Crossing Paths with a Predator

By Irene Rodigo

Sacramento was bound by darkness upon a stranger lurking in the night, awaiting the next move from his victims.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Newman Springs Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Dec 7, 2020
• ISBN: 9781648012433

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Crossing Paths with a Predator

Irene Rodigo

Copyright © 2020 Irene Rodigo

All rights reserved

First Edition

NEWMAN SPRINGS PUBLISHING

320 Broad Street

Red Bank, NJ 07701

First originally published by Newman Springs Publishing 2020

ISBN 978-1-64801-242-6 (Paperback)

ISBN 978-1-64801-243-3 (Digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Unbreakable Chain of Events

Not Prepared for What Was to Become

Roaming Aimlessly through the Darkness of the Unknown

Confessing My Fears

Stranger Within My Room

The Man with No Visible Face

Disrupting and escaping the stalker’s path to regain and overthrow his own desires

His Intent Behind My Curtains

Bodyguard

Encountering Love

In memory of my parents for holding restraints on my actions through my solitude of unspoken words.

To my loved ones who inspired me. Il mio amore Mark for your support and believing in me along with all your endless meals you prepared for me.

My children…

Anthony R. for your endless guidance and dedication in motivating me, along with Danielle R. A. and her husband, Steven A., for their encouragement in seeing me through my finest and hardest moments.

My dearest friends

Kyra C. and Danielle S. in pushing me through when I thought I couldn’t, and for all the endless teatime sandwiches in going over my book.

Last but not least, my sibling for always being there for me.

Introduction

This story is not a love-seeking story nor a happy venture through the world, but of events that really took place of an unapproachable predator that hid in the darkness of my path, which happened to take place long ago. I now have this opportunity to recount the events the way I remember them, to now be able to purge all my unsettled circumstances throughout my life, unfortunately reliving the nightmares of my past through my dreams.

As all my different stories of events that seemed to have taken place from long ago may have encountered the possibility of this stalker. Not to place blame on anyone of their own innocence, perhaps a pattern of my own observations I have taken on myself. Could I have been less entangled in my own vision of boundaries I had set for myself, rarely sensing others for who they truly are, and not being aware of my own surroundings, taking them for granted as I ventured throughout my life without acknowledging my own behavior or circumstances, causing my own grief along the way?

As I was a quiet type of person, who may have appeared too distant in my own ways. Possibly because of my shyness it may have appeared that I didn’t really care who was around me to warrant my attention. I do believe at a young age that my arrogance at that time was merely to hide my shyness.

Nevertheless, I gave no rights to anyone to invade my privacy or even to indulge himself in capturing my developing youth for his own entertainment.

Unbreakable Chain of Events

Looking into my future beyond my expectations, which I couldn’t have foreseen, I expected my journey to have been placed with enjoyment of life’s experiences and self-reliance on my own abilities, not ever expecting to cross paths with an unknown man caped in the darkness of my home.

This stalker stood tall in the distance of my path, hidden behind a mask and bodysuit under the silent evening of this misty light that touched upon his shoulders.

Seen much later in my years as I was pursuing forward into my new journey of life never expecting one day upon my path to sketch out this stalker as I once saw him. Assuming earlier in my life that this would not be my goal of achievement in my drawing abilities as an artist, nor my life with a twisted plot of a sudden detour of confusion as it unfolded beyond my control.

The frustration throughout the unexpected events that forever changed me. In being smothered and overtaken by the voice of a stalker into his own darkened mine, I imagined it as if this carried on through someone else’s ghostly stories and not mine. Thinking this couldn’t have fallen on my path a much easier way to assume it at the time.

Nevertheless, let me take you back to the earlier years of my life along with my family, as it seemed simpler back in the day when living at home, I would always sit comfortably on the floor of my bedroom, drawing for hours at a time, totally absorbed in what I was doing.

I embraced a passion in sketching, which carried throughout my life—as there was almost never a situation that was captivating enough to draw me away from doing my drawing, even in tuning out the laughter of my friends outside. However, hearing music playing in the front yard of my parents’ home was always captivating enough to get me off the floor from drawing.

Soon noticing when stepping out the front door was no other than my brother Ray, playing his guitar, singing with melody and meaning. His long wavy hair lightly hovers over his shoulders, seeing his friends lying or sitting on the grass, cradling his words in the songs that he just made up.

Our house was always filled with magical sounds throughout our home. At times enjoying tunes within my brother Daniel’s room as he played his instrument from his trumpet (with such energy as the flow of his tune was so perfect; you would truly believe it’s Herb Alpert), or his drums playing Wipe Out by the Surfaris, or Daniel’s voice that was carried throughout our home as he sang songs by The Righteous Brothers—captivating sounds that would unleash your own emotions. My family was never short in revealing their talents.

