgy, and my instincts practically shouted at me not to turn my back to him. When I finished my task, I returned to find Gene staring at me with an almost crazed expression.
“I’m your biggest fan, you know.”
The words themselves didn’t make me uncomfortable. It was the way he was looking at me, like he was zoning out and not mentally there.
“You’ve heard me sing before?”
He nodded. “Many times. I saw you last week at The Coffee Grind for your performance.” He hesitated. “You were magnificent.”
I hadn’t seen him there, but then again, the place had been packed. “Th-Thank you.”
“I took a picture of you and blew it up, poster-size. Put it on my wall.”
“Oh…” My heart began to pound a little harder, and uneasiness washed over me.
“You really are beautiful.” He stepped forward, his eyes practically bulging. The man was old enough to be my father, but he was not acting fatherly at all.
My pepper-spray was in my purse, but I would have to walk past him to reach it, and there was no way I was doing that. I would just have to talk my way through this. “Thank you,” I said, curtly. “Let’s put those in the vase, and then I’m really sorry, but I can’t chat any longer. I need to get ready for the concert.”
I placed the vase on the counter and motioned for him to put the flowers inside. He didn’t. He just stood there, staring at me like a lunatic. My pulse kicked up a notch and adrenaline shot through me. I needed to speed up this exchange and get him out of here.
“I must confess,” he said, “these flowers aren’t from someone else. I bought them myself because white roses remind me of purity, and you’re very pure, Kayla.” His eyes appeared cloudy, almost as if he were a zombie and not a real person. Maybe he was on drugs. “You are pure, aren’t you?” He took another step closer. “Just as I imagined you would be.”
My chest tightened, and a shot of fear pressed down on me, freezing me to the spot. This man was not safe, and I had unknowingly let him into my room. After all I’d been through, how could I let something like this happen? My lungs constricted, and it was hard to breathe.
“Gene, you’re making me very uncomfortable.” I barely got the words out as panic shot its way through my system. “Thank you for the flowers. I do appreciate them, but you need to leave.” Not wanting to be alone with him one second longer, I backed up until I was standing outside the doorway. “Please go.”
His shoulders sagged, and he let his arm fall so the flowers he’d been holding were pointing down. “Oh, no. You’ve gotten the wrong impression. That’s the last thing I wanted.” He shook his head slowly as if this were a large misunderstanding he could easily correct. “I’m your biggest fan. Biggest. And I would never hurt you.”
I wanted to scream at him to get out, but my gut told me it was better to remain kind but firm. Upsetting him wouldn’t help the matter, and if he really was crazy, I had to deal with this delicately.
“I’m thankful for all my fans. And since you came here to see me sing, I’m sure you’ll understand that I need to get ready.”
He nodded. “Of course, I understand.” He walked unsteadily toward me, an unstable vibe floating off of him.
We were standing in the hallway now, but no one else was around. My heart was beating in a rapid staccato, my skin heating to a feverish temperature from my flu. I felt like
