Curing Erica's Phobia

Erica was on the last leg of her morning run on the Green Lake Trail. One more curve and then she would head across the grass, run in place at the crosswalk until the light changed, jog across the street, probably cutting the corner just a bit, then past a few shop fronts and up the stairs to her second floor flat. Just like every other morning. Then it was shower, granola and bus downtown to work, with a stop at the coffee shop on the main floor, because it was Seattle and there was a rule that you had to drink coffee.

As she passed the bench under her favorite willow tree, she took note of a jogger taking a breather. He looked familiar, probably a regular; maybe even one of those that did the whole circuit. That was more ambition than she had most days. She continued on around the loop, going over her mental calendar for the day; too many meetings, too few hours to get the real work done. Same as usual. She didn't pay attention to the runner coming up behind her. Green Lake was so popular, they had to post signs and paint stripes telling people which part of the path they were allowed to use. But then he spoke from just behind her.

"You shouldn't be so predictable. It's not safe." Her pace faltered and he came up beside her. It was the man from the bench. "Every day, same time, same route. You make it really easy for someone with nasty ideas."

"Like you?" she challenged in her most scathing voice, and lengthened her stride. He easily matched her pace.

"Like anyone."

She fell to a walk and looked around. There were easily a dozen people in shouting distance if not closer. He turned and jogged backward in front of her. "Change it up," he suggested. "Run the other direction, hit the gym some days."

She came to a full stop, hands on hips. "Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"

He continued to jog in place. "I'm a cop. Detective, actually. Just passing on some good advice."

"Well find somebody who gives a damn." She took off across the grass with her longest stride, even though she was winded. He stopped jogging and watched her go. Erica's straight blonde hair was pulled back in a pony tail. It was being whipped one way by the breeze and swung another by the rhythm of her run. She was built tall and lean, with long legs, although today she was wearing her rain-shedding outfit which was far from flattering. Soon she would be wearing her office uniform of button down blouse and pencil skirt. But right now, she was wearing an annoyed frown. She didn't like being interrupted on her morning run. She even wore fluorescent ear buds and her phone in an arm band as an additional cue that she wasn't in the mood to talk to anybody. She just knew that this bad start was going to blow her whole day.

****

The next morning, Erica came down the stairs from her apartment, adjusting her ear buds and looking around for lurking cops. When she reached the street corner, she stretched, waiting for the light to change and eyeing the people that were out bright and early to enjoy the sunshine. In Seattle, you had to take the sun wherever and whenever you could get it. She was wearing shorts and a tank top in celebration. When the light changed, she jogged slowly across the street then down the grassy slope toward the path that circled the lake, warming her muscles. Once she hit the path, she began to speed up. As usual, she passed some joggers and others passed her. About an eighth of a mile in, near a cove frequented by ducks, she always hit her stride and it was as if she was all alone, moving effortlessly, grooving to whichever playlist she had picked that day. Beyonce was singing when she reached her morning nirvana. Beyonce blended into Alicia Keyes. Erica could almost close her eyes and follow her route without looking now. The breeze off the lake smelled slightly of algae, as it always did whenever the sun warmed the water.

After Alicia Keyes, there was an annoying gap before the playlist kicked into her favorite Dido song. It was during that quiet gap that she realized someone was a short way behind her, matching not just her stride, but even her footfalls. She glanced over her shoulder and saw the cop -- alleged cop -- from yesterday. Swearing, she kicked out her stride. Now the music beat was off and she was really pissed, especially when he matched her stride again, hanging back about six feet. She kicked it up again, doing a fair impression of a eight hundred meter athlete, save of course she didn't have eight hundred meters in her at that pace, not even close. When he matched stride again, she had to concede, and slowed until she came to a full stop and was leaning on her knees trying to catch her breath. Naturally, he didn't run on by. Bastard wasn't even breathing hard. She decided she had pegged him right as a full circuit fanatic, probably even multiple circuits. So why the hell was he following a rank amateur like her?

"You okay?" he asked, when she was breathing a little easier.

"Fuck you," she replied. He chuckled. "What the hell do you want from me?"

"Seeing as how you won't keep yourself safe, I figured I'd better hang around. You should keep walking. Don't want to cramp up."

