CHAPTER FOUR
Stalking
The morning hadn't been a total waste, at least not for someone who never actually does anything. Zale saw the woman walking into a building before getting lost in some grand delusion his own brain invented. At least he acquired the knowledge of her work place, meaning he's achieved more this morning than in the past two weeks combined. He tries to convince himself there's nothing wrong or creepy about stalking a supposed angel; how can a mere mortal resist? The pounding rays of the day combined with his rigors of spying fatigued every inch of his body. He climbs over the middle console of his station wagon into the back of his car, where the seats are perpetually down, and covers the windows with some blankets, a failing protection from the the various police and attendants who keep interrupting his vital sleep. Why can't they just give him parking tickets he'll never pay? His head falls for the pillow.
Images of the west tentatively start to assemble. Before his mind can form anything substantial the glowing woman jumps back into his mind's eye; the sight startles him and his head smashes into the side of his car. His eyes rip open, breaking the fragile barrier into reality. As he rolls over the weight of his moving body tears his favorite black shirt, he must have caught it in the car door when he fell asleep. He mourns his shirt, but only momentarily, as a more pressing concern grabs his short attention. An evil pounding noise keeps repeating on his fragile car.
"What's goin' on?" Zale says.
"Get out of the car, sir," an ominous voice from the outside beckons. He slowly rolls to his back, trying not to damage his clothing any further. He lies still, hoping the problem will just leave. He puts his hands on his head and tries to rub the sleep from his eyes. The pounding won't stop and the man yells again. He realizes getting out of the car is his best choice but wishes playing dead like a opossum would make the man leave him be. He cautiously opens the car's trunk door, and squints against the obvious evil awaiting him.
"What are you doing in there sir?" says the menacing cop, chest protruding in the sunlight. As Zale's eyes finally manage to work, a giant belly covered with a police uniform materializes. An oversized flashlight rests in the officer's gloved hands.
"What's the problem officer?" Zale asks. He looks at the officer with a completely blank stare, still wishing he was dreaming.
"You can't sleep here, especially not during the day. You're making people nervous, got more than one call about you already," the officer informs him. Zale nods, barely acknowledging his presence. Zale closes his trunk door and jumps into the driver's seat, preparing for a smooth exit. The officer seems unsatisfied with the encounter and slams the hood of Zale's car with more than enough force to dimple the hood, and almost enough force to get Zale to pay attention.
"Show a little respect!"
"Will do, sorry," Zale mumbles and scoots the wagon forward just enough to scare the officer off his car and clear his path. But the officer doesn't budge in the face of the couple thousand pound vehicle. The two stare each other down for the better part of a minute, eventually the cop relents his foothold a few inches. Zale peels away instantly, signaling his surrender in their short game of chicken. As Zale speeds away he wonders if normal folks are forced to deal with these types of avoidable scenarios almost daily, maybe he should give up his abnormal lifestyle, join the ranks of the working class world, and give in to the constant pressures of society. What would he do in the realm of society? Could he be a productive member of the world? Nothing feasible comes to mind, even after sitting through three red lights. No, he might as well keep giving this life a shot, despite its minuscule success and joy. He makes up his mind here and now, he must finish his latest book, continue life in his car, and see that damned glowing woman again. He can't remember the last time he had such a feeling of instant conviction, a time when he so convincingly felt in control over his fear of failure.
Nothing lasts forever unfortunately and his conviction promptly takes a back seat to the afternoon traffic as it wiggles along at a centipede's pace. With every inch he gains a hundred pedestrians fly past. He feels like he's been staring at the same white-washed brick building on the left for a small eternity. The need for an afternoon beer is becoming irresistible.
This speed, or lack thereof, lets his thoughts drift off to the reasons why he came here, why he left his cozy life. Such thinking is dangerous, but he indulges regardless. Everything seemed so easy in his little home by the beach: the words flew from his fingers, family had his back, and nothing troubled him more than the decision of what to eat every day. But then the dreams went black and a void of nothingness followed his rash of creativity, just as he was able to quit his day job, his ideas went to mush. He tried everything from abstinence to mind-expanding drugs but nothing even budged his mind into inspiration. A total change of lifestyle and surroundings seemed a last resort, which worked, in a sense. The dreams have returned, to his relief, but the current pressure he's receiving from all sides is coming close to making none of it worthwhile. At least, at his old house, if everything else was failing he could still go surfing in the afternoon and lie around without being hassled; he can barely take a nap in this city. Still, the dreams are the only way for him to get anything done and they just weren't happening there. He's always felt the desert's hot call, so this seemed the only logical place to go. This spiritual journey to restore him has only been halfway successful.
"Move up!" some unknown female voice from the car behind him screams. He quickly fills the diminutive gap to the car in front of him. The car somehow moves less with each passing second, soon he fears he may have to start reversing. All this traffic makes the sometimes present temptation to rip out his own brain all the more appealing. He tries to see the good side of things. He knows where the glowing woman works and he plans on that dilemma being finished soon, one way or the other.
