It’s been nine weeks since the flowers from my stalker with a note that read, I’m Still Watching, were left on my car. I still have issues going out by myself at night, well, anytime. To know that somebody was so close to me without me or anyone else seeing them is traumatizing. The real trauma comes from the fact that he hired people to follow me and act like they were my fans, and buy my art. So, I’m slightly traumatized, and I haven’t left my house for the past nine weeks.

 

Currently, I’m sitting in my living room with my friend Tasha and her sister Elise. Tasha asked if I could help her sister know more about what happened to her son. Tasha asked if I could come over to her house and meet with her sister. For right now, that's a no-go. I don't leave my house unless my husband is with me. Honestly, I'm not even sure why I feel safer at home, because at one time, he was using our security cameras to watch me. This has turned my life upside down. Just a few short weeks ago, I was helping the Las Vegas Police Department put away bad guys. Although knowing that he followed me from the police department, not just once but twice, scares me to the point where I don't want to go down there either.

 

I lied to Tasha, telling her I was working a case for the police, and they would have to meet at my place.

 

“I told Elise that you might be able to find something or read something off of Lloyd's belongings,” Tasha says.

 

That's right, the kid's name was Lloyd, her nephew. They found him dead in his apartment. The police had ruled his death a suicide. But the family wanted answers the police couldn’t give.

 

Absentmindedly, I extend my hand to Elise. “May I have one of his belongings?”

 

She hands me a shirt and says, “It's his favorite shirt.”

 

Gently taking it from her, I hold it in both hands. Surprisingly, I get a sense of joy and peace. Not something you would expect from a kid who commits suicide.

 

“Do you have anything that he was possibly wearing at the time? Maybe a ring or a watch?” I ask.

 

She hands me his watch. I hold it between my hands, cupping my palms and making a little nest for it to sit in. I close my eyes and immediately see the vision.

 

Everyone assumes my visions come like a movie being played out in my head. Most times, they are more like a dream. Fractals of visions that only last a second or two. Some come in like freeze frames, a still life photo, then another, and another one. Then I get to piece them all together. Sometimes this is very tedious work, and sometimes it's very relieving so that I don't have to see it in live action. Also, I may hear voices or words, like I am eavesdropping on a conversation. Often, it's sensations or feelings. Like the shirt, it was just the feeling of peace and joy.

 

The images I get from holding the watch tell the entire story. I inhale sharply as the vision plays out.

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He’s naked on the bathroom floor… Not a suicide, but I'm also not sure how I'm supposed to tell his mother what actually happened.