True Love

Margot never missed a day of work. Even when she was sick, she would suck it up and come into the office with a bag full of cough drops, tea packets, tissues, and cold medicine. She was hard working and driven, something that had been instilled in her from an unreasonably young age by her father, who never missed a day of work until the day he died.

It was Friday, the morning bright and clear. Margot balanced a cup holder full of hot coffees, a bag of pastries, her purse, and her lunch bag in her arms. Carefully adjusting everything so that she would have one hand free, she pulled open the door to her office building and shuffled inside. She squealed slightly as a few drops of coffee splashed onto her bare arm, cringing at the momentary heat. She forgot about it the moment it cooled. 

"Good morning! Here, let me get the elevator for you." The doorman, who never opened the door, jumped up out of his seat and crossed the lobby in front of her to press the button. "Early start to the day for you." He moved to let her step in front of him and then went back to his desk.

Margot smiled, giving the doorman a quick nod. "Early meeting with an important client. Are Brad and Kelly already upstairs?" Even smiling, Margot gave off a perpetual anxiety that never seemed to go away. Time was of the essence, and the ticking clock above the elevator call button only served as a reminder. 7:42 AM.

"Not yet. You should have the office to yourself. I haven't seen anyone else come in." He was already checking out of the conversation, a pencil in hand as he perused the newspaper. Not to do the crosswords, but to try and find discrepancies in the stories from previous issues, mostly politics.

Just as he scratched a dark circle around a chunk of text, the elevator doors opened and Margot stepped inside. "Have a good day!" She called, pressing the number 68. All she got was a grunt in response.

The elevator opened to a large office with floor to ceiling windows overlooking the city. Desks were spread about in clusters and on either side of the floor were glass doors leading into private offices and one large conference room on the right side. Margot headed straight for the conference room.

She set down her things with a breath of relief, rolled her shoulders, and tilted her head from one side to the other, stretching her neck. Then she cracked her knuckles and got to work. She pulled thick reports in glossy coverlets out of her bag and spread them around the table. Then she pulled out her laptop to set up the presentation she'd worked on for the last three months. It was well researched and she was sure that once Brad saw it, the promotion would be hers. Then she would even outrank Kelly.

Just as she was finishing up, her phone chirped loudly and started vibrating, breaking the silence. It made her jump and she grabbed it quickly, answering before she saw who it was. "Hello?"

"Hey Winnie, it's me." It was said so casually, so calmly that if she hadn't caught herself, she would have responded. As if he could see her, he quickly added, "Don't hang up. If you do, I won't be able to control what happens next." Margot's blood ran cold.

After a brief moment that seemed to stretch on for minutes, she finally replied to him. "I think you have the wrong number."

"But you didn't hang up, so I don't think that I do."

"You threatened me."

"Threatened who?"

"My name is Margot."

"We both know that it's not."

Margot stood up and walked over to the window, glancing around at the neighboring buildings. If she squinted, she could sometimes make out the people in the windows, but today she couldn't see anyone. Was he watching her?

"What do you want?" She finally asked, turning away from the window to sit down. "You promised we would never have to speak again." The anxiety was finally gone from her face, replaced with a steely resolve and underlying anger. It felt bitter in her stomach, hot in her chest. Her free hand curled into a fist.

He hummed softly, the sound eerily clear as if he were in the office with her. She stiffened and glanced around, but there was nowhere for someone to hide with glass separating everything. He stopped humming abruptly and chuckled. "Relax, I'm not there. But I will be. I'm on my way." 

"There's no way. You don't know where I live. You can't." She was in denial, but it was quickly passing. She should've known better. As soon as he found her phone number, she knew he had found her. "Why are you doing this?" 

He clicked his tongue, and in the background she heard a woman's voice. Now boarding flight 5102 to New York. Please come to the gate with your tickets ready. "Oh, looks like it's time to go. See you soon. I love you."

The call ended and Winnie stood up, already collecting her things. It looked like she was going to miss work today. There was no way she was staying in the city long enough for him to get to her. Michael was a sadist, a psychopath, capable of almost anything. Even with intervention from the police, he'd never been tried or convicted of any of his crimes. It was suspected that he was the killer in a string of murders of women who looked just like her. They had only dated for two months, but for him, it was five years and counting.

She packed up her reports, wiped down the table and made everything look like she had never been there. She threw away the coffee and pastries in a trash chute near the freight elevator and then took it down to street level, losing herself in the crowd. She would be okay. She would be safe.

By the time she got to her street, the sun was hot enough to make her sweat and it was starting to get humid. She would just grab a few things, take a taxi to Newark, and take the first flight to anywhere. It would be that easy. She kept little connections, nothing of value, and lived month to month. She hopped up the few steps to her apartment building and started to fish for her keys, lost among the things in her purse. 

"It was a recording." The voice was right behind her and she jumped, not for the first time that day, the purse dropping out of her hand and scattering items all over the pavement. "Surprise!" When she turned around, Michael stood behind her with a bouquet of two dozen roses. "I missed you, my love."

Winnie glanced right and left and then ducked past him, hurrying down the busy street. The good thing about New York is the crowds; it's easy to become anonymous. But Michael didn't follow her. He stood on her stoop watching her go, and as she glanced back over her shoulder, she saw him with her bag in one hand and her keys in the other, making his way inside. Just like that, she no longer had a home, and she also had no where to go. But no where was infinitely better than being with him.