The Stalker Chronicles

by Electa Rome Parks

Genres: Urban Fantasy

Synopsis

In this sequel to Diary of a Stalker, Pilar is back, and this time it’s all about revenge.

Tall, dark, and handsome bestselling author Xavier Preston thought his nightmare—in the form of Pilar, a fanatical stalker/fan—had finally ended. Little does he know, it’s only beginning.

When Xavier met Pilar, he got much more than he bargained for. What started out as an erotic one-night stand quickly turned into a dangerous game of obsession and pain, with both parties playing to win. Then … she simply disappeared.

Pilar hasn’t gone away, though. In fact, she has been very near, watching his every move and patiently waiting for him to realize they were meant to be together … forever. She still believes they’re soul mates, and the only option for her is “until death do us part.” If she can’t have Xavier, then no one can. Now nobody is safe—not his friends, not his family, and definitely not him.

Release date: February 1, 2012

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 240

Sample

In retrospect, what could I say? The last couple of years had not been the best moments of my life, definitely nothing to brag or write home about. They had been more like bittersweet years, an odd combination of sweet and sour moments.

Life could send some toxic shit your way that had you hanging on for dear life by a thin thread, hoping and praying that you’d come out on the right end. I sometimes felt like I had almost drowned and needed to be resuscitated, but the fear of going under water, of being helpless, remained with me. I had gone from having it all, at least by my standards, to being reduced to my lowest in only a matter of months.

Pilar was my personal joy stealer. My scab. Yes, let’s place a name on it. She definitely received her wish. She was always on my mind, the last person I thought about each night before I closed my eyes and the first person I thought of as I rose each morning. I had gone over it again and again in my mind, breaking it down to its most organic level, but I could honestly say I never saw her coming in a million years, or at least what she had in store for me. Lust and desire blinded me, and that became my eventual downfall.

You see, Pilar was the beautiful, stunningly sexy, and confident woman who stalked me for nearly a year after we had a one-night stand, multiple times. I was in lust, and she was in love. However, I soon learned that rejection and craziness to the ninth degree were a lethal combination. She almost succeeded in making me lose everything dear to me, even my dignity and pride. Pilar brought me to my knees, literally, and made me rethink male/female relationships in general. I now knew to never, ever judge a book by its cover. That was pretty ironic since I was a national bestselling author with seven published novels, one of which had recently been made into a blockbuster movie. However, it was true, looks could be deceiving. All that glitters is not gold, unless maybe it’s fool’s gold. I was definitely the fool. I played right into Pilar’s demented hands.

I was trying desperately to get my life back on track but was finding that was easier said than done. Diary of a Stalker, the movie, was released a month ago, and the reviews and box office sales were amazing. People all across the nation were embracing my true-to-life account that chronicled how Pilar stalked me and made my life a living hell. Reviewers were raving about how it was the modern-day version of Fatal Attraction, a late 1980s film starring Michael Douglas and Glenn Close.

I didn’t know about all that, but looking back, I knew I was living in my own private hell, courtesy of Pilar. She was what true nightmares were made of. Not that fake shit we watched in a darkened movie theater for two hours as we snacked on buttery, salted popcorn and watered-down soda. No, Pilar was the real deal. I still woke up in cold sweats, frantically looking around my bedroom for looming shadows, things that go bump in the night, and straining to hear any unknown, unfamiliar sounds. Soon my erratic heartbeat would calm down, and eventually I would fall back to sleep after double-checking the locks on my doors and windows. Even though I had the best security that money could buy, I still checked ... just to make sure.

I was forever mindful that Pilar was still out there, still insane, lurking in the shadows, and that terrified me like nothing else.

What a beautiful day, I thought as the first rays of sunlight drifted through the partially open mini blinds of my bedroom. I arose bright and early in a wonderful, cheerful mood and ate a hearty breakfast, which was something I rarely did. However, I was starving. I feasted on pancakes dripping in heavy syrup, eggs, and crispy bacon. Later I enjoyed a long, very hot shower. I dressed casually, then headed to my office at one of the top newspapers in L.A. This was something I rarely did, as well, worked from the office. I’d been hired a year ago, when I relocated from Houston to Los Angeles by way of a beautiful tropical island that shielded me from the unwanted media scrutiny.

