They follow me

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The streets felt deserted, though I knew that wasn't the case. I could not see them, but I felt the presence of eyes watching me. I had not felt it that day in the park, and that was a mistake I could not make again. That presence haunted me, watching as I led my son into the fast food restaurant he had chosen to eat at. I did not witness anyone walking in after us, but I knew that the watcher certainly had. Who of these men and women, was it? Was it the woman in the smart business suit, the newspaper in her hand, her wrist resting on a legal pad ready to jot down notes? Or was it the man in khaki pants and a blue pull over, his eyes hidden behind a baseball cap? Somehow, I didn't think it was him. No matter who it was, I knew that I would never rid myself of their presence. Someone was always following me, though I could never pick them out from the crowd. What they wanted with me, I did not know. I knew they had patience. I knew that whatever their plan was, they were content with waiting. It had been four months since that day in the park. Four long, torturous months without my wife and daughter. This bit of fragmented writing is a continuation of a dream I had last night. I wrote the previous part in a discussion earlier today. Do you have a tic when someone is watching you? My lip twitches when someone is watching me. Not as much as it once did, it used to be a pretty bad tic.