Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

Without hesitation, he starts to tick off a list.
“Your favorite color is indigo blue. Your favorite song is
‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ Your favorite food is your
mother’s roast chicken. You’re a Pisces, don’t eat nearly
enough vegetables, and donate far too much of your meager
teacher’s salary to animal rescue charities. Your first car was a
1986 Mustang convertible. Stick shift. Onyx black. Your
father bought it used for you on your sixteenth birthday. The
transmission went out three months later.”
Where did he get all this information? Social media?
Background checks?
The FBI?
When I stay silent, too stunned to answer, he says gently,
“I told you I’ve obsessed over you. Did you think that meant
writing your name over and over in a notepad and drawing
little hearts around it?”
“Please hold. I’m feeling queasy.”
He ignores me. “I’m going to hang up and call you on the
other phone. It’s untraceable. Use it from now on, and destroy
yours. Smash it with a hammer and throw the pieces into
different trash bins around town.”
I’m still trying to recover my equilibrium, but I manage to
ask, “Is that really necessary?”
“I wouldn’t ask you to do it if it wasn’t.”
He hangs up without saying goodbye. Within seconds, the
other phone rings.
I pick it up and say, “Please don’t tell me I have to leave
the country. I like it here.”
“Don’t be dramatic. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Don’t be dramatic? Excuse me, but I’m an accessory to
murder!”
He chuckles. “You’re panicking. Don’t. Everything’s under
control.”
“Whose control?”