"Which way are you going, so I can go the opposite?"

"Seriously. You need to..."

"I was being serious," she snapped and turned back, her morning run totally ruined. She tried to get back into the rhythm set by her playlist, but it eluded her, plus his footfalls right behind her set her teeth on edge. The full-on run, the erratic pace on the way back and the general overall aggravation colluded to wear her out well short of home and she finally slowed to a walk on the final curve. He, again, didn't have the decency to run on by. He settled into a walk beside her.

"What?" she finally screamed at him. He only looked at her with a cocked eyebrow. "Do I have to get a restraining order to get you to leave me alone?"

"If you're going to be out here every morning putting yourself at risk, I'm going to be here keeping an eye on you."

"Why?" she demanded. "Why do you care?"

"Have you looked in a mirror, lately?"

"What? No, wait. Forget that. I have a boyfriend."

"Really? Where is he?"

"Serbia. Uh, Bosnia. He's a photojournalist. He travels."

"And you're here by yourself. Alone. In danger."

"Jesus. Look around. The park is full of people. I don't go to the back side of the lake. I don't go off the trail. The only one I'm in danger from is you. So just stay the hell away from me." She began backing away from him, across the grass, toward the street. When he started to follow, she raised both hands. "I'll scream," she threatened. "If you really are a cop, you'll be up shit creek."

He smiled, reached into a back pocket and pulled out a set of handcuffs. "I'll just explain that I'm arresting a perp."

"Fucker," she spat.

"My, my. Such a mouth on you. If you were mine, we'd have to work on that, for sure."

"I'm not yours. I'm not anybody's," she snarled, continuing to back away and secretly relieved that he was no longer trying to follow her. He was getting more than a few looks as he stood there holding handcuffs. She finally turned and ran for the street, then dodged traffic to cross against the light, and ran all the way to her apartment.

A short time later, when Erica emerged from the shower, she wiped the mirror and peered at herself. She thought of herself as okay looking, but not exceptional in any way. She generally used minimal makeup, except when her boyfriend, Juan, was around. She took extra steps to look good for him, more makeup, clothes that hugged her body tighter, heels that made her legs look good. The kind of things you did for a boyfriend. The rest of the time, she played down her looks. She didn't want any undue attention; she had a boyfriend, even if he wasn't around a lot. She shook her head in frustration. She just needed to steer clear of the lake until the weirdo found someone else to obsess about.

****

A few nights later, Erica was on Skype with Juan. It was late, she was tired, but it was when it was convenient for him, so she smiled, and chatted, but mostly listened. He was telling her about a local village where he was documenting everyday life. He threw in a smattering of Bosnian words to impress her, which would have been more impressive if she knew what they meant. But she loved hearing about his excitement for the project. What she mostly wanted to hear was when he would be back, knowing he would use a photo lab like at the University to process his work so it could be published. That usually meant about three months home, before the next project. Then he dropped the bombshell. He was going to Paris, would be processing his work there in a state of the art computer lab with a mentor that he idolized. Erica tried hard not to show her disappointment. He suggested that she visit in Paris, and she would have eagerly agreed, but last year, she had met him in Madrid, at great expense, and he hadn't offered to help pay any more than he was now. She left it at that she would try. He didn't seem to be enthused, and she went to bed depressed.

****

The next morning, Erica was sneering at the yoga video, trying to pretzel her body only half-heartedly. There was simply no way that yoga was going to give her that running high. Her half-formed idea about buying a treadmill got shot out of the water with Juan's wanting her to travel to Paris. Likewise it would put a gym membership out of reach. A moment later, when she fell on her butt trying to imitate a stork or crane or whatever, she shut the video off, put on her running shoes and headed for the door, wearing her yoga pants and sports bra. She didn't have time to change if she was going to get a decent run in.

As she trotted across the intersection, she considered following the path to the south, instead of circling the north end of the lake like she usually did. But south followed East Green Lake Way and was fraught with tourists, boaters and pedestrians. She turned to her usual route. She was starting later, she wasn't going to have time to run her full route, so even if her cop friend was out there, he should be happy. Or not. What did she care?

