Sloan got up, made sure the window blinds were down in the bathroom, and got ready. She took extra time today to cover her scar. No need in it blaring two days in a row. Next she went into her room and picked out a pretty, dark purple shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves and black pants. She threw her hair in a low-side ponytail and went downstairs.
It was nice to have some extra time this morning. Much better than yesterday morning. She grabbed a toaster pastry from the kitchen cabinet and read her mom’s note. It said Mom would be home at around eight and she loved me. Both good things to know.
Sloan had the pastry hanging out of her mouth, and she was ready to reach for her keys when the doorbell rang. She looked out the little peephole to make sure it wasn’t a serial killer. One couldn’t be too careful. She was proof of that.
It wasn’t a killer that she could see anyway. It was a man from what she could tell. With a baseball cap that said Rhonda’s Gifts.
Apprehensively, Sloan opened the door. The man smiled broadly. “Sloan Bridges?”
“Yes.” Her eyes darted around to see if she could see anything out of the ordinary.
“I have a delivery for you. Rhonda told me to bring them at this time so I wouldn’t miss you before you left for school. I’m glad I made it.” He moved his right arm from around his back and pulled out a vase with three long-stemmed roses. Like the others, they were wrapped with a long black ribbon and tied with a black bow. Unlike the others, these had a bit of glitter in them. The florist’s touch, she assumed.
“I didn’t order those.” She didn’t want them in her house. Not again.
“Come on, hurry up. I have other deliveries to make.”
With shaking hands, she reluctantly reached out and took them.
“Honey, they aren’t going to bite. They are flowers, not knives.”
He had no idea. They were knives to her. “Who sent them?”
The delivery man pulled his clipboard from under his arm. A small white envelope was attached under the clip. “Oh sorry. This goes with it. The letter, that is.” He handed it to her and doubled-checked the clipboard. He looked at her with a confused look then back down to the clipboard. “You… uh… I mean, you don’t know who ordered the flowers?” He raised a brow with a weird expression on his face.
“No. Should I?”
He checked the clipboard a third time. “Maybe that note will tell you what you need to know. Good day, ma’am.” He tipped his head before walking away.
Sloan shut the door and locked it behind her. After laying the flowers down on the table, she opened the card. She carefully pulled out a folded note.
3 days until the Fall, Sloan. Your fall. Don’t call the police. Don’t get them involved. Your mommy won’t like it if you do. This is between you and me. Do you know who I am yet? Because ICU.
XOXO
Sloan’s legs gave way and she fell against the door.
ICU.
What did that mean?
ICU.
I see you.
I see you?
She turned as quickly as she could and looked out the window next to the door. Nothing out of the ordinary. Nothing that screamed, “Scary person staring at you.”
Her first instinct was to call the police. She needed to tell Detective Morgan everything so she could find whoever it was harassing her. But the note let her know that would be a big mistake.
Sloan was afraid for her mom. Scared whoever was harassing her would go after her. It wouldn’t be beyond the realm of possibility. Whoever it was could obviously get in her house. She had no doubt the flowers hadn’t appeared on her nightstand by accident. He’d put them there. He or she…
Truthfully, she had no idea who it was. She had theories. Boyd being the first on her list, but as Detective Morgan had so helpfully told her, Boyd couldn’t walk. Didn’t mean he couldn’t send flowers, though.
Did mean he couldn’t climb the steps to her room.
With her head pounding, Sloan took the flowers and the note up to her room and threw the flowers in the newly emptied trashcan. The note, she folded and stuck in her pocket. She pulled the plastic liner out of the small container and decided to throw it away on the way home from school. She opened her vanity drawer and pulled out the bottle of over–the-counter headache pills. Name brand. Nothing prescription. Just good old-fashioned headache medicine.
She opened the pill bottle and poured some in her hand. She threw two of the white pills in her mouth and followed them with a swig of water. They were just going to have to do. No more oh-so-wonderful pills from Darcy. Yeah, they would be nice, but Aaron was right — as much as she didn’t want to admit it. She didn’t need to get hooked on higher strength pain pills. Might as well nip it in the bud right now.
By the time she made it to the bottom of the steps with the trash bag in her hand, she was starting to feel better. Her headache no longer pounded behind her eyes, and she felt strangely lighter. It was nice. Score one for over-the-counter medicine.