Those packages have always shown up at home.
“Angelika Wilks?” he reads from the label, his voice boyishly young, then looks at us. At me in particular.
I want to tell him he has the wrong name. But there’s no way to run. No way to hide.
Eric and Sean’s gazes bore into me. I fake a smile. “Right here,” I manage, despite a dry throat and mouth.
“If I could just get your signature…” The courier shows me a phone screen.
“I didn’t order anything,” I say feebly. Take the package back, please. But I know what happens if I refuse it. I tried that once and it didn’t end well.
“It’s a gift. Says right here on the label.” His smile says I’m a lucky girl. If only he knew.
“Right.” I try to smile back, sign with my index finger and take the package.
“Have a great day!” The delivery guy leaves.
Eric waits until he’s gone. “A gift, eh?” he says, leaning forward.
Sean cranes his neck. “What is it?”
“I don’t know.” I glance down at the cardboard box. The sender’s address is the familiar PO box. It’s a legit one, too. I sent a letter there once saying, “Don’t send me anything ever again,” and the response was immediate.
You don’t get to tell me what to do, sister. Well, “sister” isn’t exactly right, is it? Slut is much more accurate. Cheap whore.
“Well, open it up,” Eric says. “Let’s see what you got from your secret admirer.”
“I don’t have a secret admirer.” My voice is shaky, but Eric and Sean don’t seem to notice.
“I don’t know about that. Never seen a girl get a present at work before,” Eric says.
“Me either,” Sean says. He’s frowning slightly, which is odd. He’s not the one getting stalked by a monster.
I can’t open it because I have no idea what terrible thing it might contain. I want to tell them so, but the words stick in my throat. The last time somebody felt sorry for me and tried to help, he was run over by a truck. A terrible tragedy, everyone whispered, but I knew it wasn’t some accidental hit-and-run.
Roy is a sociopath. A highly functioning, highly intelligent sociopath. And God only knows what’s in the package. He’s sent me unspeakable things over the years. Sometimes it makes me question if he installed a hidden camera in my home so he could savor my reaction. He’d love that.
I glance up at the ceiling to the café’s security camera. I doubt Roy’s hacked into it, but then, he could be watching from outside. So many cars…so many people. He could be out there. Or he could’ve sent somebody in to record my reaction. I glance around at our customers, hating the rising feeling of anxiety within me.
Eric hands me a box cutter. “Here you go. Come on.”
He isn’t going to give up. I place the box cutter on the counter and push the box to him. “You do it.”
His eyes widen, but he seems intrigued. “You sure?”
“Very.”
If Roy sent something disgusting, Eric can see it and deal with it.
“Well.” Eric cocks his head in a little why not gesture. “If you insist…”
For such an oblivious troll, he’s pretty careful, pushing the blade just deep enough to cut the tape without damaging anything inside the box. He runs the blade down, then flips the top and pulls away a mass of gray and purple tissue paper.
“Huh?” He pulls something out of the package. “What the hell? This doesn’t even look new.” He turns to Sean. “Can you buy used underwear?”
My face flames at the sight of the pale beige bra in his hands. It isn’t just any bra, but my favorite, one I washed two days ago and dried and put away in my dresser.
The blood seems to drain from my head, and I have to put a hand on the counter. My whole body starts to tremble.