She turned back at the point where she had determined she would still be able to get ready and make her bus. She might have to skip breakfast, but that would give her an excuse to buy a donut with her coffee. Shortly after her turn, she heard someone running behind her, but she had already determined to ignore everything but her running pleasure. If he wanted to follow, fuck him. He wasn't going to spoil another day for her. Except he didn't settle for following.

"Are you actually trying to get raped?" he demanded.

She ignored him.

"Why not just come out here in your bra and panties?" he continued. "I should arrest you for indecent exposure."

"Go watch volleyball. Or soccer. Track. Haven't you ever seen women's sports?" she snapped, refusing to look at him. "You get a hard on seeing my navel, do you? Go beat off and leave me alone."

"That mouth again."

Erica closed her eyes and reminded herself she was ignoring him. When she opened her eyes again, he was running backwards in front of her. She wanted so bad to shove him on his ass, but just in case he really was a cop, she figured that probably wasn't a good idea. She tried to speed up to go around him, but he was annoyingly nimble, cutting her off on each attempt. Unfortunately, too, the path ahead was unusually void of obstacles he might run into. She sighed, tried to focus her eyes on the distance, and reached over to turn up the volume on her phone.

"So when is your boyfriend coming home?"

Her vows went out the window and she glared at him. He couldn't possibly know about her conversation last night, could he? But he laughed. "I hit a sore spot, didn't I? I wouldn't be stupid enough to leave a beautiful woman like you for any longer than absolutely necessary. Let me guess. He's delayed his homecoming how many times? Three? Four?"

Erica broke stride, turning and walking to the bank of the lake, staring out over the calm, early morning water. She yanked her ear buds out and put her hands on her hips. She was breathing hard and not entirely from the run. He stood slightly behind her.

"I told you I was a detective," he said softly.

"You've been spying on me?" she accused.

"Honey, I don't have to..."

"Don't call me that!"

"All right," he agreed after a moment. "I've been trained to read micro-expressions, but you are like an open book. I could see the pain in your eyes when you said you had a boyfriend. Just now, your reaction tells me that I probably underestimated how many times he's put off coming home. In fact, I'd guess he did it again, in just the last week or two. I can see the rawness as if it was a flesh wound." He paused a long moment. "You deserve better."

"You," she scoffed, and realized instantly he would have heard the tiny crack in her voice, betraying the tears she was refusing to shed in his presence. She took off running again, and this time he didn't follow. She ran for some way, before she wiped at her eyes.

****

The next morning, Erica jogged across the intersection then turned south on the sidewalk along East Green Lake Drive. She looked longingly at the park trail, but figured the sidewalk offered the best chance to run without crossing paths with her shadow. It was pretty much as annoying as she feared. Between clumps of people at bus stops and intersections, she could not stay in the rhythm that led to her running high. But neither was it as annoying as being accosted by some jerk who thought he knew everything about her. She was vaguely aware of people looking at her as if she was crazy to be running on the sidewalk with the trail so near at hand. Oh, well. On the way back, when she reached her own block, she slowed to a walk. Facing the park was a long string of small shops. In the middle of that row, stairs rose up to the apartments on the second floor. At the top of the stairs, a hallway the length of the building gave access to apartments at the front and back of the building. She was blessed with an apartment facing the park, although that was also one of the reasons she didn't have extra money for random trips to Europe. As she approached the stairs, she pulled the band holding her pony tail free and slipped it over her wrist, then pulled her phone from the arm band to turn off the music. When she looked back up, he was standing in front of her. Apparently he had been waiting for her on the stairs. She gasped and stumbled to a stop. She also noted that he wasn't dressed for running, wearing jeans and a tee shirt under a light jacket.

"Thank you," he said.

"Okay. We good now? Will you stop stalking me?" she asked, backing up a couple of steps.

"Stalking," he repeated, as if the term puzzled him. "There's a Starbucks down the street. Come have a cup of coffee with me."

"I have to get to work," she said, trying to circle around him. He blocked her way.

"It's Saturday."

"I have somewhere to be," she tried again.

"You know, you're really bad at lying." He held an arm out, pointing. "It's that way."

"I live here. I know where the fucking Starbucks is." He frowned at her, but simply kept blocking the way to her stairs. "I don't have any money on me," she tried one last time.

