paparazzi. They only wanted to take my picture; somehow they were not threatening. And now that I had seen them several days in a row, their

faces were becoming familiar to me.

The one photographer I recognized was a small Italian-looking man with short, peppered dark gray hair and a scruffy beard. He was the nicest

of them all so far. He didn’t ask annoying questions; he just asked me how my day was going. I wondered if these leeches actually had a heart when

it came to their chosen profession.

Another one of the photographers that I recognized was taller, maybe six-two or six-three, with a well-pronounced nose and dark, olive skin. He

also was somewhat nice, complimenting me on my clothing all the time. Today he liked my jacket. I pondered when the fact that I didn’t always wear

designer clothes would come into play.

As I unlocked my back door, the short Italian man wished me a blessed evening. “Thank you, sir! You too!” I replied with a cheerful smile.

After I carried all the groceries upstairs and had most of them put away, I called Tammy.

“Hey, I need you to ask Tony a question for me.” Tammy’s brother was a police officer in Providence. “I think I have a fan problem. Can you ask

him what the criteria is for getting a restraining order?”

Tammy gasped. “Is it that bad already?”

“I don’t know. This one girl just keeps showing up. I’m not sure if it was a coincidence or not, but I just saw her in CostMart over in South

Hampton. And she just drove down the street after I unloaded my car. I’m a bit freaked out actually!”

“I’ll ask him. Maybe you should consider not opening the bar by yourself? Can you wait until someone else is there with you?”

She had a point. “That’s a good suggestion. I can wait until Cory gets here. He’ll be in at four. It’s not like I make a hell of a lot of money in the

afternoon anyway.”

“Rather be safe than sorry,” Tammy said.

“You’re right. Please ask Tony for me; see if he has any suggestions.”

I put all the groceries away then placed a small pack of hamburger meat in a skillet on the stove. I thought I’d start dinner now so when he got

home we could eat together.

Home? Wait… did my brain just say “home”? I walked around my apartment, observing that there were little bits of Ryan in every room. All his

clothing was stowed away in my bedroom, pants from yesterday laying on my chair, his expensive watch and cufflinks were on my dresser next to

his bottle of cologne, a new script and a book were setting out on the coffee table, and his toothbrush was hanging in the bathroom next to mine.

Blending my life with his seemed so effortless. I tried to recall how and when it all happened.

It was almost four o’clock – time to turn the bar lights on and open for business. I was comforted knowing that Cory would be here soon. I turned

the television on for background noise and adjusted my business hours sign to reflect the new opening time.

I had expected to see Cory as the first person through my door, but instead a few female patrons came in - no doubt here to see sights of Ryan

Christensen. The three girls sat down at the bar; they looked quite young.

“Good evening, ladies,” I greeted them. “What can I get you?”

One of them was sort of glaring at me; I didn’t care for the vibe she was emanating.

“I’ll have a rum and coke,” she stated.

“Sure. May I see some identification first, please?” I asked politely. If you’re not twenty-one you’re not staying.

One of them was barely twenty-one and the other two were only twenty-two years old; none of them were from Rhode Island. All three of the girls

were from Massachusetts, which was a forty minute drive from here just to the border.

I was so relieved to see Cory walk through the door that I couldn’t suppress my smile. One of the girls whipped her head around to see who I

was smiling at.

“Hey boss. Sorry I’m a few minutes late,” Cory apologized. In actuality he was only four minutes late. Certainly not a big deal, especially since I

had changed his schedule from part-time to almost full-time.

“No worries, Cory. I’m just happy you could work.” I patted him on his shoulder. Secretly I was thanking my lucky stars that I wasn’t working

alone.

“Limes?” Cory asked, looking around. I hadn’t cut any yet.

“I’ll go get some,” I said cheerfully, trotting back to the kitchen.

I had several limes and lemons in my hand when I came through the kitchen door. At that very moment, curly-haired, gap-toothed girl walked

through the front door of my pub. I sucked in a quick breath from the shock, almost dumping my arm-full of fruit on the floor. I scurried behind the bar,

getting as close to Cory and my baseball bat as I possibly could.

I knew her name was Angel, but she was turning out to be more like the devil in my book. She looked around the inside of the pub before

hesitantly making her way to the far end of the bar. I was glad she sat at the opposite end from where the kitchen would be visible from the long bar.

Ryan would be coming through the back door eventually.

She reached into her little clutch purse and I felt the adrenaline start to release into my bloodstream. This girl absolutely terrified me; there was

no way of knowing what she had hidden in that purse. I kept some distance between us until I could be sure of what she was up to. Eventually she

placed some money on the bar and folded her hands on top of it.

Slowly I made my approach. “Good Evening. What can I get you?”

“I’ll have a whiskey sour,” she whispered. It was weird; she never made eye contact.

“May I see some ID please?” I wanted to know who she was and where she came from.

She reached back into that ominous little bag of hers and pulled out a small wallet. Her fingers fumbled for her driver’s license.

ANGELICA STAUNTON, DOB 2/17/1978

943 S. BRIDGE ST, Apt 12C

BROOKLYN, NY

She was thirty-one years old and a long way from home. Now I at least had more information to give to Tammy’s brother. I hoped I could get him

to do a background search on this whacko.

I made the drink that she requested and tried to be as cordial as possible when I set it in front of her. I purposely mixed her drink light; no sense

fueling her psychosis with extra alcohol.

Marie came in at five to start her shift. She made a face when she saw that most of the patrons in the pub were female. Cory was already trying

to charm three of the girls at the bar. They seemed to like him too. Cory was a good-looking guy - tall, well-kept, nice arms, and a flirtatious smile. I

hoped he was a good distraction.

Marie held her purse up in the air and shook her keys, indicating she was going to lock up her belongings in the office. I completely understood

her reasons; the bar was starting to look like the setting for a Stalkers Anonymous meeting. Sure enough, about a dozen or so young girls came

into the bar. The trail of tramps didn’t end. All of the fans that were waiting outside were now inside my pub.

“What the fu..!” Marie gasped. “Where the hell did they all come from?”

“The street, where else!” I breathed back.

“Taryn!” She shook her head at me. “This is effed up! What are we going to do?”

I had no idea what to say to her. I was also worried about serving minors accidentally. We only had this size of a crowd on weekends, and life

was manageable when Pete carded everyone before they stepped foot into the bar.

“They all need to be carded and labeled somehow,” I said. “Cory, card everyone before you serve them. I’m going to see if I still have those

paper wristbands.”

I hurried to the office and dug through my dad’s old desk. I found the pack of wristbands but the glue was so old on them they didn’t stick