5 of 107

Write now Article Tools

Rosalyn Stone was frozen; her cheeks were burning, her nose like ice and her fingers almost numb where they clutched the straining handles of her shopping bags. She wanted so much to put them down, just for a moment, to give her hands a rest. But she wouldn't, couldn't. Somewhere behind her, he was watching. She didn't know who he was didn't actually know for sure it was a e but she knew he was there. And there was no way she was going to stop and be a sitting target for him.

He'd been following her for about two weeks, she thought. Maybe longer. She'd never really seen him except for the occasional glimpse out of the corner of her eye. But she always knew when he was there. She felt him. It was strange, like the knowledge of him had just appeared in her head and she didn't know where it had come from or even what made her so sure. At first she hadn't been afraid. In fact it had reminded her of how she'd felt when

No, that was a stupid thought. A different man, a different time, a different place.

With time, though the fear had crept in. when he didn't approach her, didn't say anything, didn't make his presence more apparent, she became afraid. She'd considered going to the police, of course. But she couldn't imagine them taking her seriously. Yes, officer, I think someone's following me. No, I haven't ever seen him, but he kind of reminds me of my dead husband. That would do down really well. They'd laugh her right out of the station. If they didn't have her committed first.

At last she reached the building where she lived. It was an old, 1930's style hotel, now split into flats and she had never been more grateful to see its worn faade. She let herself in the main door, grateful for the warmth and the light. Her little section of the building just a small lounge, a kitchen, bathroom and single bedroom was right at the top. It still had a slight in transit' look about it, despite the fact that she had now lived there for almost a year. The plain, cream walls had no pictures on them; the furniture held no personal items, no books or photos or little knick-knacks collected in happier times. Theses items existed, of course, they were just safely tucked away at the back of her wardrobe. Out of sight, out of mind, right? Except it didn't really work that way and Rosie knew it. Putting his things, their things, out of the way didn't stop her thinking about him, it didn't stop the dreams and it sure didn't stop the pain.

She dumped the shopping

• 1
• 2
• next page >>

Add your voice

Know something about Novel excerpts: Thrillers?
We want to hear your view. Write now!