The cab stopped in front of Sarah's building, the familiar facade suddenly ominous in the morning light. Sarah paid the driver while Michelle scanned the street, her posture tense, vigilant.

  "I don't like this," Michelle muttered as they approached the entrance. "We should have gone straight to the police."

  Sarah didn't respond. Her attention was fixed on the lobby beyond the glass doors. Walter's desk was empty, his chair pushed neatly under the counter. No sign of the security guard who had been a reassuring constant since she'd moved in.

  "Walter's not here," she said, her voice tight.

  Michelle grabbed her arm. "That's it. We're leaving."

  "No." Sarah pulled away. "I told you, I need to see my apartment."

  "Sarah, think about it. The one day you really need the security guard, he's conveniently absent? This feels like a setup."

  Sarah hesitated, Michelle's words striking a chord of truth. The timing was suspicious. But the need to see her apartment, to confront whatever had been done to her space, overrode her caution.

  "We'll be quick," she promised. "In and out in five minutes. If anything feels off, we leave immediately."

  Michelle sighed, clearly unhappy but unwilling to abandon her friend. "Fine. But I'm calling Jake to let him know where we are." She pulled out her phone and dialed as they entered the lobby.

  Sarah swiped her key card at the security door, the familiar beep and click momentarily comforting. The lobby was eerily quiet, their footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The morning mail had been sorted into the residents' boxes, suggesting Walter had at least started his shift before disappearing.

  As they waited for the elevator, Michelle spoke quietly into her phone. "We're at Sarah's building now... No, we're just grabbing some of her things... Yes, together the whole time... The security guy isn't here, which is weird... We'll be at the precinct in twenty minutes, tops."

  The elevator arrived with a soft chime. Sarah stepped inside, Michelle following close behind, still on the phone. As the doors began to close, a hand shot through the gap, forcing them open again.

  "Hold the elevator, please!"

  Sarah's heart lurched painfully as Eric Larsen stepped into the car. Her neighbor smiled briefly, his eyes moving between the two women.

  "Morning, Sarah. Heading out or coming home?"

  Sarah forced herself to appear calm. "Just stopping by to pick up a few things."

  Eric nodded, pressing the button for the fifth floor though it was already lit. "I haven't seen you since yesterday. Everything okay?"

  Before Sarah could respond, Michelle stepped slightly in front of her, ending her call with a pointed, "We'll see you soon, Jake."

  "Michelle, this is my neighbor, Eric Larsen," Sarah said, her voice remarkably steady. "Eric, this is my friend Michelle."

  Eric extended his hand. "Nice to meet you."

  Michelle shook it briefly, her smile not reaching her eyes. "Likewise."

  An uncomfortable silence filled the elevator as it ascended. Sarah could feel Eric watching her, though every time she glanced his way, he was staring straight ahead at the floor numbers.

  "You're a police officer, right?" Michelle asked suddenly. "Sarah mentioned that."

  Eric nodded, his expression pleasant but unrevealing. "That's right. Nothing exciting though. Mostly administrative work these days."

  "Which precinct?"

  The question seemed to catch him off guard, but he recovered quickly. "Nineteenth. Over on East 67th."

  "My boyfriend's cousin is a detective with the NYPD," Michelle continued, her tone deliberately casual. "Thomas Reid. Do you know him?"

  "Can't say I do. It's a big department. Different precincts don't mix much."

  The elevator stopped at the fifth floor, and all three of them exited. Sarah felt a chill as Eric followed them down the hallway toward her apartment.

  "You're in 5A, right, Sarah?" he asked, gesturing toward her door.

  "That's right." Sarah reached into her purse for her keys, fighting to keep her hand steady.

  "I'm just across the hall in 5D. If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to knock." He moved to his own door, inserting his key. "Have a good day, ladies."

  Sarah and Michelle stood frozen until Eric's door closed behind him. Michelle immediately grabbed Sarah's arm, pulling her close to whisper urgently.

  "I don't like him. Something's off."

  "I know," Sarah murmured, fumbling with her keys. "Let's just get what I need and go."

  "Did you notice he didn't ask why you needed a police detective?"

