Unwanted Advice

She did not know why he had picked her. As far as she knew she had never met him, never spoken a word to him, never caused him any harm. The influx of technology had always unsettled her, however her business relied on the internet. She was a moderately successful agent, and facebook, twitter, flickr and Myspace were all invaluable marketing tools. However there was one name that she would repeatedly see every time she logged on. Andrew Splitz seemed to comment on every post, join every group and ‘like’ every picture that she was somehow involved in. She searched through all her contact lists both business and personal to place the name. There was no real photo showing his face on his profiles, only the same photo every time. Just his eyes. Grey, stony and expressionless. The name Andrew Splitz circled her head, it sounded so familiar but at the same time uncannily new.

Then the messages started. All to her business networking pages, she was very careful not to accept strangers on to her personal accounts, it was too easy to blur the boundaries between her business life and social life. They started as generic greetings I hope you are doing well Yours and Your profile could do with updating. I know best A x They were not questions, just statements so she did not feel like it was rude not to reply.At first the statement 'I know best' made her laugh. Arrogance of the man, thinking that she would listen to his so call advice. However they began to grow more personal and bizarre. One night she returned home from seeing a play her client was starring in. She walked alone and without fear as it was her time to think, away from the seductions of modern life. Don’t walk alone at night. This is a dangerous city. Yours A x. She tried not to panic when she saw this on her screen. She told herself it was a Friday night and not unusual for a woman of her age to be out. It was just a clever guess. However she did not feel completely safe from then on, she began to always double lock her doors and enabling the alarm in her small ground floor flat.

The next day another message Red is the colour of seduction, only harlots wear red. I know best Yours A x. Sweat formed on her brow as she looked down at her shoes. Red Patent leather, statement shoes against her boring black suit. She had been running around the city all day, meeting clients and visiting producers. She kicked the shoes off and shivered, she could feel him watching her, even though she was alone she could feel eyes on her, inspecting her every move. The messages became more and more frequent going from one a week to three or four times a day to both her business and personal accounts. They were never overtly sexual or threatening but they were demanding like a over protective mother or a controlling boyfriend. Why don’t you go back home? Your family misses you. I know best. Yours A x. You spend too much time working. You should take a break. I know best Yours A x. Flirting with your clients only makes you look like a tease. I know best. Yours A x. You should wear your hair up. It’s more professional. I know best Yours A x.
She began to grow more paranoid, she was sure that these were not lucky guesses, that she was being followed. On the advice of the police she closed down her business profiles, her client list was long and she had enough business that she did not have to rely on internet marketing for a while. She told herself that it was just until he forgot about her, than she would be able to start networking again. She sighed a sigh of relief after a week without any contact , maybe she was just being paranoid, that he was not following her anywhere else but on the internet. That whoever he was had similar skills as a cheap stage mind reader using strings of lucky guesses and correct assumptions to make her feel targeted.

Two weeks passed without any contact, she had almost forgotten how scared she would feel when she opened her laptop to see yet another demanding message. She was happy, she did not know whether it was gaining more time without constantly checking her social networking pages or the lack of the messages but she felt comfortable in her own skin once again. That afternoon was like of every other, she had met clients in the morning and had the rest of the afternoon working from home at her own pace. She took her mail into her bedroom and started to open the endless bills, junk and notices however at the bottom of the pile, a small white envelope, with her address so neatly typed on the front. She ripped it open and inside was a folded piece of paper that simply said You cannot escape from me. I know best. A x. She gasped, and from behind a powerful blow hit the back of her head. As she came back into consciousness she could feel the cold feel of the wooden floor under her head contrasting with hot breath on her face. As her vision cleared all saw was a pair of eyes. Grey, stony and expressionless.