"My invitation, my dime."

Erica sighed in exasperation and turned back to head for the Starbucks. At least she knew it would be full of people, even early on a Saturday. "I don't even know your name," she pointed out, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her windbreaker.

"Eric," he replied.

"No, it's not," she claimed with a shake of her head.

"Yes, actually, it is." He smiled over at her. Erica rolled her eyes, walking the rest of the way in silence.

At the Starbucks, she ordered a venti Mocha, since he was paying, to his tall Americano. He led her to a corner table. She removed the cap from her drink, dipped the straw into the whip cream and sucked it clean. Eric watched every motion she made, saying nothing. When she finally looked up at him from swirling designs in the melting whipped cream, he was watching her so intently, she had to put the straw back in her coffee and put her hands in her lap to hide their shaking.

"So why are we here?" she asked, avoiding his intense gaze.

"To talk."

"You have a peculiar way of getting around to that," she risked a glance at him; he was watching her over the rim of his coffee now. She laced the fingers of both hands about her cup and sipped through the straw. "So you haven't asked my name. I assume you know it, being a detective, and all."

"Yes, I do." He fell silent again and she was beginning to feel exasperated with the non-conversation.

"How about you show me your badge?"

He put his coffee down with a faint smile. "Good girl," he congratulated her as he reached into a back pocket. She rolled her eyes again. He laid his badge case down on the table in front of her.

She opened the case, and studied the ID, returning her shaking hand to her lap. Sure enough, his name was Eric and he was a detective; first class, whatever that meant. She memorized the badge number before pushing it back toward him.

"So, am I under arrest?" she said in an attempt at a joke.

She expected him to laugh, and when he didn't, her gut twisted in a knot. "There's something you need to know," he said, returning the badge case to his pocket. He reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He pushed it across the table to her. She didn't want to touch it. "What is it?"

Read it," he commanded, and just like that she was unfolding the paper. It turned out to be three sheets. At the top was the green ink and seal of official Washington State documents. And it was about Juan. She read through the document, then read the first page again. Then she carefully folded it all up again and laid her hands on it as if to prevent it from unfolding of its own volition. She didn't care anymore if he saw that her hands were shaking.

"I don't understand," she whispered.

"Yes you do," he said, pulling the paper back from her and hiding it away in his jacket again. "It's a background check. You've seen those where you work. You know how to read them." It was true. In her capacity in the HR department, there were some employees she had to run checks on. She straightened.

"You could get in trouble for showing me that," she pointed out.

"Yes. I could," he agreed.

"It doesn't mean anything. It just says there's an arrest warrant out."

"It means he's not coming back, Erica."

Like a light turning on, she suddenly made a connection. "So you've been following me around because... because you think I was involved. Is there an arrest warrant out for me? Is that why you're here?"

"We had to be sure..."

"Oh, God! You can't possibly think I..." She gestured wildly, threatening her coffee cup.

He grabbed her hands. "Listen to me! We cleared you some time ago. It was obvious you didn't know what he was doing."

"Then why?" she exclaimed, desperately trying to free her hands from his grip.

"Because I can't get you out of my mind. We did follow you. We did subpoena cell phone records, other things. We couldn't let you know, at the time; let you disappear like he did. But once you were cleared... You've haunted me ever since."

She shook her head, finally pulling her hands away from him. "I have to go. I have to..." Then she was scrambling for the door, one hand over her mouth. Half a block away, she stumbled to a stop and threw up at the curb, just somewhat relieved that the only thing in her stomach was what little she had drunk of the coffee.

****

There was a knocking on her door that gradually became a pounding. Erica ignored it. She was lying on her bed, still wearing her windbreaker and jogging shorts from that morning, staring at the wall. She hadn't moved since that morning, didn't really remember getting back home. She knew she should be thinking, planning on how to move forward with her life. But all she could think about was the past. How had she not known what Juan was doing? Wasn't her willful ignorance abetting his crimes? Her cell phone was lying on the bed somewhere with her, and she was vaguely aware of the two-toned announcement of a new email. She couldn't bear to look, to see if it was from him. How would she answer, how could she possibly Skype with him ever again? She wanted to cease to exist, if just for a while.