Page 7 of Of Monsters and Mazes

I pounded out miles on the treadmill with a vengeance, trying to distract my mind with the exhaustion of lactic acid build up and the endorphins of a runner’s high.

I’d reread last night’s conversation with Jericho more times than I could count—which was considerably high as someone with a Computer Science degree—and even now that I had my headphones blaring and my lungs burning in my chest, all I could do was keep replaying those words in my head over and over and over again.

I heard a bang from behind me, and my heart stopped for ten beats too long. I looked over my shoulder, to see some dude-bro who had just slammed his weights on the mat. There was no sign of emerald eyes or auburn hair at all.

Another sound of clanking plates on the Lat Pull machine made me jump, and a woman dropping her water bottle had my skin crawling. I was more than just on edge.

He has no way to find me, I kept repeating to myself.

I’d almost considered locking myself in my apartment for a few days, but if he was a stalker, it would be safer to be on the move than to stay in one place. Especially when that sanctuary had my name on the lease. If he’d taken the time to hunt down my full name, he probably also knew where I worked and what suburb I lived in. I’d worked with enough hacker hobbyists in my career to know none of that was a stretch for someone savvy enough. I’d need to be prepared for someone to show up unannounced at my office or tail my car home.

What was wrong with me? I was taking his dumb, childish taunting way too seriously. This was what he wanted. For me to be scared and thinking about him for days. For him to know he’d gotten under my skin, and that he was the center of my anxiety. The chances that I was contacted by a real serial killer with a castle full of sex slaves and a murder maze was so impossible it was comical.

And what was all that dumb shit about monsters? Was that code for something? Maybe he was one of my level designers playing a prank on me.

Actually, that wouldn’t surprise me. I still recalled when I started at my first game studio, and the sound engineer hid portable speakers in various places around the office, so he could use his phone to set off a loud dragon’s roar every time I entered a room.

The things I laughed at in my early twenties had turned into blatant bullying and a hostile work environment in my late twenties. Now that I was in my mid-thirties, I’d lost all patience for the dumb, immature games. If I found out who was behind this, I could easily make a case for malicious sabotage and a fire-able offense now that I held an executive position

That had to be all this was. Another practical joke. Brad has loved playing pranks on me since we started working together, Justin just received his first formal reprimand for taking unflattering pictures of the only woman in the network engineer cave, and Mike was still bitter that I’d leap frogged him for the Vice President position when Bruce resigned. Any of them were obnoxious enough to pull off an elaborate joke like this.

I kept running, and I kept attempting to convince myself of my own paranoia.

A full hour and 732 calories later, spent and dehydrated, I hopped off the treadmill and headed to the locker room to clean up. I scrolled through my phone and pulled up the conversation again, rereading the last line for the thousandth time.

I’ll be picking you up tomorrow. I can’t wait for you to join my collection.

I guess if his goal was to get in my head, he got exactly what he wanted. Beating him simply required me to stop thinking about him.

I hopped in the shower and washed away both the sweat and the thoughts of that creep’s photo, then I brushed out my hair in the locker room mirror, and dug some clean clothes out of my gym bag. I pulled on a comfortable lace bra, some matching panties, a fitted burgundy v neck t-shirt, and a dark grey A-line skirt that reached mid-thigh. My reflection was of a woman who was adequately cute but casual. Not something I’d wear anywhere near the office, but right now I could let my guard down a bit. I looked good, and it was time I let myself feel good.

How better to get my mind off the woes of online dating than to give up on it entirely. In hopes of meeting someone in the real world who didn’t have the anonymity of the internet to send cryptic messages, I made my next stop at a nearby coffee shop, where I hoped I might get lucky enough to meet a real person in real life.

Roast of the Magi was a popular new café in the suburbs, in convenient walking distance from both the gym and my apartment. It was such a relief to have a great cup of coffee after a horrible sleepless night. Not even my pre-workout had been enough to kick start my brain this morning, but a fine Balinese roast always was.

As I walked through the glass doors, I enjoyed a deep, calming inhale through my nose, letting the scent fill me, and I held onto that delicious breath until I couldn’t any longer.

The barista handed me a mug for in house customers—coffee always tasted better in porcelain compared to a paper cup, in my opinion—and I settled in at the bar style seating facing the window. The city passed by in front of me, but it seemed much less chaotic when it was silenced by the window glass. A woman walking her dog strolled by, while cars moved slowly in the thick traffic of the morning.

Savoring my first sip, I forced myself to stop scanning every passerby for a glint of sparkling emeralds, and I sank into the pleasantly bitter flavor.

“There’s nothing sexier than a woman who takes her coffee black.” A masculine voice filled my ears, and my whole body tensed. I turned slowly to face him, then I exhaled when I was met with trim blond hair, a barely-there beard, and brown eyes.

Fucking relax. I chastised myself for the hundredth time that morning.

I’d wanted to be social, thus the whole reason I took a seat at the window bar, and losing my shit every time someone obliged wasn’t very conducive to not letting Jericho win.

Especially considering the first person to approach me happened to be an attractive guy somewhere in his thirties or forties, who was wearing a tie on a Saturday no less. I knew I’d made the right move by coming here. This was already better than online dating had ever been.

“Anyone who has to add cream and sugar to their cup probably doesn’t actually like coffee.” I said with flirty smile and a quick flutter of my eyelashes. See, I’m great at this.

“It helps when those lips already provide all the sweetness you need.” He doled out the best pickup line I’d heard in years before he sat beside me, and my whole soul brightened with excitement.

Why had I been wasting time dating the new school way when the old fashioned way still worked so well? My mood lifted, and I was happy to engage.

We’d settled into the small talk of “where are you from? and “what do you do?” when my phone vibrated loudly on the table beside me.

I groaned and held up a finger to ask him for a moment. “One second, it’s probably work.”