Kelly stared at the tiny square of paper in her hand for a moment longer. It was definitely an address; the confused look in her face wasn’t down to that, it was down to the reason. Why leave an unmarked, empty envelope on someone’s doorstep? And why, if you were planning on giving them an address, would it be written on the smallest clipping of a piece of paper that you could possibly write on? Wouldn’t you try and make it a little more obvious if you were trying to give someone your address?
Unless that was the point.
Maybe she wasn’t meant to find it. It was so well hidden that she had almost thrown it away, after all. But if she wasn’t meant to find it, why put it there in the first place? One thing was for sure, she was confident that it ruled out this being some kind of secret admirer! She smiled at that thought. Then the chill that ran down her spine from the realisation that this was, in fact, real and happening to her, harrowed her to the bone. She visibly shook from the shoulders.
The next thought was obvious. Who would be doing this? What did they want from her? Was it just to scare her? Was she a target? In what way, though?
Her head continued to reel for what seemed like ages, and she hadn’t moved from the spot next to the bin in the kitchen. She snapped herself out of it as she knew she needed to sit down. Her legs had become heavy, and she was worrying about the dizzy dots starting to come into her vision. As soon as she hit the couch though, there was a glimpse of clarity. Whether it was intended or not, whether it was designed to scare her or just for the tease and excitement of her photographer (she was assuming that the person in the woods and the person behind this envelope were the same person. The camera flash sound from behind her door was all the confirmation she needed) she did have an address.
A starting point.
She stood up again, having literally only been sat for a second, but her legs were no longer heavy, and her vision was crystal clear. She strode purposefully for the phone. However, when she actually picked it up and went to push the ‘9’ key, something stopped her right thumb. Held it back for a moment. Kelly slowly put the phone back in its cradle, disregarded the angel on her left shoulder’s worries that she was doing something very stupid indeed, and reached for the directory on the shelf beneath the table top. She flicked through it quickly, before she had chance to change her mind, and found the address.
There was a number.
She stared at it for a while, like she had when she first saw the address on the stamp-like piece of paper. It scared her again to see it written so normally, like every one else’s address. It brought it all into perspective. In her hesitation she almost won over to her left shoulder and reattempted dialling 911.
But with the phone back in her hand again, it was not a ‘9’ she pushed first.