Barnaby's

Trigger Warning: Stalking, Mentions of Violence, Hallucinations

    I first saw her in the window of Barnaby’s, an old pub on the corner of Lawrence St. She had crimson red hair, like that of autumn leaves falling to the ground. She sat at the bar smiling at the bartender, her shed layers of clothes on the seat next to her. She was thin, like the branch of a willow tree and she seemed so fragile that the breeze could knock her over. But that is not what drew me to her. No, it was her eyes that tore into my very heart and soul. They were a deep blue like the ocean in one instant, but in the next a deep brown. I swore for a second, they looked almost red like blood flowing from a burst vein.

           I wait patiently for her to leave. She waves and giggles at the bartender, blushing at something he said. I see the car she enters, a beat-up Volkswagen. I jot down the license plate, telling myself its just so I’ll recognize if she’s around somewhere.

           I return to Barnaby’s the next day as soon as it opens. I sit outside the coffee shop across the street. I have a perfect view of the bar and the spot she parked yesterday. I wait three hours, losing hope that she would come today, when I saw her drive up at exactly 12:15. She parks in the same place. She has her long hair up in a bun today. I like it like that. I can see her eyes better. Today, they look almost orange, like the sunset. She waves to the bartender and takes the same seat in the middle of the bar. It’s a Thursday so there are few people in the pub. She orders a drink and chips, and talks back and forth with the bartender. She stays for an hour before checking her watch and heading back to her car. She looks to me for a split second, and my heart drops. It feels as if I’m being lifted from my seat. The feeling is gone as soon as it happens with her driving off.

           I’m at Barnaby’s the next day and the next and the next. I’ve started ordering the occasional drink to avoid suspicion. She comes at the same time every day. Parks in the same spot. Sits in the same chair. Sometimes she orders food, sometimes she doesn’t. She talks to the bartender, stays for an hour, and then leaves in her car. She waved to me on day eight, probably noticing I’m always sitting at the café. I almost got out of my chair to run to her when that happened.

On day fifteen, I decide that I will approach her as she leaves Barnaby’s. My heart is beating out of my chest as I wait for her to leave. I walk swiftly across the street once Barnaby’s door swings open. “Hello,” I say to her, attempting to seem casual, “I get lunch over at the café everyday and couldn’t help but notice you go to Barnaby’s everyday. You must love the food.” I know it isn’t the food, she only eats the occasional appetizer. I need to know why she’s at Barnaby’s. I need to know everything about her. She giggles, a heavenly sound. “No, my boyfriend is the bartender. I stop here for my lunch break so we can hang out.” She says it so calmly as if it did not shatter my very soul. I forced a smile as I wave her goodbye.

I know what I need to do. I know I can do it. But what if it only complicates things more? What if she cannot love again after him? And deep down, there is a single spark in me that knows it is wrong. That the taking of a life cannot be the answer to my quest for her love. Perhaps, I don’t have to do it myself. Perhaps, I could hire someone else to do it. But I don’t have the means to pay and I couldn’t bear to see her broken hearted after his death. Though, it may be my only way to have her. No. Maybe I can just throw a wrench between them. Convince her that we would be perfect. That I would love her in all the ways he could not.

I go to Barnaby’s the next day, an hour before her arrival. I sit at the bar and observe the bartender as he moves around. He’s short and his hair is an annoying bright yellow. He has small dull eyes, plain brown. He looks childish to me. He talks up a woman at the other end of the bar. A clear disrespect to my beloved. His voice is grating to me, nails on a chalkboard. He is worse than I thought but I know I cannot kill him. That annoyingly inconvenient spark in me reminds me that it would be evil to kill. I would not be the perfect man for her if I took the easy way out. The wrong way out. I’ll watch him instead, wait for the slip up. The slip up that will prove to her that she must leave.

I exit Barnaby’s with a new plan. I will find out everything about him. I will find his flaws and use them to destroy him. I sit at my desk for hours searching for everything about him. I find his name from a post on Barnaby’s social media. I use it to find his friends, his family. Most importantly I find his home. I access his security cameras and I wait to see him bring home a mistress. I’m sure he has one, the way he spoke to the woman at Barnaby’s.

A month goes by and I find nothing. The spark telling me to spare his life grows and takes shape. It went from a small voice in the back of my head to the vision of he sitting on my desk as I watch him. She smiles at me and pets my hair. And she tells me we’ll be together once I can find the women he’s sleeping with. I haven’t slept in six days, I can’t miss a single moment of footage. I haven’t been to the café or Barnaby’s in two weeks. Two weeks without seeing her, the real her. Another spark is growing in me, telling me that there will be other woman. He’s a good man, which leaves me one choice. But as soon as I think too hard on the spark, she holds my face and cries for me not to.

On the eighth day, I see him in my room. Blinding yellow, piss colored hair. His dull eyes searching the room. She looks nervous to see him. He falls to his knees beside me and begs me to do what must be done. “You won’t find anything,” He mutters to me. He’s right. I know he’s right. She looks to me with those gorgeous, soulful eyes and tells me to ignore him. She tells me to send him away so we can be alone and figure things out together. I hate to let her down, but I know she’ll understand when I’m done. I’ll go tonight, I’ll be quick about it. Tomorrow when she arrives at Barnaby’s to see him. I’ll wait for her. I’ll tell her I heard about this terrible housefire. I’ll comfort her when she realizes it was him. I’ll be there.

After tonight, I’ll be the only one waiting at Barnaby’s for her.