Table Of Content

Strangers Candace Adams Copyright ©2020 Monreaux Publications Atlanta, GA. All Rights Reserved This is a work of fiction. Any unauthorized reprint or use of the material is prohibited. This is an original work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and/or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is purely coincidental. Table Of Contents Acknowledgements Synopsis Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Epilogue Acknowledgements I would like to sincerely thank Monreaux Publications for taking a chance on me. Author CJ Bower, you are fantastic and if it wasn’t for you, I don’t know if I would have finished this book on time. It also wouldn’t be nearly as good as it is. To my husband, Marcus. Thank you for always being there for me, and not in a creepy, “Jack Harvey,” way. I love you forever sweetheart. A very big thank you to my readers. None of this would be possible without you. Keep reading! Candace Adams Synopsis Eleanor and Jack Harvey just celebrated their 25th anniversary. On what should have been a perfect night, Eleanor receives a message from a voice from her past. Over the course of a few months, the mysterious stranger ups his game to a deadly obsession and their happy life together takes a heinous turn for the worse. Stalked, followed, threatened, tormented, Eleanor's life spirals out of control while her elusive stalker gets closer and closer. He seems to know her only too well and is always one step ahead. Will Eleanor uncover the truth behind this obsessive stranger before it is too late? Or is he really much closer than she thinks? Prologue I still visit my mother's grave on her birthday every year. She’s been gone for twelve years, but the events that led to her death have never left me. Seeing that cold, black headstone in the middle of the cemetery where other members of my family who have passed lay always sends a shiver down my spine. The place is ancient, with graves dating back to the 1800's. My mother's shiny, black granite monument seems wildly out of place among the decayed plots that have become more and more neglected each time I've visited. Long blades of grass, heavy with dew, brushed across the tops of my sneakers. Little seed pods got stuck in my laces, and the bottom length of my jeans was wet to mid-calf. There was a swooshing noise from my feet pushing through the unkempt path. "Come on, son. Keep up." The eight-year-old trailed behind me, avoiding puddles. The wetness and the prolific mosquitoes coming from the nearby swamp were just a passing irritation. He smacked his neck and looked at his palm expectantly. The vampiric insect corpse became another stain on the boy's pants, rubbed absentmindedly against the denim material. "Why does this place have so many bugs?" he asked. “Because it’s wet, and mosquitos like the water.” The boy tripped over his untied laces. His arms shot out in front of him to brace his fall. He got back up quickly, and jogged to catch up with my longer stride. More stains on his khaki pants; keeping an eight-year-old boy clean was impossible. His mother would be irritated if she saw the grass stains on his knees. She often reprimanded me for letting him ruin his clothes, but I didn’t see what the problem was. He was only eight, so I thought he would likely outgrow them as fast as he wrecked them. “When Momma took me to see Pawpaw Jim, we walked down paths. There wasn't no long wet grass there, Daddy.” “You should say, ‘there wasn’t any.’ Don’t say, ‘there wasn’t no,’ because it’s improper. You know your momma wouldn’t like to hear you talk like that.” “Okay, Dad.” “This cemetery has been here for a long time. Some of the first people who came to America were buried here, even though there aren’t any headstones left. Pawpaw Jim's grave is in a new cemetery, which are more like city parks than graveyards.” I pointed to an area ahead of us. “Your grandmother is just up here.” “Why did grandma want to sleep here and not in the nice place?” “What did we talk about on the way here?” “I know, Daddy.” My boy sighed. “Grandma isn’t sleeping. She went home to the angels. Her shell is here, but her soul is gone. But Daddy, I don’t understand why we have to come here if Grandma isn’t even here. I don’t like it here.” I put my arm around his thin shoulders and pulled him in close to my body. “I know, son. But it’s respectful to visit the dead. Plus, today is Grandmother’s birthday. You wouldn’t want to be forgotten on your birthday, would you?” His big blue eyes grew wide. “I didn’t think so.” I smiled at him, pulling him to a stop before my mother’s marker. He traced the letters etched on the stone with his tiny fingers. “Does she know we’re here?” he asked in a somber tone. I brushed the sandy-blonde hair, so like my own, out of his face. “I like to think so. There’s no way of knowing for sure though. Some questions can’t be answered.” My mother always loved big, orange, tiger lilies. Before we headed out for our visit, I called every florist in Boston to find them for her. I laid the bouquet on top of her stone. A single petal broke free and drifted slowly to the ground and settled on the tall grass and fallen leaves. “Can you read the stone to me?” I gave my son an encouraging look. “I’m not stupid, Daddy. I read better than all the other kids in my class. Ms. Emily told me so.” I smiled at him proudly. “Read it then. Out loud, please.” He cleared his throat, “Here lies Eleanor Harvey. Faithful wife of Jackson Harvey. Beloved mother of Greyson and Allura. A life cut short will not overshadow a life well-lived,” he looked puzzled. “What does that mean, Daddy?” “It means she was taken from us before her time. But the time she did have with us was very happy.” “Oh.” He stared at the stone intently, furrowing his little brow the way I’m apt to