  Sarah paused, the key halfway to the lock. Michelle was right. Eric had shown no curiosity about their reference to meeting Jake's cousin, the detective. Most people would have asked if something was wrong, if they needed help.

  "Maybe he was just being polite," Sarah offered, but her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.

  "Or maybe he already knows why we need a detective."

  Sarah inserted her key in the lock, twisted it, and pushed the door open. The apartment beyond was dim, curtains drawn against the morning light. She reached for the light switch, flipping it on.

  Everything looked normal. Her living room was exactly as she'd left it yesterday morning. The coffee table books neatly arranged. The throw pillows on the couch in their usual places. Even her laptop sat where she'd forgotten it in her rush to work, closed on the side table.

  "Let's be quick," Sarah said, stepping inside. "I'll get clothes and toiletries. Can you grab my work laptop and charger?"

  Michelle nodded, closing the door behind them but leaving it unlocked for a quick exit. "Stay within sight of each other."

  Sarah moved to her bedroom doorway and stopped, her breath catching. The bed was made—perfectly made, with hospital corners and plumped pillows. She never made her bed that way. Never. And certainly not yesterday morning when she'd been running late.

  "Michelle," she called, her voice barely audible.

  Michelle appeared at her side, following her gaze to the bed. "Is that how you left it?"

  "No. It was unmade. You saw the picture in the email."

  They both stared at the bed, the implications settling between them. Someone had been here after taking those photos. Someone had made the bed with meticulous care.

  "Let's get your stuff and go," Michelle said, her voice tight. "Right now."

  Sarah moved to her closet, grabbing a duffel bag from the top shelf. She began stuffing clothes into it haphazardly—jeans, shirts, underwear, not caring what she took as long as she had enough for several days. Michelle stayed in the doorway, dividing her attention between Sarah and the apartment behind her.

  "Your laptop's gone," she said suddenly.

  Sarah turned. "What?"

  "Your work laptop. It's not on the side table anymore."

  Sarah abandoned the half-filled duffel bag and moved to the living room. The side table was empty. She distinctly remembered leaving her laptop there yesterday morning, closing it without powering it down when she realized she was running late.

  "It has to be here," she muttered, looking around the room. "I didn't take it to work yesterday."

  "Could it be in your bedroom? Or the kitchen?"

  Sarah shook her head, a cold certainty settling in her stomach. "No. I left it right there."

  She moved through the apartment, checking all the places she might have put the laptop, though she knew it was futile. The kitchen counter was empty. The desk in her small home office held only her desktop computer, still powered down. The dining table was bare except for a small vase of fresh flowers.

  Fresh flowers she hadn't bought.

  Sarah stopped, staring at the arrangement. Daisies. White daisies with delicate green ferns, arranged in a blue glass vase she recognized as her own, usually kept under the sink.

  "Michelle," she called again, not taking her eyes off the flowers.

  Michelle appeared in the doorway, following her gaze. "Did you...?"

  "No." Sarah moved closer to the table, noting a small white card tucked among the flowers. With trembling fingers, she plucked it out and read the handwritten message.

  *I thought these would brighten your day. You seem stressed lately. —A Friend*

  Sarah handed the card to Michelle, who read it with widening eyes.

  "We need to leave. Now." Michelle pulled her phone from her pocket. "I'm calling the police."

  "Wait." Sarah held up a hand, suddenly alert. "Do you hear that?"

  A faint sound came from the bathroom—running water. The shower, turned on low.

  "Someone's here," Michelle whispered, backing toward the front door, phone clutched in her hand.

  Sarah followed, her heart hammering against her ribs. They were halfway to the door when it swung open.

  Walter stood in the doorway, his weathered face breaking into a smile that quickly faded as he registered their expressions.

  "Ms. Prescott? Is everything all right? I saw on the security monitor that you'd come in, and I wanted to check if you needed anything."

  Relief flooded through Sarah. "Walter. Thank God."

  "Someone's in the apartment," Michelle said urgently. "In the bathroom."

  Walter's posture changed immediately, his friendly demeanor replaced by alert professionalism. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

  "Stay behind me," he instructed, moving toward the bathroom. "Have you called the police?"

  "We were about to," Sarah replied, following a few paces behind him.

