The Dancer

43. The Stalker

A/N:

I apologize for spelling errors, grammatical errors and constantly switing from past to present tense. This is a first draft and I wrote these parts at seperate times. I hope you enjoy the second to last chapter.

Lots of love

- Annelie Leddy

Sara could smell the food instantly and crazy enough there was no nausea. She was beyond hungry and the small clump of cells in her stomach needed fuel. Sitting on the edge of the cot in the basement, Sara can barely hear the footsteps on the staircase. The large man returns with a smile. He holds a large plate full of food and a cold water bottle. Sara gives him a smile just for show.

"You need meat on your bones for the baby," he chuckles.

She shakes as she takes the plate from him. When she takes the water bottle it is visible just how much she shakes.

"You okay?" He asks.

She nods. "Just hungry and a little tired."

Sara begins to eat the food and although hesitant at first immediately begins to pick up an appetite. Food easily courses through her and she washes it down with cool water. She is satisfied with the chicken, coleslaw, and biscuits. After the mash potatoes she is full.

"Good girl."

The man's remark is ignored. Sara allows him to take the plate and empty bottle.

"I might not show up for a while, you see, my sister is gonna be home here real soon and she... well she... she don't understand that you're okay. She thinks you died. A lot of people do, even your folks. Don't worry though, we'll show them that you're okay."

Sara just nods. That's all she can do for now.

***

Malcolm awaited at the bar im Rows. The empty restaurant was quite odd but with the time being 5 in the morning it was normal. He didn't want a drink. He wasn't hungry. He wasn't even tired. Malcolm wanted one thing and one thing only: Sara.

The love of his life and unborn child were with someone they didn't even know. Was he psychotic? Was he a sadist? Was he even a male? For all he knew it could be a woman.

The Way his stomach turned as he asked these questions were causing him to feel the anxiety, the pain in his chest rising.

"Don't even think about it."

The thick accent was enough for Malcolm to not even have to look at who had just walked through the bar threshold.

"How did you do it?" Malcolm asks suddenly.

They are quiet.

Red Marcano walks slowly to the bar. The hesitance, if you could call it that, was unnerving on Malcolm. Was there really any advice to give to a man whose life was hanging by a thread? Was there real advice to give to someone who was helpless? Marcano could say the clichés. "Hang in there" would be horrible. "Don't beat yourself up about it" would be something that would never come from Marcano.

As Red sits on the stool beside his friend he stares ahead, not making eye contact.

"I thought about the things that I would change when I found her again. I promised to love her, cherish her, give her the world. I promised I would change everything for her. I also decided to kill for her. That is how we are here."

Malcolm doesn't move. He takes the information and runs through it again. His brain collecting the so-called advice and realizing just how much he really wanted.