Like, Follow, Kill

Hannah: I love you, Milly. I miss you so much I can’t breathe. Please come back to me.

When I closed my eyes this time, I was falling … floating back to our farm house on Credence Drive. Hannah and I hiding in our bedroom closet …

Don’t move, she had whispered. He’s in the bedroom now. I opened my mouth in horror, and like a little bird, a frightened chirp slipped out. Suddenly, her hands were wrapped around my face, covering my mouth and nose … tight, so tight … I can’t breathe! The harder I fought, the firmer her clamp became. I tried to scream but couldn’t. Shhh … just a few more minutes, she had promised.

My mother died of cancer before I was old enough to know her. My father coped with her loss by drinking. And he wasn’t a funny drunk or a clumsy drunk … he was mean. Hannah and I would hide in the closet, or wherever we could, until he finished one of his rampages.

There’s not a horror movie in the world that could make my heart race the way Dad could …

I shook that memory away and opened my eyes. My phone chimed again. A notification this time: Valerie had made a new post!

I lit another cigarette, pushing aside thoughts of my sister, ignoring the sharp burn in my chest, and opened my Instagram app.

I was disappointed to find that she hadn’t posted a new video or picture of herself. It was simply a faded blue image with a quote, like the bored-as-fuck ones I saw on my Facebook feed daily.

My eyes scanned the words … they were familiar, but where had I seen them before—a book, or a movie, maybe? I typed the first sentence of the quote into Google and instantly, results for that old Beatles song, Eleanor Rigby, popped up.

It was a song about lonely people, like me. A woman who died in a church, all alone. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember the rest of the song, beyond the first verse.

Pulling up YouTube, I found the song within seconds and clicked play.

Before I could change my mind, I was typing out another message to Valerie.

Me: I haven’t heard this song in years. It’s so haunting, so beautiful … hope you’re feeling better today.

Usually, it took Valerie hours—sometimes, days—to respond. But she immediately wrote back, sending a slither of pleasure right through me.

Valerie: Me too. It always helps me sleep.

Eyes closed, I leaned my head back in the lawn chair, letting that haunting old song consume me, all the while imagining Valerie, sick and alone in her hotel room a few hundred miles away, doing the exact same thing.

Paul McCartney’s timeless voice … was it Paul or John, John or Paul …? No matter—their words lulled me back to sleep like a pill …

***

The next day, my face was sporting a sun burn—I’d made the mistake of falling asleep out on the back porch, and I’d slept through the early morning sunrise and into the afternoon.

The red, raw shine to my cheeks made me feel almost normal—it had been a long time since I’d felt the sun, since my face had a sheen of color to it. Hannah and I had used to go to the beach every summer with our dad … oh, how we blistered in the sun while he got hammered at the beach bar all day. For some reason, we enjoyed the habit of peeling burnt skin off each other’s shoulders and noses.

I finished a bowl of Fruity Pebbles and drank a glass of orange juice, thoughts funneling back to my sister’s late-night texts …

I need to call her today. Set things straight with her once and for all.

Because she was right—she was all I had left in this world. I needed to focus on her, and getting my life back in order, not chasing old ghosts from high school … not reliving that horrendous night with Chris. It was lonely here—and like that girl in the church all alone, I didn’t want to die in this apartment. If I did, how long would it take for someone to find me … days, weeks, months? Hannah probably won’t be back for a while, after how I treated her yesterday …

But some habits die hard—by one o’clock, I found myself back in my usual computer chair, eagerly scoping out Valerie’s page for updates. I wanted to send more messages, but I refrained. I couldn’t make myself look too desperate.

I’d missed a video she’d posted at 4am. While I was sleeping to the tune of Eleanor Rigby, Valerie had made another update. I clicked on her video, trying to force myself not to care …

Like me, Valerie was sitting at a desk. Albeit, a clean one. It looked generic with nothing on its surface; she was obviously still in her hotel room. Behind her, I could see the silhouette of a queen-sized bed in the dark. Blankets and sheets crumpled up like blobby white ghosts.

Billowy white curtains blew behind her, too … the room was dark, shadows dancing across the walls … Valerie’s face, pale and ghoulish, stared back at me through the screen.

She must still be feeling sick.

Her expression was grim, a tightness to her cheeks and eyes I’d never seen before. I’d never seen her look so … unfiltered.

“I don’t know if it’s this stomach bug, or what … I could be losing my mind. I went out for dinner and a movie by myself tonight, and once again, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being followed. I don’t talk much about my personal life here, but mental illness does run in my family … anyways, pray for me, will ya? I mean, if that’s your thing … okay? I have a flight to catch in the morning and I need to get my head on straight before I head out.”

A shadow shifted in the room behind her, giving my stomach a jolt. There was something moving behind the curtains in the background!

What the hell is that?

Valerie kept on talking, oblivious, but I could no longer hear the words … my eyes were glued to the spot where the shadow had been.

She’d left the window open …

“I’ll check in tomorrow once I land in Louisiana. Good night, world.”

And just like that, the shadow moved. For a brief second, I caught a clear glimpse of a man’s face peeking out from between the curtains. My heart fluttered in my chest. He was looking through her hotel window!

“Behind you …” I breathed, a chill running from the top of my scalp down to my toes. But then the video came to an end. I stared at the blank, dark screen, a rattle of fear in my bones.

The video wasn’t live. She posted this eight hours ago, I realized in horror.

And a quick scan through her pages revealed that she hadn’t posted anything else since.

Did I really see what I thought I saw, or am I losing my mind just like Valerie thought she was losing hers?

I re-played the video again and again, slowing it down as much as I possibly could. There was no doubt in my mind—a man was looking in at Valerie while she had her back turned to the window. It was too clear not to be real. Not a trick of the shadows … or my mind, for that matter.

And although his face was dark and a little fuzzy, there was something familiar about it too …

The man in the window looks like Chris.

A knock of fear jerked me out of my seat. I stood up, pacing back and forth in front of the computer. This wasn’t the first time I’d seen the Chris-lookalike either. It’s impossible—I know it’s not Chris. But damn, he does look a whole lot like him. It’s unsettling.

I’d noticed him in another one of Valerie’s posts … but which one?

The reason the man stood out to me the first time was because he did sort of look like Chris, although, rationally, I knew it wasn’t him.

I sat back down, clicking through her old photos and posts … thousands and thousands of photos! Too many …

But then, a few minutes later, I found exactly what I’d been looking for …

There!

It was an old post, from before I’d started following her every move … but I’d scrolled through these old photos so many times …