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She’d seen him the second she turned the corner onto her street. Even though her building was half a block from the intersection, he was still so out of place in her mind that it was hard for her not to notice him there. Her pace become slower, almost sluggish, instantly. But she kept pushing forward as her eyes fixated on him.
He stood in the doorway with the kind of lean that reminded her of the Marlboro Man. A stance that reflected suave and non-chalant. He was minding his own business and everyone else’s at the same time. Taking in his surroundings without being noticed.
The scraggles of hair covered his face, coupled with his downward gaze there was no telling anything of his eyes. It didn’t bother her too much, the rest of his spoke volumes.
His clothes were comfortable. Boots that had traveled and made to look clean, lived in jeans and an army green jacket buttoned over an uncharacteristically plain t-shirt. She was half way to her building now, on the opposite side of the street. She could see he blocked the doorway, but only slightly-as though he were waiting for someone. She was sure she could still get past him without needing him to move.
But there was something about him, the way he waited, watching but not watching, looking at his wrist as if he were checking the time as he spoke to himself. Like he was expecting something to happen and waiting for it to unfold.
All too quickly her mind jumped to the negative.
A terrorist.
A bombing.
A serial killer.
The End of Days.
‘Fuck sakes’ she scorned herself ‘he’s probably just waiting for his girlfriend’.
The anxiety built, putting her more on edge than she already was. With the pain rising in her chest she pushed herself forward and started to cross the street, heading towards her apartment building and the man half blocking the door.
She thought about how the conversation would go.
‘Excuse me.’ She would ask as politely as she could utter it.
‘Sorry’ he would mumble as he moved. Or maybe he wouldn’t say anything. As long as he moved. He looked like the kind of guy who would move for a young lady if asked.
Maybe she wouldn’t even have to ask. He might just not-notice her coming and move on instinct. That would be nice.
But he would move, and she would unlock the door and quickly slip inside, pulling the door closed quickly so he couldn’t follow her.
That was the kind of paranoid life she lived now.
She’d checked the street in both directions three times before crossing, so she was very taken aback when a white and blue cable installation van came hurdling towards her from seemingly nowhere.
Before she had time to process the actions necessary to jump out of the way, an unmarked, black SUV came from the other direction, hitting the van almost head on and spinning it enough to put her out of harm’s way.
When she opened her eyes again the stranger from the doorway had her in his arms and was calling her name.
He flashed an FBI badge at her and spoke quickly. She didn’t hear a word he’d said. Her hears were ringing with fear. It took a few moments to gather herself, by which time she was already being escorted to another black SUV with a blond in the driver’s seat.
She’s composed herself enough to ask again once they were moving, what his name was.
He turned to her and looked her in the eye.
His were hazel, warm and incredibly trustworthy, if somewhat concerned.
“You can call me Spencer.”