Nonetheless, I casually walked over a few rows to the place from which I thought this probably non-existent person was watching me. A couple of the rows of shelves were, at that location, half-rows, which allowed room for a typical library table. Just as I expected, there was no one there.
There was, however, one book left on the otherwise empty table: the library's copy of my yearbook.
Coincidence? Sure, very possible. But what are the actual chances that someone chose this specific yearbook, among many other yearbooks, and left it on a table at the very time I was browsing nearby?
My own copy of my yearbook, Olio. |
This was a very small college, only about 1600 students when I attended. My presence at the library each night was entirely predictable. I was known to read, write, and use the computers there regularly, usually after work. Someone on Topix had even said as much, citing my timing in a post on the Maura Murray thread.
In fact, I even saw an exact likeness of Maura Murray there five or six times. I had seen photos of her hundreds of times. Each night, she sat 90 degrees to me at a neighboring computer station, approximately 106 inches away, unobstructed view.
She entered through the main door and walked straight to the station directly in front of me. She sat down and browsed for about 20-30 minutes. Then, each time, instead of leaving the same way she had entered, straight for the front door, she detoured slightly and walked right past me. Each time she looked down and smiled a little. She was just inches away. It looked exactly like Maura Murray, except she was a little older and a few pounds heavier. No idea who she really was.
By itself, sure, the yearbook thing was a coincidence, just like the "Maura Murray" sighting. But coincidences of this kind were accumulating. A lot. Over several years. And they weren't hiding it.
Police and PIs call it open shadowing. I call it intimidation. Because, ultimately, cops hate free speech. They hate any mention of the Corolla crash, as evidenced by their vandalism of my backyard.
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