You Belong to Me – 17

 

Wednesday was much the same as Tuesday, although with the temperature rising somewhat, there were a few less men vying for clothes or one of the beds. Corey took the time to buttonhole Mr. Zimmer and tell him his idea. His boss said he’d pass it on to the board of directors.

 

When Corey got home, he parked in his usual spot and took the elevator up to his floor. Again, as he had all week, he unlocked and opened his door, then glanced down, very relieved to see no folded piece of paper with a message from his nemesis.

 

Half an hour later, he was sitting in front of the TV eating supper. The news was the usual mix of stories about bad politicians and gruesome crimes, intermingled with fluff pieces, sports, and the weather. After that, nothing interested him, so he went onto the computer to check his Facebook page and e-mail. He answered a letter from his mother, telling her—and by extension the rest of the family—about the past week in the exciting life of a social worker at a shelter. With that done, he settled down to finish the book he’d been reading.

 

By ten he was ready to hit the sack. As he got undressed, he frowned. Something was off, although he couldn’t put his finger on what. Probably nerves, he figured, but still….

 

His bed was just as he’d left it that morning, well made with the comforter unwrinkled. Everything on the top of the dresser was in its rightful place, the same with the nightstand. Then it hit him. One of the top drawers in the dresser wasn’t closed all the way. It was only an eighth of an inch open, if that, but it was enough to give him the creeps, considering it was the one where he’d stashed the watch.

 

He felt around along the back corner of the drawer, where he remembered putting the box after the ill-fated attempt to find out who had purchased the watch. It was gone.

 

He checked the other drawer just in case and came up empty. “Okay, this is it, Mr. Whoever You Are,” he spat out angrily as he called 911. When the dispatcher answered, he told them he wanted to report a robbery and gave them his address. The woman replied that she’d have a pair of patrol officers stop by to talk to him.

 

Furious that his stalker had been there, rather than being afraid because he had, Corey paced through the apartment, checking to see if anything else was missing. As far as he could see, nothing else was gone. That convinced him it had to have been his stalker. After all, who else would take just the watch? By the time he was finished, his anger was abating, replaced with a sense of dread. How did they get in here? For sure not through a window, since I’m on the fifth floor. I’ve got my keys, and I haven’t loaned them out to anyone.

 

The sound of the buzzer startled him momentarily until he realized it must be the police. He buzzed them in, and when they got to his door, he asked them to hold up their badges to the peephole so that he could see them. Of course the fact they were in uniform should have reassured him, but Kerry had drummed it into the heads of everyone in the family that they were to check badges. If they were the least bit suspicious, they should call in the numbers to make certain the officers were the real McCoy.

 

Finally satisfied, Corey opened the door and let the two officers enter.

 

You Belong to Me - 16

 

 

Monday came and went, and Corey didn’t leave the house, even to go food shopping. The one redeeming grace was there had been no more calls or notes from his stalker. The only call he did get was from Brad, asking if he was going to be at The Scene Saturday night.

 

“I’m not sure.” Corey wasn’t certain he wanted to, given what was going on.

 

“Aw, come on. I’ll meet you there and even buy you a couple of beers as an inducement.”

 

Corey chuckled. “Now how can I refuse an offer like that?”

 

“You can’t. So I’ll see you on Saturday?”

 

“I… okay. I mean, sure. Around eight?”

 

“Sounds good to me.”

 

Corey realized after they’d hung up that he was actually looking forward to his date—well, he supposed it was a date of sorts—with Brad. Not on any romantic level, because they were and always had been just friends with benefits. Still, it’s great to know I’m wanted by someone sane. So take that and stick it in your pipe… oh stalker mine.

* * * *

Tuesday morning dawned bright and sunny, if still cold. Between that and his upcoming date with Brad, Corey felt better than he had for the last few days. So he was smiling as he got up, showered and shaved, dressed, and headed out to work.

 

The day was hectic. That was no surprise since the sun did little to alleviate the freezing temperatures.

 

“I never thought I’d pray for summer with its heat and humidity,” Archie grumbled at one point as he and Corey were handing out warm clothing to those who needed them.

 

“Yeah, I know what you mean,” Corey agreed with a laugh. “How about we split the difference and pray spring comes early this year.”

 

“That I could deal with, and so could those poor guys.” He nodded toward what seemed like the never-ending group of teens and men the shelter helped, especially during the cold months.

 

“What we really need is more donations.”

 

Archie snorted. “And just how do we go about pulling that off? I think the donors we have are probably getting tired of begging letters and phone calls.”

 

Corey thought about that while continuing to give out warm coats and gloves. “A fancy dinner and a silent auction.”

 

“What?” Archie had obviously lost track of their previous conversation.

 

“To raise money. We get stores, galleries, and what have you to ante up a couple of items each. They can use them as a tax write-off, and we auction them off. Hell, maybe people can give us stuff that they don’t want. I mean good stuff, like grandma’s old tea set that’s been gathering dust in the attic.”

 

Silas walked in on the middle of their exchange. He grinned and said, “One man’s junk is another man’s treasure?”

 

“Bingo!” Corey said. “Forget the stores donating. We just go with that theme instead.”

