You Belong to Me -15

 

“I’m sorry, sir,” the manager at the upscale store said half an hour later when Corey showed him the watch in its box. “Without a sales receipt, there’s no way I can tell you who purchased this item.”

 

“How many of them did you have in stock?”

 

“I have no idea, nor am I going to go check my records. I do know it was a popular watch, so I would say a fair number.”

 

“At that price?” Corey muttered.

 

The manager nodded. “We are a high-end store with well-to-do customers.”

 

Sighing, Corey thanked him and left.

 

Does that mean whoever bought the watch for me is rich? He almost smiled at that thought. Maybe I should start wearing it and see who appears out of the woodwork. Not. Even if they do have that kind of money, I don’t think I want them in my life. Not when they seem to think I belong to them. He shivered, glancing around quickly. If they’re here somewhere….

 

Taking a deep breath, he returned to where he’d parked his car. He half expected to find a note from his stalker under the windshield wiper. There wasn’t one, but he wasn’t certain that meant anything. After all, the last one had been slipped under his door—not a thought that made him want to return home anytime soon.

 

“So, should I go to a movie? Or out to lunch?” he murmured, and decided to do both, hoping there was a comedy playing at the multiplex. The last thing he needed was heavy drama or a shoot-’em-up.

 

Corey found a comedy, after eating brunch at a small family restaurant a block from the theater. He even managed to stay awake through it, although he caught himself dozing a couple of times. It was mid afternoon when he left and headed home. By the time he got there, his tension was back. He felt a frisson of fear when he unlocked the door and stepped into his apartment. He looked down to see if he’d gotten another missive.

 

“Thank God,” he whispered when he saw nothing there. He quickly closed and locked the door, then went to change into something more comfortable.

 

Now wearing sweatpants and an old T-shirt, he was heading to the kitchen when his phone rang. Pulling it out of his pocket, he checked the caller ID. Again all it said was Payphone with a number shown, too. He was certain it was his stalker again and was tempted to answer and tell the person to leave him alone. Deciding that would only egg him on, however, he chose to ignore it, and the next three calls as well—all from payphones, although the numbers were different. Finally his caller seemed to have gotten the message that Corey wasn’t going to talk to him, because his phone remained silent.

 

He fixed a light supper: soup and a sandwich, and took it into the living room so he could watch TV. Being Sunday there was football, and more football. Settling on a game—not that he really cared about who won or lost—he ate and then put the bowl and plate down on the coffee table and lay down with his head on the arm of the sofa.

 

The next thing he was aware of was the ringing of his phone. Without thinking, because he was half-asleep, he answered it.

 

“Did you enjoy the movie?” a whispering voice asked. “Personally, I thought you had more class than to go see such a piece of dreck.”

 

“Who is this?” Corey growled, now fully awake.

 

Rather than answering his question, the caller whispered, “Stay away from those men, slut. You belong to me.” Then the phone went dead.

 

“Goddamned son of a bitch!” he spat out, his anger at the moment overriding his fear. That came moments later, and he began to tremble. “Leave me alone, whoever you are. Just… leave me alone.”