  Walter approached the bathroom door, which was slightly ajar. The sound of running water was clearer now. He pushed the door open slowly, revealing the empty bathroom, shower running, steam beginning to fill the space.

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  "There's no one here," he said, scanning the small room before turning off the water. "But someone was."

  Sarah stepped past him into the bathroom, noting the wet footprints on the tile floor. A towel lay discarded on the counter, still damp. And on the fogged mirror, a message had been written with a fingertip:

  *I'LL SEE YOU SOON*

  "Jesus," Walter muttered, pulling out his phone. "I'm calling the police."

  "We need to check the rest of the apartment," Michelle insisted. "They could still be here."

  Walter nodded grimly. "You two stay together. I'll check the rooms."

  He moved methodically through the apartment, checking each room, opening closets, looking under the bed. Sarah and Michelle stayed in the living room, Michelle with her arm around Sarah's shoulders, both of them tense, listening for any sound of confrontation.

  "All clear," Walter announced, returning to the living room. "But someone was definitely here recently." He held up a man's jacket, dark blue, found hanging in Sarah's closet. "This yours?"

  Sarah shook her head, recoiling from the garment as if it might bite. "No. I've never seen it before."

  Walter draped the jacket over a chair, careful to touch only the collar. "The police will want to check it for evidence. They're on their way now." He looked at Sarah with genuine concern. "What's going on, Ms. Prescott?"

  Before she could answer, Sarah's phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out, already knowing what she would find.

  A new message from the unknown number: *Did you like the flowers? Daisies are your favorite, right? Sorry about the shower. I thought I'd be done before you arrived.*

  Sarah handed the phone to Walter, who read the message with a deepening frown.

  "How long has this been happening?"

  "Just since yesterday," Michelle answered. "But it's escalating fast. We were on our way to meet with a detective—her boyfriend's cousin—when Sarah insisted on stopping here first."

  Walter nodded, handing the phone back to Sarah. "Smart to get the police involved. This is serious." He glanced toward the front door. "Do you have somewhere else you can stay? You shouldn't be here alone."

  "She's staying with me," Michelle said firmly.

  "Good." Walter moved to the window, peering down at the street. "There's a patrol car pulling up now. They made good time."

  Sarah gathered her half-packed duffel bag from the bedroom, adding toiletries from the bathroom, deliberately avoiding looking at the message on the mirror. Michelle collected Sarah's phone charger and a few other essentials.

  "What about your work laptop?" Michelle asked as they prepared to leave.

  "It's gone," Sarah replied, the implications hitting her anew. "All my client files, presentations... everything is on there."

  "We'll add it to the police report," Walter assured her. "They'll take this seriously, especially with the evidence here."

  A knock at the door announced the arrival of the police. Walter answered it, explaining the situation to the two uniformed officers who entered, a middle-aged man with a receding hairline and a younger woman with sharp eyes that missed nothing as she scanned the apartment.

  "Officer Chen and Officer Ramirez," Walter introduced them. "This is Ms. Prescott, the resident, and her friend Ms...."

  "Reeves," Michelle supplied. "Michelle Reeves."

  "Can you tell us what happened?" Officer Chen asked, notebook already in hand.

  Sarah began to explain, detailing the events of the past day—the moved items, the strange texts, the emails, the photos, and now the shower and missing laptop. As she spoke, Officer Ramirez moved through the apartment, examining the bathroom mirror, the flowers, the unfamiliar jacket.

  "We need to file a formal report," Officer Chen said when Sarah finished. "And we'd like to bring in a crime scene unit to check for fingerprints and other evidence."

  "Of course," Sarah agreed. "Whatever you need."

  "We also recommend you stay elsewhere for the time being," he continued. "Do you have friends or family you can stay with?"

  "She's staying with me," Michelle repeated.

  Officer Ramirez returned to the living room, her expression serious. "There's something you should see."

  She led them to Sarah's bedroom, pointing to the closet door, which now stood open. On the inside of the door, previously hidden when it was closed, was a collage of photos—dozens of them, all of Sarah. Sarah walking down the street. Sarah sitting at a café. Sarah at her desk, visible through her office window. Sarah asleep in her own bed.

