Jackson now has published 11 novels, the last three of which are “domestic” thrillers, that is, not police procedurals or international spy stories. This one is the scariest of them all. We begin in L. A. where Meribel Mills, a successful actress, aged about 40, has a problem: a stalker. Meribel, a sensitive woman, has extra sharp senses. She can “feel” it if someone is staring at her: “eyes watching, shivery trails crawling across my skin.”
He also writes her terrifying, creepy letters, of which Jackson can be proud. “We will be sweet together. I will be sweet to you when you are good. …Destiny is coming for you.’’ He wants to take her to the wilderness, alone. The letters are written in scented magic marker: “Faux orange and chalky chocolate mint and the sick-sweet of hot-pink cotton candy.” One day she realizes he has been in her house, then, one evening, on her sheets she smells “bay rum cologne.”
Meribel immediately accepts an acting job on a sitcom “in Georgia, of all places,” for her own safety and for her daughter, Honor. This child, now 12, Meribel adopted as an infant. Honor is autistic, and a challenging character to write, I am sure, especially since some chapters are from Honor’s point of view. She has trouble with human contact, especially strangers, human touch, and must avoid sugar among other things. Very bright, with a nearly eidetic memory, she cannot tell a lie, but can distort and omit. When stressed, Honor feels herself full of buzzing bees and her “self” rising to the top of her skull. A crisis results in “stimming.” I had to look it up. Means repetitive vocalizations or movements, perhaps calming.
Soon after Meribel’s move to Atlanta, the letters resume, and Marker Man, as he is called, has followed her east. Meribel, who has played in a good many scary slasher movies, knows what to do to avoid being the girl who is TSTL—too stupid to live, but it gets beautifully complicated. Jackson creates doubts in the reader’s mind, and in Meribel’s, as to which man—a stranger, her ex-husband James, her apartment neighbor Cooper, or even her last lover in LA, Cam, might be the maniac who’s after her. Or is there more than one? Paranoia rules. But the threat is real. The action mounts beautifully and the plot twists are deft, unexpected, startling.
This novel is for women readers, no doubt. There are elaborate descriptions of every piece of clothing Meribel dons: styles, cuts, fabrics I know not of. And the book is saturated with smells—Meribel remembers James’s smells, from college days; Cam “used a shampoo with bergamot and lime.” Every character has distinguishing odors, some really unpleasant.
Not all the men here are monsters, but several are and, be assured, this damsel in distress will have to rescue herself.
