Free Recalled by Cambria Hebert

I wanted. So I followed and I watched.
     
    It was interesting to me that she figured out she was being followed. This girl was no pushover. She seemed to be aware of things that no one else would be… even when she appeared deep in thought.
     
    I watched her when her shoulders stiffened slightly, when she scanned the parking lot and then stopped to look over her shoulder. At first I was worried she’d made me. But she kept looking where the other guy was; she seemed to catch on to his quick movements. Clearly, sneaking up on this girl wasn’t an option.
     
    I followed her and the girl she spoke to, the weight of the gun reminding me of my job the entire time, all the way to the building with the double glass doors until they went inside. Then, because I couldn’t help myself, I walked as close to the doors as I could and peered inside.
     
    I saw the stalker peek out from behind that oversized blanket. I saw her see him. I wanted to laugh when she went after him, instead of running. I watched her tear back the blanket, saw her arm shoot out, and could imagine her spinning him around and demanding an explanation.
     
    Better him than me, I’d thought.
     
    Except then she came back out with this weird look on her face. It looked a lot like disbelief. And then her friend was leading her away, up the stairs, like she was a psych patient that needed care. I watched the blanket; I waited for the stalker to reveal himself.
     
    But he never did.
     
    It’s like he hadn’t been there at all.
     
    Yet I saw him.
     
    So had Piper.
     
    My hands were shaking uncontrollably at that point. I felt like I was going to barf all over the sidewalk, yet there was this urgency inside me that seemed to push me… but I had no idea where it wanted me to go.
     
    So I got out of there.
     
    I had to.
     
    And now here I was, sitting in my car with the butt of a gun digging into my back.
     
    Did someone else want Piper dead?
     
    I yanked the gun out of my waistband and stared down at it in my hands. There would be no shooting today. Something else was going on here and I wanted to know what it was. I leaned forward and opened up the glove compartment and tossed the gun inside. I was glad to get it away from me. Maybe shooting her wasn’t the way to go. Even still, I would keep it. Just in case.
     
    As I leaned back into my seat, something caught my eye. Something red. I ducked down, thinking maybe they’d seen me after all and her friend in the red coat was coming after me. But after long minutes of no one appearing beside my car, I rose, peeking over the dashboard to look across the parking lot.
     
    He was there. Walking among everyone else. But he was different.
     
    Why did no one notice? Why did no one turn to stare?
     
    The guy was completely surrounded in red, almost as if the very air around his body had been stained with the bright color.
     
    He had his hands stuffed into a black coat, a hat on his head, and his chin tucked into his chest. I guess he looked pretty ordinary, if you didn’t count the flaming ring of color. I watched him for long moments; I watched the people around him. He didn’t speak to anyone and no one spoke to him. No one paid him any attention at all. It was like he was just another student hurrying to class. I blinked my eyes, thinking they were playing tricks on me. But no matter how hard I blinked, the red was still there.
     
    I watched him until he was completely out of sight, and then I noticed my hands were still shaking and I still felt sick. I swallowed, turning on the car, and with one last glimpse where the man had been, I pulled away. I drove slowly, staring at everyone through the windshield, watching for someone or something else bathed in red. But everything looked normal. When I turned out of the parking lot and onto the main road, the cramping in my stomach loosened and my shaking hands began to steady.
     
    What was wrong with me? Was I going crazy? Or could the nagging feeling, my