  "Oh my God," Michelle whispered.

  Sarah stared at the images, unable to process what she was seeing. Some of the photos were clearly recent—her in the blue blouse from yesterday, her entering Michelle's building last night. But others were older, weeks or even months old, judging by her changing hairstyles and the seasonal clothing.

  This hadn't started yesterday. This had been going on for a long, long time.

  "Ms. Prescott," Officer Chen said gently, "I think you'd better come with us to the station right now. This situation is more serious than we initially thought."

  Sarah nodded numbly, turning away from the disturbing display. As they moved toward the door, Officer Ramirez's radio crackled to life.

  "All units be advised, we have a 10-50 in progress at East 72nd and Third Avenue. Multiple vehicles involved, injuries reported. Available units respond."

  The officers exchanged glances. "We have to take this," Officer Chen said apologetically. "Major accident just a few blocks from here."

  "I understand," Sarah replied.

  "We'll have another unit meet you at the station," Officer Ramirez assured her. "And we'll have a crime scene unit here within the hour. Don't touch anything else in the apartment."

  "I'll see that the apartment is secured until they arrive," Walter promised.

  The officers left, their footsteps echoing down the hallway toward the elevator. Walter turned to Sarah, genuine concern on his weathered face.

  "I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Ms. Prescott. I feel like I've failed in my duties somehow."

  "It's not your fault, Walter," Sarah assured him, though her voice was hollow. "Whoever is doing this... they're very determined."

  "I'll make sure no one enters your apartment until the crime scene unit arrives," he promised. "And I'll personally escort you out of the building."

  As they prepared to leave, Sarah cast one last glance at her apartment—her sanctuary turned prison. The neatly made bed. The flowers on the table. The jacket draped over the chair. The shower, still dripping slightly.

  Someone had made themselves at home in her space, had claimed it as their own. And they wanted her to know it.

  In the elevator, Sarah's phone buzzed again. Despite Michelle's warning glance, she checked the message.

  *I knew you'd find my gift. Now you know how long I've been watching. How well I know you. We're connected, Sarah. Always have been.*

  She turned the phone off completely, shoving it deep into her bag as if putting physical distance between herself and the messages could somehow sever the connection her stalker claimed.

  In the lobby, Walter walked them to the door, vigilant, protective. "I'll call a cab for you," he offered.

  "We already have a ride," Michelle replied. "Jake's cousin is meeting us."

  And indeed, as they stepped outside, a black sedan pulled up to the curb. A tall man in a suit emerged from the driver's side, his sharp eyes immediately finding Sarah's. He was older than Sarah had expected, mid-forties perhaps, with salt-and-pepper hair cut short and a face that seemed perpetually serious.

  "Sarah Prescott?" he asked, extending his hand. "Detective Thomas Reid. Jake asked me to meet you."

  Sarah shook his hand, relief washing over her at the official help. "Thank you for coming."

  "Let's get you to the precinct," he said, opening the rear door for them. "You can tell me everything on the way."

  Michelle and Sarah slid into the back seat, Walter watching until they were safely inside. As Detective Reid pulled away from the curb, Sarah glanced back at her building. In a fifth-floor window, a curtain moved slightly, then fell back into place.

  Her eyes moved lower, to the lobby entrance where Walter still stood. And just behind him, emerging from the building, was Eric Larsen. He paused on the steps, watching the departing car with an unreadable expression.

  Sarah turned away, sinking into the seat as Detective Reid navigated through morning traffic. Michelle squeezed her hand in silent support, but Sarah barely felt it. Her mind was filled with images from the closet door—the photos spanning months of her life, each one a violation, each one proof that someone had been watching her, studying her, obsessing over her while she remained oblivious.

  Until now.

  "I understand you've had a difficult twenty-four hours," Detective Reid said, his eyes meeting hers briefly in the rearview mirror. "But you're doing the right thing coming forward. We take stalking cases very seriously."

  Sarah nodded, trying to take comfort in his words. But as they drove toward the precinct, she couldn't shake the feeling that they were missing something important. That despite the police involvement, despite the evidence, despite everything they were doing right, the worst was yet to come.

  And somewhere, watching, waiting, her stalker was already planning his next move.