Rating: G

So on this bright, dry Sunday, I took a stroll along the waterfront to an art and craft fair to see if I could find any knick-knacks for my home. I'd only brought what I could carry with me on the bus to Cascade; I felt like I needed something to make the place my own.

It was pleasant, just browsing, asking about the odd piece, wondering if I could afford it and if it would suit what I wanted to do with my apartment. As I had little spare space, I couldn't go with anything too overwhelming. The air was fresh but mixed in was the smell of home-baked candy and pies, making my mouth water.

Then I saw him and my blood ran cold. All thoughts of spring and fresh starts bled away.

At first I thought I had to be mistaken. No way could that man be alive, let alone here in Cascade! The last time I'd seen him he walked into an empty shop just before the place erupted in flames. No way could he have survived that explosion, just no way!

Yet, as I dodged around the candy-stripped fabric covering the stalls, trying for a better view, I had to admit, he looked just like him, unless he had a twin.

As if he felt my stare, he glanced across and our eyes locked. His eyes seemed so full of cold menace that I stumbled and nearly fell against a stall. Hands reached out to steady me and my gaze slipped away. When I looked up again, he was gone.

I thanked those around me, declining their offers of assistance, and started to walk away, my mind in turmoil.

I was positive it was the same person I'd seen blown up a year ago. You don't forget something like that. He'd moved into the apartment next to mine a couple of weeks before the explosion. The police told me later that he'd double-crossed some 'friends' and they must have decided it was pay-back time.

I remembered seeing some suspicious characters hanging around outside our block soon after he'd moved in, and the day of the explosion, someone had ransacked his apartment, but no one was ever charged with the blast, no one arrested over the murder.

But now, I thought, what if it had all been a ploy? What if he'd staged the bomb blast to put off his buddies? I'd seen such things on TV. Maybe he'd rigged it somehow so he could escape. In which case he'd want to remain dead, not be recognized by a witness.

I nearly tripped over my feet as I suddenly realized he could come after me.

I didn't want to be involved. I had a new life, a new start. For weeks I'd been scared in case his friends thought I had something to do with him. I'd chatted to him in the street a few times; tried to make conversation, draw him out a little. I must have been seen talking to him. And the day he'd died, or appeared to die, I'd been in the street, just coming out of work to grab a bite to eat. I saw him walk into the shop just before it exploded.

He didn't look dangerous or sinister. In fact he looked fairly average. I probably wouldn't have paid him any attention if he hadn't moved in next door. Of course, since the blast, I couldn't get his face out of my mind. Then there was that phone call. No talking, no sounds at all in fact, not even heavy breathing...

I asked if I could have a policewoman stay with me, but I was told there were limited resources available and if I didn't have any actual proof of a threat that I was in danger, then they couldn't do anything.

That was one reason I'd left the town I'd grown up in, to get away from the ever-present fear. And now it had followed me to Cascade.

What if... what if he were following me?

The police station was one block away from my home and that was where I headed. If he was following me, maybe that would warn him off. Besides which I wanted to know if anyone else had had doubts about his death. The police hadn't said anything before, but maybe someone had raised doubts since then?

I asked at the front desk to talk to a detective in Homicide or Major Crimes. The sergeant asked my name and why I wanted to see a detective. I gave him the barest outline of my story. At first I thought he wouldn't let me through to see someone. Maybe I sounded paranoid or something. He tried to dissuade me, suggesting that I should speak to a junior officer, but I stood my ground. I didn't want to be fobbed off. He said it would be a while before someone could see me. I said I'd wait and I sat on the padded bench opposite the desk.

There must have been a shift change coming up as the main entrance suddenly seemed to get very busy with people arriving, some in uniform, some in street clothes. As a group of women passed by me, chatting away, I ducked in with them and, as they were buzzed through the electronic door, I slipped through.

Feeling as if someone would catch me at any moment, I chose to walk up the stairs and found myself outside the doorway of Major Crimes.

I was right about the shift change; here it was as busy as the main entrance, with officers filling in the relief shift about on-going cases. I tried to get someone's attention, but everyone seemed busy and I moved from desk to desk feeling invisible.

Finally, a man approached me. He was handsome with a strong, square jaw and warm blue eyes and when he smiled I felt reassured. I checked to see that he was wearing a badge and allowed him to steer me to a chair. He sat opposite me, but at an angle so that the desk wasn't between us. I must have started babbling because he patted my hand, gently, and told me to take a breath and start over at the beginning.

I took a moment to compose myself, and to admire the way his t-shirt fitted so snugly over his chest, and the absence of a ring on his finger, then I began all over again.

He wrote everything down in longhand, stopping every so often to clarify some detail.

"I know it sounds as if I'm paranoid or neurotic or something, but..."

He smiled at me again. It really was a kind smile. "Let me check out the police reports. If there was no doubt this man did indeed die in the explosion, then maybe you saw his double or were just mistaken. On the other hand, if there were any anomalies.... One step at a time, okay?"

I nodded, relieved that someone was, at last, taking me seriously and took a moment to look around the room, and then I noticed it had grown dark outside. My thoughts of being followed suddenly returned, bringing with it my fears. To my surprise, the detective seemed to read my mind.

"Look," he said, "it's getting dark. I won't be able to talk to the detectives handling your case until tomorrow." He glanced down at his notes. "Your apartment's close by, why don't I walk you back and I can start phoning around in the morning?"

I readily agreed and he asked me to wait while he made one quick call and grabbed his coat.

As we walked along the street, I was aware of him matching his pace to mine. He was making small talk, asking about my job and if I liked Cascade. Usually I'm the one asking questions and it felt good to have someone wanting to know about me, so much so that I felt disappointed when we arrived at my building. I decided on the spur of the minute to ask him in. He hesitated, but then agreed.

My apartment was on the second floor and I chatted inanely all the way up the stairs, feeling that I had to fill any dreaded awkward silences.

Once through my front door, I turned on the lights and went straight to the stove, asking if he'd like some coffee, explaining that he was my first guest and apologizing for the mess -- not that there was much to mess.

I must have sounded desperate for company and maybe it put him off. He declined, saying that it was his roommate's turn to cook dinner and if he didn't get home in time, his buddy would cook something strange and very healthy! I laughed, all the time wondering if his buddy was male and if 'buddy' was a euphemism for 'boyfriend'. It would be just my luck if such a handsome man were gay!

He left, promising to check out my story in the morning.

The apartment seemed all the more empty and lonely without his presence and I told myself I really must get out more! I sighed and decided to fix myself something in the microwave...

I must have been very tired or something because I really don't remember much else until I realized it was daylight and police were swarming over my apartment. I couldn't understand how they got in without disturbing me. I wanted to ask what was going on, but the words just wouldn't form.

The tall detective was there, kneeling over something and blocking my view. A curly-haired man was standing beside him, one hand on his shoulder. This man grimaced and turned his head away. The detective stood, an expression of sadness on his face, and I got to see what he was examining.

There was a dead body in my home; its glazed and fixed eyes unseeing in its mask of frozen terror. Its brown hair lay like a halo around its head. A brown-red splotch had spread over its fluffy pink jumper.