Clickety-clack goes the telephone line.

He'd been hardcore stalking me for nearly 2 years at this point.

I'd moved my cousin and her boyfriend into my house after I found him sleeping in knee deep snow on my front porch one morning as I was sending my kids off to school. I figured there was safety in numbers.

I'd met some folks down in Baton Rouge and they'd offered shelter for my kids and me. A place where we could be free of him and his intimate terrorism. I was finally starting to feel like I had a way out. I was finally feeling like I had a chance at a life free of him and the fear he inundated me with day after day.

I was on the phone with the friend making plans for my escape (four days later) and I kept hearing it on the line...

clickety-clack
clickety-clack

I'd noticed the odd noises on the line before, but I hadn't given it much more thought beyond 'the phone company was fucking up again'.

My friend, on the other hand, said to me he thought my phone might be tapped.
I called to the back of the house to my cousin and said, "Hey, Doo, (haha) Michael thinks the phone is tapped."

Yes, I was laughing. He'd not go that far, would he? Even then, I'd not realized what kind of monster I was dealing with. I mean, I knew he had screws loose, but the full gravity of the depths of his demented mind still hadn't registered.

She'd gotten up to look out the back window where the Ameritech phone box was located between the neat rows of mobile homes and I heard her scream. Blood-curdling screams.

"He's out there! I see the motherfucker in the box! Call the cops!"

I froze dead in my tracks. Fear gripped my throat like a hangman's noose. Tighter and tighter it squeezed, until I could barely breathe.

I hung up with my friend and proceeded to call the police. I tried to remain calm, but I don't think I was very successful. I knew he was listening. I knew he was hearing everything I was saying. I knew he'd try to get revenge.

You'd have thought I'd reported a bank robbery. Police were everywhere, at least 8 cars. Sirens wailing, they swarmed our block and the next block over. Flashlights and police were soon combing the neighborhood. All I could do was stand in the window. My body shaking as if an earthquake was happening inside of me. Blood pounding in my ears.

thump thump thump

After about 10min or so, the police finally came knocking on my door. I think I jumped a foot off the ground at the sound.

Standing in my doorway was this enormous officer holding in one hand a set of headphones that had been altered with alligator clips, and in the other hand, a fractured padlock. All I could do was stare in horror at the MacGuyver'ed phone tapping device and the shattered lock. It felt like a punch to the center of my chest. Again, my breath escaped me.

"Ma'am, we found these hanging off of your telephone lines. We also found his footprints in the snow leading up to and away from the main box. Looks like he pried the lock loose.", the looming officer said to me, with pity in his eyes. I hate the way pity feels. Pity feels shameful to me.

THUMP THUMP THUMP

"Well, officer, I'd like to press charges. There is a witness that can identify him.", I said, trying not to show my fear, but my voice was barely more than a squeak.

"We're sorry, ma'am. We can't file a report. The property isn't yours, it's Ameritech's. They have to press charges. I suggest you call them tomorrow and see if they'd be willing to file a complaint. If they don't, there's nothing we can do."

RAGE RAGE RAGE THUMP THUMP THUMP

"But, officer, I have an order of protection.", I said, probably in a more pleading tone than I'd wished to convey.

"Again, ma'am, it isn't your property. There's nothing we can do."

My heart sunk straight to my shoes. This motherfucker beat the game every time. He skated the edge of the law without ever crossing over it.

I'd been defeated again. I was never going to break free.

I sat vigil at the front door for the next four days. Paranoid, sleep deprived and oversensitive, I sat vigil. There was an aluminum baseball bat next to me at all times. In my panic, I boarded and nailed my back door shut. I slept with a window open in the brutal cold of winter, wrapped in blankets so I could hear if he came creeping around again. He'd threatened to set the house on fire.

Don't. go. to. sleep.
Sleep. means. death.

Remnants of that terror still rear their ugly head.

I still don't sleep when it's dark outside.

I'm not sure if I ever will again.