I was awakened from a deep sleep by the loud knocking that came from downstairs. The loud banging at the front door came long after midnight. My husband was working the night shift this week, so I was alone. Pulling the covers off me, I dropped my legs to the side of the bed. I found my slippers by feeling for them with my feet. The air was chilly. Why was it chilly? I know I bumped the heat up on the thermometer earlier tonight. The weather forecasters on the nightly news said a cold front would arrive in the morning hours. I didn't want to wake up in the middle of the night shivering. Who could it be at my front door? Finding my housecoat, I wrapped it around my shoulders and arms and tied it at the waist. Trying not to make a sound, I exited the bedroom and walked down the hall to the stairs. Why was I being so quiet walking down the stairs? It's not like anyone outside the front door could hear me. I believe my quietness was fear. I was fearful of my midnight visitor. Who could it be? Why is it a reason to pound on anyone's doorway after midnight? My breathing was shallow. Shallow like my breath during a panic attack. I felt I wasn't getting much air into my lungs.
Would I lose the ability to breathe? "Stop panicking," I told myself. "Take in slow, steady breaths. You will be okay." Although my legs felt like jelly, I managed to place my body weight on them. Despite this, my feet touched the foot of the stairs. Outside, I saw a silhouette of a person I didn't recognize. I noticed that the figure stopped pounding on the door as I stood before it. He must have noticed me from the glow of the lamplight in the foyer. I say "he," but I didn't really know the figure's gender. It just appeared to be a male from the figure's build. I should call my husband. He would leave work and be right over.
But first, let me tell you about my mom. Born the youngest daughter of farm owners. At least she was "uneventful." That was before she met my dad. Once she met him, it was one event after another. One day, when I was much older, my father revealed to me that he worked for the secret service. This explained his odd behavior.
I told you all this for a reason. It would clarify why he acted that way in the past. It would also explain his visit at the odd hour after midnight tonight. What I didn't know was that I was being stalked. "Stalked," I said to my father. How can that be? Who in the world had a reason to stalk me?
THE NEXT DAY...
I woke up. It was morning. I was in my bed. Huh? How on earth did I get here? Wasn't I at my front door talking to my dad a little after midnight? Yes, I thought. I was so confused by all this. He was there, at my front door, telling me I was being stalked by someone. Who? I didn't know. I couldn't deal with this now. "I had work to do today," I said to myself. I grabbed a towel from the bathroom cabinet to place on the towel rack. I also picked up a washcloth to throw in the tub of running water. I took my pajamas off after I used the bathroom. I stepped into the shower's steaming warmth. I stood there and thought about my dad, the midnight visitor. More importantly, I thought about how I ended up in my bed, like the midnight visit never happened. What was the point of my dad's visit? Why did he say I was being stalked? Would the stalker harm me? How did I not remember going to bed?
