The 14th Precinct was housed in a weathered brick building that had likely stood for close to a century, its facade darkened by decades of city grime. Inside, the station hummed with the controlled chaos that Sarah associated with police procedurals on television—officers moving purposefully between desks, phones ringing, the occasional raised voice cutting through the ambient noise.

  Detective Reid led them through the bustling bullpen to a small interview room at the back of the building. Unlike the stark interrogation rooms of crime shows, this one had clearly been designed with victims in mind—comfortable chairs, a small table with a box of tissues, walls painted a soothing pale blue rather than institutional gray.

  "Can I get either of you something to drink?" Reid asked as they settled into their seats. "Coffee? Water?"

  "Water would be great," Michelle said. Sarah nodded her agreement, her throat suddenly parched.

  As Reid stepped out to get their drinks, Michelle leaned closer to Sarah. "You okay? You've barely said a word since we left your place."

  Sarah shook her head slightly. "I keep seeing those photos. All this time, Michelle. Months. And I had no idea."

  "None of this is your fault," Michelle said firmly, squeezing Sarah's hand. "The only person to blame is the sick bastard who's doing this."

  Reid returned with water bottles and a manila folder tucked under his arm. He placed the drinks in front of them and took the seat across the table, his movements precise, methodical.

  "I'm going to record our conversation, if that's all right with you," he said, placing a small digital recorder on the table. "Standard procedure for cases like this."

  Sarah nodded, twisting the cap off her water bottle. "That's fine."

  Reid activated the recorder, stating the date, time, and names of those present. Then he opened the folder and extracted a notepad.

  "I reviewed the initial report filed by Officers Chen and Ramirez before they were called away," he began. "But I'd like to hear everything from the beginning, in your own words. Don't leave anything out, no matter how insignificant it might seem."

  Sarah took a deep breath and began with the picture frame on her dresser—that first small displacement that had triggered her unease yesterday morning. She moved chronologically through the events: the coffee beans, the missing strawberries, the keys in the bathroom drawer, her brief encounter with Eric in the hallway. With each detail, Reid made notes, his expression remaining neutral, professional.

  When Sarah reached the part about the text messages, he asked to see her phone. She handed it over, watching as he scrolled through the increasingly disturbing messages.

  "And you don't recognize this number?" he asked.

  "No. I tried calling it back once, but it went straight to voicemail with no greeting."

  Reid made a note. "Probably a burner phone. We can try to trace it, but if your stalker is tech-savvy, they may have taken precautions."

  Sarah continued her account, describing the shower incident, the emails, the photos of her apartment, the collage on her closet door. Her voice remained steady, almost clinical, as if she were describing something that had happened to someone else. It was easier that way, to maintain distance, to pretend this nightmare wasn't her life.

  When she finished, Reid studied his notes for a long moment before looking up at her.

  "You mentioned your neighbor, Eric Larsen. He told you he's a police officer?"

  "Yes. He said he works at the Nineteenth Precinct."

  Reid's expression shifted slightly—a faint narrowing of the eyes, a subtle tension around his mouth.

  "Did he show you any credentials? Badge? ID?"

  "No," Sarah replied, an uneasy feeling growing in her stomach. "Should I have asked to see them?"

  Reid shook his head. "No, that's not on you. I'm just establishing facts." He made another note. "What made you suspicious of him?"

  Sarah hesitated. "It's nothing specific. Just... a feeling. The way he always seems to appear at convenient moments. How he never really looks at me directly. And this morning, when Michelle mentioned meeting you, he didn't ask why we needed a detective."

  "That struck me as odd too," Michelle interjected. "Most people would at least ask if everything was okay."

  Reid nodded thoughtfully. "I'll look into Officer Larsen. Verify his employment and status." He paused. "You mentioned a break-in at your previous apartment, about five years ago?"

  "Yes," Sarah confirmed, surprised he'd remembered that detail from her rambling account. "Nothing was taken, but someone had clearly been inside. The police thought it might have been kids looking for cash or electronics."

  "Any connection between that incident and what's happening now?"

  Sarah shook her head. "I don't see how. That was in a completely different neighborhood. I've moved twice since then."

  Reid made another note, then closed his notepad. "Here's what happens next. We'll take formal statements from both of you. I'll assign officers to canvass your building, interview neighbors, check security footage. We'll send a crime scene unit to process your apartment, focusing on the bathroom, the jacket, and of course, the photos."

  "What about my laptop?" Sarah asked. "It has all my work files, client information..."

  "We'll add it to the report. If it turns up in a pawn shop or online marketplace, we'll be notified." He leaned forward slightly. "Ms. Prescott—Sarah—I want to be clear about something. Based on what you've told me, particularly the photo collection, you're dealing with someone who has been fixated on you for some time. These situations can be unpredictable and potentially dangerous."

  "You think he might try to hurt me?" Sarah asked, her clinical detachment finally cracking.

  "I think we need to take precautions," Reid replied carefully. "Until we identify this individual, I recommend you stay with Ms. Reeves or another friend, vary your routines, avoid being alone when possible, and keep your location information private—no social media posts that could reveal where you are."

  Sarah nodded, swallowing hard.

  "And I'd like to assign a patrol car to drive by Ms. Reeves' apartment regularly," Reid continued. "Just as an extra measure of security."

  "Thank you," Michelle said. "That's... reassuring."

  A knock at the door interrupted them. A uniformed officer poked his head in, his expression apologetic.

  "Sorry to interrupt, Detective Reid, but there's a call for you. Says it's urgent."

  Reid excused himself, stepping out into the hallway. Through the partially open door, Sarah could see him engaged in an intense conversation, his back turned to them, shoulders tense.