Michael, my boss, the editor in chief, pretty much assigned me human-interest stories, and I went out, researched, completed the interviews, and e-mailed them into the office. They were mostly fluff stories. It worked for me and allowed me the luxury to work from home. I rented a two-bedroom apartment in downtown Los Angeles, not too far from my place of employment. Initially, I was hired to work in the office as one of the editors, but I soon realized it wasn’t for me. I wasn’t good at dealing with too many people on a day-to-day basis. I never had been. After Michael and I became intimate, he reassigned me. He was always trying to please me. He knew if I was happy, then he was very happy.

About an hour later, as I casually strolled into the office, I instantly knew something was wrong. The atmosphere was dismal. Many of the reporters and writers were clustered in groups, whispering quietly to one another. The always loud and vibrant office was gloomy and disjointed, with sad faces all around.

“Good morning,” I said to everyone I passed before reaching the temporary cubicle in the corner, the one I used when I came into the office at least once a week.

“Morning,” I heard a few reply halfheartedly. I turned to look in their direction with a scowled brow.

“Wow, it feels like a funeral up in here. What’s going on?” I questioned, placing my leather purse down and walking over to the nearest group.

“Oh, my God, you haven’t heard, have you?” Debra asked, looking at me in shock, utter disbelief, and amazement as she covered her dainty mouth with her right hand.

“Heard what?” I asked nonchalantly.

The circle of four became suddenly quiet.

“You haven’t been watching the news?” the chunky, red-faced sports reporter asked.

“No. Over the weekends, I rarely even turn on my TV.”

They curiously looked from one to the other, then back at me. The sports reporter, I think his name was Frank, dropped his head down and stared at the floor. He seriously looked like he was about to break into tears any minute.

Finally, the receptionist spoke up. “Pilar, I’m sorry to deliver the news.”

“What news?” I asked, as if I had no clue as to what was going on.

She sighed and simply spit it out. “Michael is dead.”

“What?” I cried out, trying not to be overly dramatic, but to have just the right amount of concern etched in my voice.

“He was found early Sunday morning,” she volunteered.

“What? H—how? What h—happened?” I stuttered. In my mind I was thinking how I was putting on an Oscar-worthy performance. Look out, Halle Berry. Maybe I should consider acting in the land of wannabe actors and actresses.

“It was an apparent suicide. His mother found him in his car, dead from carbon monoxide poisoning. He had stuffed a cloth in the tailpipe so toxic fumes could enter his car and, of course, his lungs.”

“He even left a note.”

I didn’t respond, simply willed crocodile tears to form. As I stumbled, the assistant editor caught my arm. I leaned on him for support and comfort.

“Are you okay?” he asked, pulling out the nearest chair so I could sit and catch my breath. My heartbeat was pounding away at a mile a minute.

“Yeah, I guess. This is such a shock.”

“Tell us about it. We were all just saying that, how it is unbelievable,” he added.

“I spoke with Michael on Friday regarding some edits for an article I was putting the finishing touches on. Wow, you never really know people,” I said and shook my head slowly from side to side. “Unbelievable. And his mother found him?”

The female entertainment reporter didn’t comment, simply looked at me oddly. Simple bitch, I thought. I knew Michael was fucking her, had been for a few weeks. I hoped she enjoyed my sloppy seconds, because I was definitely number one.

“This is so unlike Michael. He wasn’t depressed. He wasn’t withdrawn. He didn’t have any of the classic symptoms of depression. I became close to him over the years, and he simply wasn’t the type,” the sports reporter revealed.

“The type?” I asked.

“The type to commit suicide. It just doesn’t add up. In fact, he was scheduled to drop by my house on Sunday to watch the game and drink a few beers. Who makes plans when they have no intentions to be around in the next forty-eight hours?”

I nodded in agreement.

“You never know what’s really going on in people’s lives,” the sports reporter said.

“You never know,” I gushed.

“So true,” the entertainment reporter stated, looking me up and down, from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, with her nose scrunched up, making it obvious she didn’t like what she saw. She hadn’t liked me from day one, and the feeling was mutual.