 

“It could work. Talk to Mr. Zimmer and see what he says,” Archie told him. “Hell, you could donate that watch someone gave you. You never wear it.”

 

Corey repressed a shiver. “Yeah, it’s really too expensive and, well, not my style.” He smiled slightly. “I could donate it. The gift that keeps on giving.”

 

“I think that’s STDs,” Archie said with a smirk.

 

“Ouch. Yeah. But the idea is good, if not the slogan. I think I will talk to Mr. Zimmer.”

 

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.”

 

You Belong to Me – 14

 

Corey made it home from Gary’s place so late that the sun was just coming up on the horizon. Happily sated, but exhausted, he barely managed a shower before falling into bed.

 

He was awakened—he didn’t know how much later—by the sound of his phone chiming. Groggily he took it off the charger, vaguely surprised he’d even remembered to put it there. Without checking to see who was calling, he answered.

 

“You slut. You belong to me,” the caller whispered before hanging up.

 

Corey was instantly wide-awake, his hands shaking as he checked the caller ID. It said Payphone, with the phone number. He figured he’d try dialing it, in case the caller was waiting for him to do that as part of their sick game. The phone rang and rang. Finally someone picked up, and Corey cautiously asked who he was, When the person told him he’d reached a payphone. Corey blew out a frustrated breath and hung up.

 

“Goddamn, motherfucking….” Corey growled, resisting the urge to throw his phone across the room. He checked the time, scowling when he realized it was only 9:00 a.m. He knew that there was no way he’d get back to sleep. He was too tense, and more than a bit afraid. Closing his eyes, he tried to figure out if he recognized the voice of the person who had called, and realized he couldn’t even be certain if it was a man or a woman because they had been whispering.

 

“It has to be someone who saw me at the club. How else would they know I went home with Gary? That sort of eliminates a female, all things considered. Unless they’ve been following me.”

 

He sat up and stared at his phone. How did they get my number? Then he sighed, knowing he had a habit of giving it out to interesting men when he was clubbing. Not that they ever call me, or only rarely, but…. “Is it one of them? Or someone from work? Or… who?” he muttered, slinging his legs over the edge of the bed. Until the phone call, he’d been figuring it was probably a person who had seen him somewhere and, unbelievably, become infatuated with him. The fact that the person knew his phone number scared him.

 

I really should call the police, but can they do anything about it? Probably not. I should have saved the notes. Hell, I wonder….

 

Standing up too quickly, he felt dizzy for a moment, the result, he was certain, of too little sleep. When it passed, he went to the dresser and took out the box with the watch. There was nothing on the top of the box, but when he turned it over, he saw the name of a store printed on the bottom.

 

How stupid am I not to have seen that before now? I wonder if it’s too late to discover who bought this?

 

There was only one way to find out.

You Belong to Me - 13

 

 

A week passed with no more messages from whoever had given him the watch, much to Corey’s relief.

 

Saturday night he decided to go out to another club he sometimes frequented. He thought about wearing the watch, not to please the giver, but because he’d really wanted it when he’d first seen it. Deciding what the hell, he put it on, then twisted his wrist to admire it. At least they have good taste. He chuckled, then sobered. Or they’ve been following me for longer than I’d like to think about. That was something that had occurred to him before. It didn’t exactly make his day. So he quickly took the watch off, put it back in the box, and tucked it away in the dresser drawer again.

 

The club was busy, but Corey was able to find a spot at the bar. Once he had a beer in hand, he leaned back to check out the room and the dance floor. He saw several men he knew: some were friends, a couple of others previous playmates. One of the latter spotted him and came over.

 

“Buy me a drink and I’ll dance with you,” Gary said with a grin.

 

“Now what makes you think I want to dance?” Corey grinned back.

 

“Because?”

 

Corey laughed. “That works. Name your poison.”

 

Gary did, and for a while they remained at the bar, catching up on each other’s lives while they finished their drinks. Then they wended their way to the dance floor. They’d just made it through the third song when Corey heard a familiar voice say, “My turn.” He glanced over his shoulder to see Neil, another friend, standing there, moving to the music.

 

“Go for it,” Gary told Corey, chuckling. “Just remember who you came in with.”

 

“Well, technically—”

 

Corey didn’t get to finish because Gray kissed him soundly, then strolled away.

 

After a couple of dances with Neil, Corey again found himself switching partners. This time he ended up with a man he didn’t know, who introduced himself as Quinn.

 

“You’re quite popular,” Quinn said after wrapping his arms around Corey’s waist. “And a good dancer,” he added a moment later, “so I’m not too surprised.”

 

“Thank you. It’s the reason I come here.”

 

“I’ve never seen you here before.”

 

“I could say the same,” Corey replied.

 

They talked a bit about themselves and then changed partners after exchanging phone numbers.

 

Not that he’ll ever call, and vice versa. He seemed nice, but not my type.

 

Corey’s type, at least for the night, was Gary. They danced for a while, bodies pressed together as they swayed to the beat of a slow song. It was obvious to both of them as they shared a few heated kisses that they’d end up in bed together. The only question was whose bed. Gary settled it by pointing out his place was closer.