However, two of my sisters, Rosie and Isabel, were married at this particular time. My other older sister Ruthie dedicated a good portion of her time working. But some weekends we all spent escaping and venturing to Chinatown in San Francisco, and always with my younger sister Naomi attached to my mom deep in the front seat of Ruthie’s vehicle while the rest of us are packed like sardines in the backseat of her car. We occasionally left my dad behind to finish his work as we packed our snacks to head out of town.

Once in a while, our parents would take us on a day trip to Santa Cruz to visit their friends before heading out to the boardwalk for the day. I can honestly say that both my parents were very adventurous and loving people. But don’t get me wrong; they were also old-school, direct and to the point, expected respect, and worthy of their words.

I was proud to model my conduct through my own behavior and resources that I’ve learned within my own family in helping myself in managing situations throughout my life in strength, dignity and control. However, the stubbornness I was born with may have helped me at times in many different circumstances with balancing my emotions and gathering strength within myself in order to stomach my own fears of a stalker, which was within a breath away. Something I unfortunately experienced in my younger years, this would be the start of an unbreakable chain of events that began early on.

Living in Carmichael, California, this one particular warm night in 1973, my sister Naomi and I we’re in our bedroom, which we shared, being silly, giggling, and telling stories. All of a sudden, we became startled over some noise we heard outside our bedroom window. Quietly looking over our shoulders toward that direction, we began to move slowly, shushing each other as we stood up, looking out. He was peeking in.

All at once, we screamed with our voices at a high pitch, and we saw him running off, leaving his ski mask behind. My brother Ray and my dad quickly retrieved it. With no surprise, my brother Ray examined the ski mask. Pulling out a strand of dishwater-colored hair. As my dad immediately took it from him, I do believe the police were called. Although I don’t recall if my parents had received any information on the guy that left his skimask behind.

In the summer of 1973, we took a family vacation to Mexico for about two weeks. On our return home, my sisters quickly noticed that someone had been sleeping in my bed. Pulling back the sheets, we found a half-eaten lollipop stuck between my sheets. First of all, we never left our home without having the beds made—this happened to be the number one rule in our home—nor did we have any candy around the house. At that moment my family started scrambling throughout other bedrooms, looking to see what other beds have been slept in. But mine was the only one.

We soon heard my mom’s voice from the back laundry room calling out to my dad, stating that her ironing board was pulled out with the iron still on. As my brother Ray was quick to say, it had to be Goldilocks. No doubt, it was obvious someone had been staying in our home. The police once again was called which I have no idea what took place in the conversation between my parents and the police, no doubt our parents were not the type to involve us in adult conversations which you might also say that I was quite sheltered­­­­­.

In 1974, I was seldom without a ride to and from school, being accompanied by my dad driving me, so walking home was always a treat. The excitement of taking my time in having that freedom of exploring my way home, seeing how others lived, and making new friends along the way gave me a better perspective of how lucky I was. This exciting day would soon overshadow my own confidence, which began on this day of exploring on my walk home from school. I noticed across the street a car moving slowly just about a block away from the schoolyard, going the opposite direction. As his appearance and behavior seemed out of place, he undoubtedly seemed lost or he was looking for someone. I remember thinking he’s not like any ordinary dad picking up his kid from school; it was more like he was scoping.

I immediately decided to move forward, entangling myself around a group of kids that I didn’t even know heading the same direction. But I did not mention to anyone about this strange man across the street because I was the strange new one in the crowd that no one knew, but still trying to carry on with small talk. As I looked over my shoulder, I realized this man in his car quickly made a sharp turn only to park a short distance away.

Soon, from one block to another, the group of kids become fewer and fewer as they all walked out into their different locations heading home. I soon found myself walking alone. As I continued to glance over my shoulder, this man was still sitting in his car at a distance, only moving forward when I was getting apparently too far from his view.

Feeling very uncomfortable, I quickly looked away, holding my books tightly to my chest, and began to walk even faster. Noticing his car approaching my direction. Ignoring the questions of this man trying to carry on a conversation through the window of his car, I showed no interest in what this man was saying, only making sure of keeping my stride and continuing to look forward without responding. He then tried to get my full attention by driving right next to me, asking about giving me a ride. He was very persistent.

Becoming very annoyed, I replied, saying no, and just continuing to walk. I soon felt an impulse to run. Before doing so, he drove in front cutting me off and insisting once again that I get in. As he’s leaning his body all the way over to the passenger seat, I responded once again by saying no.

That’s when I noticed his hand which really caught my attention. This thin Caucasian man, possibly tall, wore thinly wired frame glasses with the most extraordinarily long fingers. At that quick moment, being taken back by amazement on how