The traffic eventually relents to the passage of time, and he pulls into a little corner store, right near his favorite spot to sleep. He crosses the empty parking lot and his shoes nearly melt off due to the roasting asphalt. Once in the rundown store he heads right for the sunglass rack, making his way past useless knickknacks, all overpriced for their 'convenience'. It's not the best neighborhood, and a hairy preoccupied cashier rests safely behind thick bulletproof glass yelling at someone on the phone in a language Zale can't understand. Like a fifteen year old girl he tries on almost every one of the cheap pairs of sunglasses and checks his reflection in the small mirror for all of them. After grabbing a pair that he thinks makes himself look dashing he remembers to buy booze on the way. He decides to hatch the first part of his multi-tiered plan to meet the glowing woman tonight since he can't shake the urge to see her again. Besides, tonight seems as good as any to find out where she lives. On his short walk through to the refrigerators a piece of ceiling hitting his head only worsens his fears that the whole place might collapse on him at any second. The building's tenants have long ago let the termites and rats infesting the place make it their permanent home. He opens the door to the fridge with the alcohol and is severely disappointed by the warmth blasting his already sweating face. His new aviator sunglasses don't even fog.
With drink in hand he walks to the counter and suffers incredible luck. A blinding ball of light, which has to be his angel, walks right through the front door, wrapped in unearthly illumination.
He acts quickly and pulls the sunglasses back over his eyes. He's astounded by the woman he can now slightly make out from behind the glasses. Brown hair cascades down her shoulders outlining a near perfect face, which leads to the rest of her breathtaking figure. He can't make out the color of her eyes against the glow. He forces himself to look away before she spots his gaze and pins him as a creep, which he is. He runs to the counter and cuts off a massive construction worker whose legs and neck are engulfed by his mass of a midsection. The man takes the transgression well and doesn't react.
"Sorry," Zale sputters as he waits impatiently for the balding clerk to ring up his i
tems. He taps his fingers in frustration; the woman hasn't seen him, not yet, and he doesn't want to give her the chance. He lays down a ten before the clerk finishes his slow and laborious motions and rushes out the door, caring little for the change, even though he should. He bolts to his car and clumsily navigates it into a better position to follow the woman. Now all he has to do is wait and follow her home, seems simple enough, he thinks.
Her graceful gait floats her to her newish beige car. Zale never knew or cared much about cars, and the only thing he can discern about this one is its color. In the half second he takes to adjust his sunglasses she juts into traffic much more aggressively than he expected. He panics and races after her, cutting off a red truck and almost hitting a woman pushing a stroller, still falling a few cars behind despite his dangerous maneuvers. Things calm down just as fast as they accelerated, she doesn't waiver from this road for ages.
Riding behind her ignites a strange sense of purpose, along with an unshakable feeling of guilt. For all he knows she isn't even real, or really a woman, she's more likely an apparition, angel, or a figment of his imagination. His thoughts use her like a springboard to float far away from his current reality to his happy childhood when his actions had true purpose and he only did something because he wanted to, not because he imagined it was right. A very similar feeling is growing inside him now, the woman has already granted him a rebirth of sorts. Night falls upon the area during the long drive. He gets so wrapped up in his own mind he almost misses the beige car swinging a right turn. He swerves to keep close. The quick turn takes them into a new and, seemingly, expensive apartment complex, complete with a now closing iron security gate. A race ensues against his wagon and the closing gate, he slams the gas pedal to the floor and grits his teeth, jumping the curb in the process. He's rewarded for his zeal and flies into the complex unopposed. A large flaw in his plan just revealed itself to him, considering he never really thought he would get this far, he has no idea of what he's going to do once she gets out of her car. Despite his urge to tell her the truth, that she glows like the sun to him, he realizes just how crazy that sounds. Maybe things will just play themselves out to his benefit. Doubtful, but maybe.
Even the way she parks is graceful, and yet somehow aggressive. He parks as close as he can without raising suspicion, well, more than he's raised already. Despite the darkness of the cloudy night he has to don his sunglasses to watch her as she walks into the building. She walks with an elegant poise into the nearest complex, painted a drab grayish yellow, defying its youth. It doesn't seem fitting for such a powerful woman to live in such a place, he assumed she would live in a castle. He focuses on her every move but her light slowly disappears into the confines of the building. He's forced to take off the sunglasses, blind against the moon's weak light.
"What to do now buddy?" he asks himself, he long ago forgot just how disturbing pet names whispered to oneself are. Even though he can't see her there's something heavily comforting to him about being this close to her. Despite the assembly of walls in the way, he still senses her presence. Maybe her closeness will actually let him get some sleep, and grant him more than just a couple of useless words to write. He climbs to his home in the back of his wagon and fights to stay awake a little longer. He wants to plan out something to say to the woman but fails, falling asleep before he can come up with anything useful.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jade