do. “You look like you’re thinking really hard. What’s on your mind?” “What does ‘taken before her time,’ mean?” I debated if he was old enough for me to explain this in earnest, or if the answer needed to be sugar coated in a childish way that he could understand. My mother was always of the mindset that children should always be spoken to honestly. She didn’t believe it did them any good to water down the truth. “It means that she wasn’t allowed to live her life to completion. A bad man took her life away from her. He broke her body so she could no longer keep her soul inside of it, so her soul went to heaven.” His little fingers slid into my hand. “Daddy, you’re crying. Are you okay?” He looked concerned; his little eyes filled with tears of his own. In his eight years, I don’t believe he ever saw me cry. I wiped my eyes on the back of my hand and smiled down at him. “I’m okay, buddy. It just makes me sad. Do you know how sad you would be if you could never see your mommy again?” My son nodded. “Well, your grandmother is my mommy, and I miss her very much.” Understanding washed across his face. “I hope my mommy never goes to heaven. I hope she always stays with me.” “We all go to heaven someday. Nobody lives forever, son.” “That’s not fair. I don’t want to go in the ground.” I smiled, wondering at his innocence. He’d never seen tragedy before, and I was grateful for that. It saddened me that he would never have the opportunity to meet his grandmother. He would’ve loved her, and she would’ve adored him. She was only a story to him now, not a real person. It’s hard to grasp these things when you’re his age. “Happy birthday, Mom.” I kissed the tips of my fingers and pressed them to the unyielding stone. “This is your grandson, Luke. He is eight years old. He has the same color eyes as you and gets the same wild ideas that always lead to loads of fun. I’m sorry you haven’t gotten to enjoy watching him grow. Anyways, you would have been fifty-five today. You’re such an old lady!” I paused, swallowing back the lump suddenly clogging my throat. Luke watched me with rapt fascination. “Do you want to say anything to her?” I asked him. Luke got down on his knees and put his butt on his heels. He brought his face and inch or so away from the headstone to speak. “Hello, Grandma. You don’t know me, but I’m your grandson. I’m sorry we didn’t bring you any chocolate cake. I always get a chocolate cake for my birthday.” He scrunched his eyebrows together and looked up at me. “Daddy, do they have chocolate cake in heaven?” I chuckled, wiping away a stray tear. “All you can eat, son. And it never gives you a tummy ache either.” “I changed my mind. I hope mommy goes to heaven. She loves chocolate cake more than anything.” I tousled his hair approvingly. “She sure does. How about we stop and get some cake on our way home. We can all have a slice in memory of your grandmother. Sound like a good plan?” He jumped in the air in the carefree way a small child does. All the questions about death and where we go when we die were forgotten at the prospect of a sugary treat. “Yay! Cake!” He took off sprinting back the way we came. His shoes made squishing noises as they slapped the wet mud and brush. I would have to remember to call the caretaker of the property and complain about how dilapidated it was becoming. Not that they would do anything. This place was pretty much abandoned since it filled and they stopped doing funerals. They preferred to spend their time and money on sites people were still investing their money. “Don’t run, Luke.” I yelled after the boy. “Wait for me by the car,” The squishing noise slowed. “Yes, Daddy.” I knelt down and placed my hand on the cold stone. “I love you, Mom. Happy Birthday.” The only response I received was a cold wind that suddenly whipped up, blowing me back. It knocked the flowers off the top of the stone, scattering them above where her body lay deep below. I pulled them back together and placed them on top of her in a pretty bundle. “I’ll see you again next year. I promise.” “Are you coming, Daddy?” Luke called from beside the car. I took one last look at her stone before I pulled myself up and headed towards his voice. “Yup, on my way.” Luke blissfully bantered away as we left the cemetery and pulled out onto the main road. I lost track of his words, lost in my own mind. I never brought anyone with me here before, except for my wife. I felt like Luke was reaching the age where he could begin to understand the importance of visiting our family members who passed on, so I decided to bring him along. “Dad, are you even listening to me?” “What?” I asked, snapping back to reality. He frowned at me and stuck out his lower lip, bunching up his blonde eyebrows. “You’re acting weird.” “Sorry, bud. Visiting Grandma always makes me a little sad.” “I asked how come Aunt Allura didn’t come for Grandma’s birthday.” Allura hadn’t been back to Mother's grave since the day we buried her. I understood why, though. We almost had to commit her after Mom passed because she couldn’t handle the trauma. She still sees a psychiatrist once a month to work through the scars that it left on her. I couldn’t protect my sister any more than I could have protected my mom. “Aunt Allura celebrates Grandma’s birthday in her own way.” I pulled into a parking space in front of Confectioners Delight. Our conversation was forgotten when Luke looked up and saw the pastries and cookies on display in the window. “Race you!” He slammed the car door, running as fast as his legs would move. “Slow down, Luke. You’ll fall.” Somehow, life became normal. I’m happily married, my family is the best I could ever ask for. Every day that passes makes the events of the past seem a little further away. They become a little hazier, more like a bad dream than the living hell it was.