1. Anna
ANNA
PRESENT
This is stupid. You are being stupid. Nobody ’ s out there waiting for you. Nobody cares. Nobody is stalking you.
I tell myself this for the hundredth time as I continue standing in front of my apartment door, willing my feet to move.
Much good it does. I’ve been in this exact spot for the last nineteen minutes, still unable to so much as unlatch the deadbolt.
My heart jackhammers hard enough inside my chest that it feels like it’s trying to chisel its way out, and I’m shaking badly enough that you’d think I downed an entire pot of coffee.
All I want to do is run back into my bedroom, curl into a ball on my mattress, and hide under the covers from the scary monsters outside.
Sadly, that’s not an option. The at-home freelance work I’ve been doing hardly offers the financial stability I need right now.
I need a job, even if only part-time.
But that can’t happen if I don’t leave the apartment.
Come on, Anna. Get your head out of your ass, turn the doorknob, and at least walk out into the hallway. Nobody ’ s waiting for you.
I knew it was going to take a shit-ton of internal convincing to get my ass out the door this morning, hence why I forced myself to be ready thirty minutes early.
I also want to make sure my roommate wouldn’t be awake yet to witness my mini-freakout.
She already thinks I’m weird—no need to make things worse.
I actually manage to rest my hand on the doorknob, but before I can bring myself to turn it, I hear something out in the hallway and immediately scramble back.
He ’ s here.
He found me.
He ’ s going to finish what he started—
“Nancy, can you feed Whiskers while I’m out? He gets gassy if I feed him his breakfast after nine o’clock,” Mrs. Alderman’s muffled voice calls out from the other side of the door.
I could collapse from relief to know it’s just my hundred-year-old neighbor and her even older sister, but the jumpscare still has me rattled enough that I find myself backing further away from the door.
My roommate’s alarm sounds off, and it’s only a matter of minutes before she drags herself out here to make some coffee.
I try to center myself again, reaching for the doorknob, but the universe really must be messing with me this morning. Instead of the usual two to three minutes it takes for Darcy to peel herself out of bed, her bedroom door is already opening, leaving me with no other option.
I twist the knob and dart out the front door before she can see what a trembling mess I am.
Unfortunately, I still waited too long to at least have Mrs. Alderman keep me company, because I stumble out of the apartment and into an empty hallway.
This is the first time I’ve been out here in nearly a month, and that fact doesn’t escape me either. The only time I’ve ever opened the front door was to grab any deliveries, and that’s only after the person who brought them has already left.
I want to say that my fear is unjustified, that being out here makes me realize I’m not in danger, that I can calm down…
But not a single one of those things rings true.
My only company right now is my anxiety, except…oh, look. She brought her best friend, paranoia.
It’s unsettling, being alone when there’s still so much noise around me.
Everybody living in my building either requires hearing aids or is in college and has no comprehension of what noise control means.
Televisions and stereos blast throughout the day and night, which is why my roommate often has to wear noise-canceling headphones just to sleep.
Thankfully, I had gotten used to the lifestyle living in my old dorm, so it’s white noise at this point…
Except when I’m out in the hallway, apparently.
I let out a shriek of my own when I hear someone scream inside the apartment I walk past, only to hear the revving of a chainsaw and scary music accompanying the sound.
Someone’s just watching a horror movie.
Again, I should be reassured, but it also invites that little nasty thing I like to call my imagination into the picture.
Are there security cameras in the hallway?
I look over my shoulder, like I’m expecting to see Michael Myers standing there, but there’s no one.
That still doesn’t stop me from all but sprinting for the stairs.
Since the building has six floors, there is, in fact, an elevator, but the idea of being in a confined space isn’t sitting well with me at the moment.
Thankfully, I live on the third floor, so it’s not that big of a deal, but I can’t keep up my pace when I reach the final flight.
The last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself, so running through the lobby is a big no-no.
I’m already at a disadvantage for what I’m wearing.