I glared back at her, met her eyes, and made her look down first. She couldn’t step to me, and she knew it. If she didn’t know, then she had better learn. I thought, She won’t be getting that dick anymore. Me, either, for that matter. Michael was good, but I had had much better. A certain bestselling author came to mind, and I couldn’t help but smile, but I bit the inside of my lip to turn the smile into a smirk.

All that occurred in the early morning, before lunchtime. Before the day was over, I resigned from my position and boarded a plane for Houston. Everyone would think I was distraught over Michael’s apparent suicide. If only they knew. Los Angeles was okay, but I longed for Houston, or at least for a particular resident of that city. I couldn’t wait, couldn’t wait until he got ahold of me. The time was right for a reunion of sorts.

“Hey, man. I’ll be at the spot in fifteen,” I said to my lifelong best friend.

“That’s what I’m calling about,” Xavier said hesitantly.

“Damn, here we go again. I know you aren’t canceling on me again,” I stated, with clear frustration in my tone. This would be the third time in two weeks.

“Dre’, man, I’m not going to be able to hang out tonight. Give me a rain check.”

“You are starting to sound like a recording. The same old bullshit every time we are supposed to hook up.”

“I—I’m not into—”

“Save it, save it, Xavier. I’m not asking much. I simply want my drinking buddy to swing by the bar, drink a few brews, and shoot the breeze. That’s all. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“I know, man, but I’m not up to that tonight, not feeling it. I think I’m going to chill out at home and have an early night.”

“Aren’t you going stir-crazy up in that joint? You act like a damn recluse... . All you do is write and chill out at home. I can’t believe you came out of your cave for the Diary of a Stalker premiere.”

“You’re right.”

“Damn, quit saying I’m right. There used to be a day when you would never admit to me being right. And listen to me. Got me sounding like I’m your bitch or something,” I laughed.

We chuckled, and for a few minutes it was like the good old days, before a crazed stalker bitch lurked behind every bush, strapped with leather whips and a healthy dose of revenge heavy on her heart. There was a thin line between love and hate.

“I promise I’ll swing by tomorrow, and we can shoot some hoops or play spades and throw something on the grill. There’s nothing that beats hot food and cold brews,” Xavier stated.

“I’m holding you to that, my brotha. You haven’t had your ass beaten in some time, and I don’t want you to forget what it feels like.”

“You don’t know what it feels like, either, because I’ve never had my ass beaten by you, my brotha,” Xavier said and laughed.

“Yeah, whatever. You know the deal. Don’t front. Who is the best basketball player between us? We’ve had this debate going ever since we were nappy-headed boys growing up in those rat-infested projects we called home.”

“And I’ve been telling you since the first day I whipped your sorry ass all over the courts in the Bedford projects that I was.”

We both laughed at the trash talk we liked to dish out on one another.

“Seriously, man. Check me out tomorrow. I realize you are settling back into living in Houston again after your extended stay in Los Angeles, where you guys were filming, but I miss you, man.”

“And I miss you more, man,” he joked back.

“I’ll holla at you tomorrow. Beer is on you.”

“Deal. Later.”

“Hey, hey, Xavier,” I screamed before he disconnected.

“Huh?”

“You know what you need, man?”

“What? Because I’m sure you’re going to tell me even if I don’t want to know.”

“Get you a piece of ass, and I promise you, you’ll feel ten times better by tomorrow.”

“Man, you’re a fool.” He chuckled. “That was what got me in the mess I was in to begin with.”

“That was some crazy-ass pussy. Get some that’s sane.”

“You ain’t never lied.”

“Ain’t nothing like some new ass. It cures all. Some pussy a day keeps the doctor away.”

“Later, man. You have lost your damn mind. Oh, I forgot. You ain’t never had one.”

I disconnected my cell phone, still chuckling to myself. We always seemed to act like teenagers when we were around each other.

Xavier and I went back many years; we grew up on the mean streets of Houston together. I was closer to that man than to some of my own relatives. We had been through a lot together, good, bad, and ugly. But through it all, our friendship and bond remained intact. I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I could count on him to have my back and vice versa. We just rolled like that.

My man. . .