The last straw came when my friend dropped me off after school to find black spray paint all over the light-pink walls of my room. I stood still, shell-shocked, in my room, silently turning around and taking in the vandalism. Everything on the surface of my four walls was covered in death threats. Black spray paint over my white furniture, over my mirror, over my posters, anything that touched the wall was included in the canvas of spreading hate.
That was when I realized that Tony was beyond your run of the mill revenge seeker. He was like a wild animal who knew he had his prey caught in his trap, and now he was just toying with his food for amusement. He was teasing me, taunting me, letting me know that I was under his mercy and he could get to me with ease, whenever he wanted. That was when I had my very first panic attack.
After I had calmed down enough, I went to my neighbor’s house, where I called my mom and the police. Of course they couldn’t find him. They couldn’t even prove that it had been him, and that was when it was decided that the best thing to do was just to relocate me. They wanted me to pick up and move to a different state, leaving all my friends, my school, and my identity behind.
The federal agents became involved because of who Tony was, and they set everything up. Apparently, he wasn’t your average father-turned-stalker, but an actual person with a criminal past. They gave me and my mom new identities, a new house, and a new car, and set her up at a new job. They continuously stressed how important it would be to keep my real identity and story a secret. If I slipped up, then Tony could find me. No social media, no posting things on the internet, and especially no telling people.
In January, I became Isabella Smith, one of the most common names in the United States. I dyed my hair blond and cut it into a short bob, wearing it straight every day instead of my natural long, brown curls. I wore thick-framed glasses that didn’t have a prescription in them, and started a new life.
It was good for a while. I let my guard down, made friends, went to school events, and just lived a normal life. I got to enjoy about three months in peace, and started being hopeful about my future. Maybe Tony had given up on looking for me?
It soon became evident that he hadn’t, as suddenly that new reality came crashing down on me as the same patterns as before started happening again. The calls to my new phone number, where all I heard was heavy breathing. Then he started leaving voice mails, telling me that he’d find me and make me pay, make me suffer.
I was reassured by Agent Dylan, the man assigned to my case, that Tony couldn’t track my phone, but that didn’t comfort me at all. If he could find my phone number, then he sure as hell could find my house. After that, I was constantly paranoid, and what little sleep I was getting virtually disappeared, making me reliant on sleeping pills.
Not long after that, I came home from school and could tell that something was off. Nothing in my house was out of place, nothing was there that would have alerted me that Tony was there. But somehow, I felt the shift in the atmosphere, felt the tension and dread snaking its way through my body. Grabbing the baseball bat I kept by new habit by the front door, I slowly crept up the stairs.
I tiptoed through the house, holding my breath at every creak the floor made as I got closer and closer to my room. When I finally peered into my room, nothing was out of place, no black spray paint decorated my white walls with death threats. I sighed in relief and slumped against the door frame, placing the bat down and laughing at my own paranoia.
But then I froze—I had celebrated too soon. Something caught my attention: an object sitting innocently on my bed that I had definitely not put there. I tiptoed over to it, not daring to draw a single breath, as if it would manifest into Tony himself and fulfill the promises he’d made about revenge.
Looking at the object that was taunting me, I recoiled in horror when realization sank in. Sitting innocently on my bed was a doll, with a very real, very sharp kitchen knife stabbed through its head. As if that wasn’t creepy enough, the doll had been altered to look just like me—not Thea, but Isabella. And as if that didn’t get the point that he knew what I looked like across, stapled to the doll was a picture of me, as Isabella. It had been taken a couple of days ago, as I was leaving school, and I wasn’t aware that it had been taken. It looked like a surveillance picture, like Tony was following me and taking pictures of my whereabouts.
Tony knew where I was—he knew what Isabella looked like. He had been in my house, in my room, without anyone having the slightest clue. I dropped the doll on my bed and took a couple of steps backward, shocked by the revelation that Tony had found me, and was taking his time toying with me. Before I could decide what to do, there was a loud crash, and I instinctively ducked to the floor and threw my hands over my head as pieces of glass rained down on me.
I barely registered the glass creating tiny slices on my arms as a heavy object thumped onto the floor next to me. Once the glass stopped falling, I hesitantly looked at the object—a brick had been thrown through my window. As I rushed over to the window, I was met with the taillights of a truck speeding off into the distance.
Tony was here. He was outside, and he knew where I was.
I walked over the glass, not caring that I was only in socks, and picked up the brick. There was a note attached to it, Tony’s crude writing spelling out: “You can run Isabella, but I will always find you.”
I dropped the brick on the floor and sprinted out of my house, not stopping until a few blocks later when I got to a friend’s house. I didn’t explain anything, didn’t justify why I had shown up bleeding, breathless, and shoeless at her front door. I asked her if I could stay there for a bit until my mom arrived, lamely muttering something about how I’d lost my house keys. I called my mom from the bathroom and she took care of the rest.
Like the previous time, there was no trace of Tony, no evidence of where he was or where he could’ve gone. After a few days in a hotel, during which I refused to sleep and was constantly paranoid, it was quickly arranged for us to be relocated again.
Like last time, my mother and I were given new identities in a new state, a new house, a new car, a new job, and a new school. In May of my junior year, I became Hailey Johnson, with straight, black hair and colored contacts that made my eyes blue. I thought maybe this time it would be different. Maybe as Hailey I could live comfortably and make new friends, get involved in school, and just live normally.
I didn’t know then that because I was Hailey, people would die.
For a few weeks I was constantly paranoid. I refused to take my sleeping pills, which meant I was completely sleep deprived, which only made me more paranoid, and the vicious cycle continued.
After a few weeks of nothing out of the ordinary happening, I let my guard down. I started feeling like a regular, normal teenage girl with regular, normal teenage-girl problems. I even got a part-time job at a clothing store at the mall.
Being Hailey was working out so great. Everyone was super-nice, I made lots of friends and even went out on a couple of dates. My boss was cool and I loved my job. I got to work with my new best friend, Ashley, and on our Friday-night shifts, our boss would order take-out for everyone. Even the new jujitsu gym I’d joined was bigger and better equipped than the last two. I finally felt at peace, like I was finally somewhere I could call home.
When I made it three months without receiving any odd phone calls or death threats, I cried tears of joy for ten minutes straight, then celebrated by eating an entire Nutella cheesecake all by myself and not even regretting it. But like always, my happiness didn’t last too long.