It’s not like I can show up to the interview in an oversized hoodie, sweatpants, and a baseball cap.
You have to dress for the job you want. And right now, I want the one that can give me money.
The building isn’t remotely fancy enough to have a concierge, but there is still a lobby attendant, who rightfully looks at me with one eyebrow raised.
Anyone I’ve seen entering the complex from my apartment is either college-aged or well into retirement.
Sure, they dress up at night, but at 8:00 a.m., all you’ll see are workout clothes or work uniforms. Hence, I’m sticking out like a sore thumb in my sleeveless boatneck dress, oversized sunglasses, and an even larger Audrey Hepburn-style sunhat.
It’s even more ridiculous, considering how bruised the sky looks through the front windows.
The radar anticipates a pretty nasty storm to roll in around ten, yet I look like I’m going to spend the day strolling through the gardens of the nearest country club.
It’s not like I had a choice, though. The only other things I own that could be used to shield my face and hair are a beanie cap and my Halloween mask from last year.
Sure, I could have ordered something online, but my funds are running a little low at the moment.
At least this way, if I lower my head, the enormous brim of the sunhat will block any view of me entirely.
Surveying the parking lot on my way out, I only spot an older gentleman with a cane and a petite girl in fitness gear.
Sadly, it’s still a parking lot, so there’s no knowing who might be hiding inside any of the vehicles I pass.
My self-defense keychain offers little reassurance, nor does me having preemptively dialed 911 into my phone, my finger hovering over the call button.
Nevertheless, I make it into my car without incident, all too eager to tear out of the lot.
My senses are in overdrive during the trek to Main Street, but nothing appears amiss when I park a block down from Westfall Jewelers along the curb.
Unfortunately, I can’t get any closer, and I’ll have nowhere to put the hat once I get to the store, so I’m feeling far too exposed as I exit the car.
Paradise City may not be a bustling metropolis comparable to New York or Chicago, but it certainly isn’t a small town either, with a population of just over 100,000.
And just like any municipal corporation this large, there are good and bad areas.
I live somewhere on the fringe, my renovated apartment building two streets above where things start to get “sketchy.” What a difference that fifteen-minute drive makes, because I may as well be in another world entering Royal Borough, the affluent north end of town.
You won’t be finding any quaint little diners and pizzerias like you will in my neck of the woods.
Here, everything is either part of the historic district with crown-molded buildings that now house law offices or swanky new restaurants and retailers that cater to tourists and residents alike, so long as they have deep pockets.
The stilettos in the nearby shop window would cost me more than my monthly rent, and that little fact only has me feeling more insecure.
It’s too early in the morning for shoppers, or at least I’m assuming it is, because everybody I pass on the sidewalk is heading determinately either to or from the coffee shop across the street.
Nobody is browsing any of the storefronts, all clearly on their way to work.
I catch a glimpse of a dark blue suit out of the corner of my eye, and for the fraction of a second it takes to digest who’s wearing it, my lungs suck in air, preparing to scream.
The man has a similar build and haircut, but even from this distance, I can see he’s a few inches too short and sporting a weak chin. Definitely not Sebastian.
Get a hold of yourself, Anna.
I’m relieved to escape all the one-sided conversations everyone’s having with their phones, finding the door to the jewelers unlocked.
I anticipated having to be buzzed in, like most places in the city, but again, this is Royal Borough.
Criminals aren’t ballsy enough to come here, and who can blame them?
The average police response time in this area is less than two minutes.
The worst offense anyone’s ever committed around here is probably littering.
The electronic sensor above the entrance triggers a soft bell chime, and the clamor from the streets is nearly silenced when the door shuts behind me.
All there is inside is the kind of polite pop music typically reserved for elevators, playing quietly in the back.
Even if there aren’t any customers, I at least expected the staff would be here, but there’s no one. Well, almost.
I’ve barely made it two steps into the shop when a husky man wearing what appears to be a policeman’s uniform comes barreling out of the back hallway, looking angry and charging right for me.
“We’re closed!”