It all started with just a glance at the woman next to me on the subway, who was furiously writing in what appeared to be a journal. I could see that she had written, “I fear someone will discover the body soon …” The woman seemed nervous as she held a scarf that was stained with dark blotches that could be blood. At that moment, the train came to an abrupt halt, and clutching her journal, she ran off.
Everything seemed to be happening so fast. Before I could think, I found myself chasing after her. Someone had to do something, so I decided that it would have to be me. Rushing through the thickening crowds of commuters, I tried to follow but eventually lost sight of her. Once I left the train station and was out onto the street, I thought for sure that she was gone. But then I spotted her, just as she was getting into a cab. She would surely get away unless I acted quickly. Yet, what could I do? The cab was already moving into traffic, and then she would be gone. That’s when I noticed a bike messenger standing next to me. Without a second thought, I pushed him off his bike, and while apologizing, I hopped on and raced after the cab. The messenger had gotten up quickly and was running after me, yelling something I could not hear. But I could not stop; I had to keep peddling and try not to lose sight of the cab.
After a few blocks, my energy was starting to wane, and I thought that I might have to give up the chase. Just when I thought it was the end, I saw the cab pull over. The mysterious woman was dropped off at a coffee shop, where she quickly went inside. Nearly out of breath, I welcomed the opportunity to stop for a moment. Rather than wait outside, I decided that it might be better to try and get a little closer. The shop was crowded, but I was able to maneuver myself next to her at the counter. When she opened her wallet, I saw her driver’s license, but I could not read any details. So, I bumped into her, knocking her wallet to the floor.
As I picked up the wallet, I studied her name and address, probably for too long. She immediately grabbed the wallet, screamed at me, and ran out the door. People around me stared as I tried to make my way and follow her.
She may have thought that she had lost me, but I saw her just as she dove into a bookstore across the street. I ran over and peered through the large windows. The shop seemed to be empty except for an elderly man sitting at an old, cluttered roll-top desk. Quietly, I entered and began browsing through the books. After slowly searching up and down every aisle, I finally asked the shopkeeper about the woman who had come in before me. Yet he claimed that I was his first customer all morning. Just then, I saw the curtains behind him move ever so slightly. I called him a liar, and I started walking toward the curtains. But he reached under the desk and said that if I didn’t leave, he would call the police or that he would take care of me himself. My bravado faded as I thought more and more about what he might be holding out of sight, so I quietly left. Once outside the bookstore, I started thinking about what to do next when, suddenly, I remembered about the wallet and her address. I saw her address, and I know where she lives.
Waiting outside the mysterious woman’s apartment, I hid as best as I could because I wanted—no, I needed—the element of surprise. After all, if she was a murderer, I had no idea of her preferred method. But I was so caught up in my thoughts that she walked right by me and was already starting to open the door. This was my chance, and I had to take it, so I ran up behind her and shoved the door open. To my surprise and relief, there was a policeman inside the doorway, and another had silently arrived, and he was right behind me. Then, to my astonishment, the police arrested me, and I was dragged away in handcuffs!
I later found out that the woman is actually a famous author and that her journal entries were just notes for a new murder mystery novel. The poor woman suffers from severe nose bleeds, which account for the bloody scarf. But I am not a stalker, I am not dangerous, and this is all a misunderstanding! The judge will realize that, won’t they?