Chapter 3 #2
“And that’s good. I’m glad you reported your concerns. But I want you to consider the possibility that you might be misinterpreting normal events as threatening. The human brain is wired to see patterns, especially when we’re under stress.”
Normal events. Misinterpretation. Patterns that aren’t really there.
Nora stood abruptly. “I need to go.”
“Nora—”
“I have a work thing. I forgot. I’m sorry.”
She grabbed her purse and left before Dr. Kim could stop her, before she could hear any more about how her broken brain was creating problems that didn’t exist.
Outside, the January air bit at her face. She stood on the sidewalk for a moment, trying to ground herself. Trying to figure out what was real.
Lila didn’t believe her. Dr. Kim didn’t believe her. IT at work didn’t believe her.
Maybe they were all right. Maybe she was losing her grip on reality, seeing threats in shadows, letting her damaged childhood turn her into someone who couldn’t trust her own perceptions.
Her phone buzzed. Detective Black: Found something on the security footage. Can you meet tomorrow morning at your building? 9 AM?
Nora’s hands shook as she typed back: Yes. Thank you.
One person. One person believed something was wrong.
She had to hold onto that.
***
That evening, Nora stood in her apartment doorway, keys in hand, trying to make herself go inside.
The door was locked. Deadbolt secure. Chain still in place, which meant no one could have entered while she was gone.
But the feeling of wrongness pressed against her skin like static electricity.
She unlocked the door and stepped inside, flipping on every light as she moved through the apartment. Living room—clear. Kitchen—clear. Bedroom—
She froze.
The photo on her nightstand. The one of her parents, her mom laughing while her dad hugged her from behind, Nora a tiny figure between them. She kept it in a silver frame, always positioned at a slight angle so she could see it when she lay in bed.
Now it faced the wall.
Nora’s breath came faster. She moved to the nightstand, hands shaking, and turned the frame around. Her parents smiled out at her, frozen in that moment before everything shattered.
You moved it yourself. You were cleaning and forgot to put it back.
Except she never moved that photo. Ever. It was sacred. Untouchable.
She backed out of the bedroom, pulse hammering. Pulled out her phone and dialed Detective Black’s number before she could second-guess herself.
He answered on the second ring. “Nora? Everything okay?”
“Someone was in my apartment.” Her voice came out thin, breathless. “The photo on my nightstand—it was turned around. I didn’t do it. I never touch that photo.”
A pause. She could hear traffic in the background, the sound of his car. “Are you there now? In the apartment?”
“Yes. The door was locked. Everything was locked. But the photo—”
“Listen to me carefully.” His voice was calm, authoritative. It cut through her panic like an anchor. “I want you to leave the apartment right now. Don’t touch anything else. Go somewhere public—a coffee shop, a friend’s house, somewhere with people. I’m on my way.”
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m coming. Give me your address.”
She did, feeling tears prick at her eyes. She shouldn’t cry. Shouldn’t fall apart. But someone believed her. Someone was coming.
“Thank you,” she whispered.
“Twenty minutes. Stay on the phone with me until you’re somewhere safe.”
Nora grabbed her purse and laptop and left the apartment, keeping her phone pressed to her ear as she took the elevator down. Detective Black kept talking—nothing important, just his voice filling the silence, keeping her grounded.
Eugene, the night security guard, looked up from his desk as she rushed past. “Evening, Ms. Bell. Everything okay?”
She forced a smile. “Fine. Just forgot something.”
Outside, the cold air helped clear her head. She walked three blocks to a chain coffee shop, bright and busy with the after-work crowd. Found a table by the window where she could see the street.
“I’m at Starbucks on Fifth,” she told Detective Black. “I’m okay.”
“I’ll be there soon. Order something. Try to relax.”
“Okay.”
She ended the call and ordered a tea she didn’t want, then sat at her table, watching people pass by on the sidewalk. Normal people with normal problems. No one watching them. No one invading their space.
Her phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number: You looked beautiful today. The blue sweater is my favorite.
Nora’s blood turned to ice.
She was wearing a blue sweater. Had been all day.
With shaking fingers, she forwarded the text to Detective Black, then typed: Just got this. Unknown number.
His response came immediately: Don’t respond. I’m five minutes out.
Nora set down her phone and wrapped both hands around her tea, trying to stop the shaking. Trying not to look at every person in the coffee shop, wondering which one was watching her.
Because someone was watching. Someone had been in her apartment, turned her parents’ photo around, and now they wanted her to know they’d seen her today.
This wasn’t anxiety. Wasn’t paranoia. Wasn’t her broken brain creating patterns.
This was real.
And it was getting worse.
She kept her eyes on the street, watching for Detective Black’s car, holding onto the only solid truth she had left: someone believed her.
Someone was coming.
She wasn’t alone.
Outside, in the growing darkness, a figure stood across the street. Watching. Waiting.
But Nora didn’t see them.
Not yet.