Therefore, she slipped out of the isle before she had a chance to peruse the ice cream. She'd have to backtrack to the freezer section before she hit the check out counter, because she wasn't about to go ice cream deprived all weekend.

After adding milk and half a dozen eggs to her basket Ess headed back to choose her ice cream flavor, relieved to note that the familiar stranger was gone. It took her more time to select the ice cream flavor that suited her mood than it had taken to do the rest of her shopping thus far, but she eventually made it to the checkout counter.

Mr. Baksheesh stood at attention in his customary position at the register. Ess smiled and greeted him, but Mr. Baksheesh, as usual, was all business. Even though Ess shopped there on a weekly basis, it seemed like he never recognized her, even after three years. Mrs. Baksheesh, however, smiled in recognition from where she stocked soft drinks in the cooler. She didn't seem to speak a lot of English, but she always communicated with a warm smile and a nod of the head. Ess smiled sincerely in return and wiggled her fingers in greeting.

She turned her attention back towards Mr. Baksheesh, and had to force herself not to grimace at his frowning features. What an unexpected pair Mr. and Mrs. Baksheesh made, she thought to herself. Apparently opposites do attract.

It didn't take long for the old grump to ring up her purchases. Ess waited as he bagged the groceries. She recalled one occasion that she had tried to help him with that task. She would never do that again. He reacted as though it was the worst insult anyone had ever committed on another person, even slapping her hand away from the bag she attempted to stuff. Ess wondered if that was quite possibly the reason he acted so cold towards her now. Then again, he wasn't exactly jovial before her former error of judgment, either.

After Mr. Baksheesh completed his task, Ess skillfully balanced the bags on each arm, and turned for the door. As she did, she nearly smashed her nose into the chest of the familiar stranger. This caused her to blush in mortification, yet again. She mumbled a nearly coherent "excuse me", and headed straight for the automatic door. As the door closed behind her, Mr. Baksheesh called out, "Thank you. Come again."

Once outside, Ess reflected on her humiliating display of clumsiness. Why on earth did that man make her so nervous? It was certainly true that Ess could be rather bashful, but it's not like she never associated with the opposite sex. She had dated, she worked with male colleagues, and she even had a few male friends in college, albeit they were gay. Still, there was no reason to be that ridiculously timid in his presence, or any one else's presence for that matter. She couldn't quite place her finger on where this nervous awkwardness came from.

In the three block walk it took for her to get to her apartment, Ess managed to let the incident go, and think of other things, such as getting the ice cream in the freezer before the precious substance liquefied in the predatory warmth that lingered into the late afternoon.

At the front entrance to her apartment building, Ess set her grocery bags down so that she could more easily fumble for the keys in her purse. Once she retrieved them and unlocked the door, she held it ajar with her foot and bent down for the bags. Stretching for the last one, she nearly lost her balance, and had to remove her foot from its post as a temporary door jam in order to right herself. She felt her frustration well up as the door began to close despite her efforts at a speedy balance recovery. Just before it slammed shut, a hand grabbed the door and swung it back open. Ess looked up into the face of her rescuer, and saw the familiar stranger once again.

Several thoughts rushed through her head just then. This man seemed to be practically following her; a convenient – and yet, embarrassing – opportunity that he was there, once again, in her presence. Could it be fate? Or some effort of her own subconscious mind to put herself in the path of this guy so that she could meet him – or perpetually embarrass herself in front of him? And much to her chagrin, she felt her face heat up with that horribly obvious blush.

"Allow me," the man said, holding the door for her. With an awkward half smile, she croaked out a thank you in reply and clumsily maneuvered her packages and person into the lobby. At the stairs she picked up her pace, wanting to be far away from the embarrassment that this man seemed to arouse in her as soon as she could.

Luckily, she noted, the man did not follow her up the stairs, but went for the elevator instead. She noticed that he entered the lock code to open the elevator doors, so he must be a resident of the building. It was a bizarre coincidence that she kept running into him, but if fate was involved, then Ess was not doing a very good job at rising to the opportunity. She thought on that with some extensive self-loathing while she entered her little third floor, white washed apartment, and closed the door behind her. She locked the dead bolt out of habit, and headed for the kitchen to save her failing ice cream.

* * *

It was late Friday evening. Max had no reason to think that Roden would get the voice message he left on his office phone until Monday morning. Max had Roden's cell phone number, so if he truly felt the need to get a hold of him, he could have dialed him there. This went through Roden's mind over and over again as he replayed the message, two, three, four times.

Roden didn't often come to his office after hours, but earlier in the day he had mistakenly left his house key in his jacket pocket, which he left behind for the raincoat when he saw some ominous clouds heading in from the east. Since he returned now for the keys, and found his message light blinking, he thought he might as well check it. Good thing he did, too.

Shock and confusion were his first reactions to the message. Quickly, this shifted into panic, anxiety and anger as he determined what his course of action should be. What should he do? As a psychiatrist, he knew he should be calm and level headed in the face of such news, but it hit too close to home. This wasn't just a patient he was dealing with, it was Max.

He played the message for the fifth time, massaging his temples in frustration.

"Mike, it's Max. Listen, I think Esther might be in trouble. I don't want you to get upset, but I have to do something to protect her . . . The whole thing's my fault . . . I think I have to get her out of there . . . I think I might have to take her away. I just want you to know that I have her, and she's safe with me . . . I'll call you later and let you know what's going on . . . Bye."

Roden knew he had only three options: He could try to find Max, though he doubted Max would be anywhere close to home or his usual haunts at the moment. He could attempt to locate Esther, but this seemed unlikely as he'd only seen her once and didn't really know anything about her, not even her last name. Or he could go to the authorities. Again, he didn't have a last name to report, and he didn't want to put Max in the face of the law until he was sure of the young man's intent. Max didn't seem capable of violence, yet he finally had the object of his lifelong obsession within his reach. Roden couldn't be sure without further observation what this new circumstance would do to the young man.

With no real obvious option, Roden slumped in his office chair, and hit the replay button again, hoping that this time he might find some clue as to where to start. There could be no clear way out of this predicament. He was stumped.

CHAPTER SIX