The Brooklyn Stalker

Friday night at 11 p.m. one week before Christmas, Rose Taylor had just left the office Christmas party.  Rose walked from Marine Ave and down 95th Street, dimly lit by streetlights through the snow to her bus stop.  Thinking of how crisp, bright and cold it was and of how the snow had laid thick.

Finally, Rose arrived to her bus stop; the number two usually took her right outside her apartment building on 4th Avenue, but tonight it had not arrived.  Wondering why, she decided to check the bus timetable that was stuck up in the bus shelter.  Rose thought, ‘Oh no! The last bus was at 10.30 P.M, what I should do now’ she pondered. 

Rose waved her arms around for about five minutes trying to flag down a taxicab; which were full of passengers as the cabs speeded past her.  Rose decided to give it up as a bad idea and made her mind up to walk the fifteen minutes journey home.  She was happy it was Saturday the following day, because having a lie in appealed to her.  As Rose began to trudge through the thick snow, her feet were getting soaked in her brand new stiletto shoes that she had bought especially for the party.  She decided to walk into the curb edge, on the road, inside slushy tyre marks made by vehicles.  At first, Rose was quite content, thinking about Robert and her luncheon date that she was going to have on Sunday.  She was wondering what to wear, when she heard footsteps behind her.  Rose looked round, but saw nobody.  She continued to walk hastening her pace.  It was when she reached the crossroads of 3rd Ave, 95th Street she heard again the footsteps behind her.  Rose spun round to see who was there, but still she could not see anyone in the dimly lit street.  Worriedly, Rose ran the remainder of the seven minutes journey home to 4th Avenue where her apartment building is situated.

Rose got to the building’s entrance out of breath, and used her passkey to unlock the doors that led into the lobby of the apartment block, as the electronic doors opened; she looked around once more to see if anyone had followed her. She felt relieved that no one was behind her as she stepped through the doorway into the foyer.  Calmly, she pressed the button for the elevator to descend from sixth floor to the ground level; she jumped when she heard the foyer doors banged.  Thoughts raced through her mind, ‘what if someone did follow me home.’  Rose spun around again to see who was there, but nobody was there.  She started to panic a little pressing nervously the lift-button, thinking for the lift to hurry up.  Rose watched for the elevator through the slit of the window in the elevator’s doors, watching for the cabling to descend. She saw a reflection of a man standing behind her. The mirror image; stood six feet tall, with shoulder length wavy black hair, and a protruding moustache of the same colour.