The Follower

The Follower

Ruth Singleton heard the footsteps the minute she came up the stairs to the pavement from the subway. Ignoring them at first, she tried slowing her pace. When the footsteps behind her slowed as well, she tried speeding up.

The sound of high heels behind her sped up as well. Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she went back to her normal pace. Before her rising fear could stop her, Ruth turned on her heel and shouted:

“Why are you following me?”

The footsteps faltered then stopped. But the figure that was making them stayed out of the halo of the streetlight.

“What makes you think I am following you?” a voice said.

“Your pace has matched mine since we came out of the subway.”

After a brief silence, the voice spoke again.

“You’re a mystery author?”

“So, that gives you, a stranger, the right to follow me?”

She heard a shuffle of feet as a figure stepped into the streetlight’s glow. A taller than average woman impeccably made up, smiled at her.

“I just have one thing I wanted to say since I read your last book,” Her satin slip dress made a rustling sound as she stepped closer, dragging a mink stole behind her.

Intrigued, Ruth waited.

“Are you ready to die?”

“You first,” Ruth said firmly, as she fired the loaded pistol she had in her pocket right through the expensive yellow leather of her new trench coat.

As she watched the figure fall, her hair fell off. Ruth ran over and looked down on her former publisher, dressed in drag. She took his pulse as she called 911 and discovered he would live.

“Why?” she asked.

“I wanted to be the one to give you a title for your next book,” he muttered.