We Are Here by Michael Marshall

with ornamental staircases leading up to a wooden door on either side. I saw cars and trees. I didn’t see any people at all.
    Catherine was moving even faster. Once she reached the corner she’d be two short blocks from her own street. It seemed like she wanted to cover the distance quickly. It looked as if she felt someone was after her.
    But she was wrong.
    There was no one there.
    I followed her the rest of the way home. I even waited for half an hour at the end of the street, standing in shadow. Eventually I walked back to my own home, picking up food on the way.
    I told Kristina what I’d done—I had to, I was so late—and got a big, tight hug for it. I didn’t mention that I thought I’d seen a nondescript individual in Catherine’s orbit in the Westside Market, or that he’d followed her afterward. I said I hadn’t seen anyone, because as far as I could tell, that was true.
    As I lay in bed later, however, listening to Kristina’s breathing and waiting for sleep, I knew that when she glanced back, I’d seen genuine fear in Catherine’s face.
    I realized also that, for the first time, I was not convinced she was wrong to feel that way.

Chapter 7
    The next morning I was up early. Kristina remained in bed, refining her impersonation of someone who’d passed away in the night. An idea struck me as I stood in the kitchen, provoked by the sight of her phone on the counter. I picked it up and went to her incoming log. Catherine’s number was there. I made a note of it and went into the shower to think about the idea.
    When I walked out onto the street half an hour later, I made the call.
    We met at the café on Greenwich Avenue. Catherine looked warily up at me when I entered. All I’d said on the phone was that it would be a good idea if we talked alone.
    “Here’s the thing,” I said, sitting opposite her. “I followed you last night.”
    “You did what ?”
    “I walked the blocks around the bookstore during the reading group and shadowed when you left for home.”
    “Kristina didn’t say—”
    “She had no idea it was happening.”
    “Why did you do it?”
    “You left a message on her phone the night before. A message that freaked her out. Kristina is not easy to freak out.”
    “I called and explained all that.”
    “The following morning.”
    She looked impatient. “I didn’t know what time you went to bed. I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
    “Do recall Kristina’s occupation?”
    “Of course I do. And I don’t like your attitude.”
    “It’s never been popular. So—what does Kris do?”
    Catherine looked flustered. “She … She works in a restaurant. Like you.”
    “She runs a late-night bar.”
    “That’s right. So … Okay, so probably you would have been awake. I get it. I’m sorry. But once I’d worked out no one had been in the house I wanted to forget about it. I didn’t realize it would be a big deal.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “I’m sorry,” she said again, eventually.
    “I didn’t see anyone last night until you went into the Westside Market,” I said. “I’m not sure I saw anything there either. One person caught my eye, though.”
    Catherine’s eyes were watchful. “And?”
    “I saw him a few minutes later, hanging around the entrance to 16th. When you went up it, he followed.”
    “I knew it,” she said dully. “Did you … Did you get a good look at him?”
    “No, but it means I’m inclined to take your fears more seriously, which in turn means I have to ask you the obvious question. Again.”
    “What question?”
    “Who is it?”
    “I don’t know . Like I told you last time.”
    “I remember. I still find it hard to believe. If you think this is the same guy from a decade ago, then it’s not random and you must be able to come up with a name or two if you think hard enough.”
    “I really don’t—”
    “Bullshit,” I said calmly. “In a past life I spent a lot of time in small rooms with people who were not telling the truth.