  "He seems competent," Michelle said quietly. "That's good."

  "Yeah," Sarah agreed, though a nagging worry persisted. If her stalker really was Eric Larsen, and he really was a police officer, how safe was she even here, in a building full of his colleagues?

  Reid returned, his expression carefully neutral, but Sarah detected a subtle shift in his demeanor—a new alertness, a tension that hadn't been there before.

  "I need to step away briefly," he said. "Officer Williams will take your formal statements while I follow up on something." He gestured to the officer who had interrupted them—a young woman with tight blonde curls pulled back in a severe bun. "She'll take good care of you."

  Before Sarah could ask what was happening, Reid was gone, striding purposefully across the bullpen. Officer Williams entered with a clipboard and an encouraging smile.

  "Let's start with you, Ms. Prescott," she said, pulling up a chair. "Just tell me everything you told Detective Reid, and I'll type it up for you to sign."

  The process of giving formal statements took over an hour. Sarah repeated her account, Williams typing rapidly on a laptop she'd brought in. Then it was Michelle's turn, while Sarah sat with her thoughts, anxiety building with each passing minute.

  Where had Reid gone? What had been so urgent? Was it related to her case?

  By the time they finished, it was past noon. Williams excused herself to print the statements for them to review and sign, leaving Sarah and Michelle alone in the interview room.

  "I'm starving," Michelle announced. "Think they have a vending machine around here?"

  "Probably," Sarah replied absently, her attention focused on the bullpen beyond the open door. Officers moved about, phones rang, conversations ebbed and flowed—the normal rhythm of the precinct continuing uninterrupted. Whatever had called Reid away apparently hadn't caused a station-wide emergency.

  Michelle disappeared in search of food, returning minutes later with two bags of chips and candy bars. "Lunch of champions," she said with a grim smile, dropping the haul on the table. "Eat something. You look pale."

  Sarah obediently opened a bag of chips, though she had no appetite. She was about to comment on Reid's continued absence when her phone buzzed in her purse. She froze, exchanging a look with Michelle.

  "It might be work," Michelle said, but they both knew better.

  Sarah retrieved her phone with shaking hands. A new message from the unknown number glowed on the screen.

  *Police can't help you, Sarah. They're just men. Flawed, fallible men. Unlike me. I see everything. I know everything. Even now.*

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

  "How does he know where we are?" Michelle whispered. "Did he follow us here?"

  "We need to show Reid," Sarah replied, taking the phone back. "This proves the stalker is still monitoring me somehow."

  As if summoned by her words, Reid appeared in the doorway, his expression grim. He closed the door behind him—the first time it had been completely shut since they'd arrived.

  "I have some information," he said without preamble, returning to his seat across from them. "We searched for an Officer Eric Larsen at the Nineteenth Precinct. There's no one by that name currently employed there."

  Sarah felt the blood drain from her face. "What?"

  "We expanded the search to all NYPD precincts. No Eric Larsen on active duty anywhere in the department."

  "So he lied about being a cop," Michelle said, her voice hardening. "I knew something was off about him."

  "Not necessarily," Reid cautioned. "We're still checking previous employment records. He could be retired, suspended, transferred to another department... there are several possibilities."

  "Or he could be pretending to be a cop to gain my trust," Sarah added quietly.

  Reid nodded. "That's also a possibility we're considering." He leaned forward slightly. "Is there anything else you can tell me about him? How long has he lived in the building? Does he have visitors? Any unusual behaviors you've noticed?"

  "He told me he moved in about a month ago," Sarah replied, mentally replaying her few interactions with Eric. "I rarely see him, though he always seems to notice me. I don't think I've ever seen him with anyone else. And..." She paused, a memory surfacing. "The day before yesterday, I saw him coming into the building when I was leaving for work. He had a large duffel bag with him."

  Reid made a note. "Anything else?"

  Sarah shook her head. "I've only spoken to him a few times. He keeps to himself."

  "I got a new text," she remembered suddenly, showing Reid her phone. "Just now, while you were gone."

  Reid read the message, his brow furrowing. "This suggests he might be watching the precinct, or..."

  "Or what?" Michelle prompted when he didn't continue.

  "Or he might have a way of tracking your movements," Reid finished. "Do you use location sharing on any apps? Social media that updates automatically?"

  "No, I'm pretty careful about that," Sarah replied. "Especially after the break-in at my old place."

  "What about your phone itself? Any unusual behavior recently? Battery draining faster than normal? Running hot?"

  Sarah considered this. "Maybe? It's hard to tell."

  "Let me see it again." Reid took the phone, examining it closely before powering it down completely. "As a precaution, I'd like our tech unit to check this for spyware or tracking software. They can provide you with a temporary phone in the meantime."

  Sarah hesitated, then nodded. Her phone felt like a lifeline, but it had also become a conduit for terror.

  "I've also sent officers to your building," Reid continued. "They'll interview your neighbor claiming to be Eric Larsen, as well as Walter and other residents who might have information. The crime scene unit should be processing your apartment as we speak."

  "Thank you," Sarah said, relief washing over her at the tangible actions being taken.

  "In the meantime," Reid added, "I've arranged for a patrol officer to drive you to Ms. Reeves' apartment and remain in the vicinity." He checked his watch. "Officer Williams should be back with your statements any minute. Once you've signed those, you're free to go for now."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  "What about work?" Sarah asked suddenly. "I'm supposed to be developing those mock-ups for the Novartis account."

  "Call in," Michelle advised. "Tell them you're sick. Or that there's been a family emergency."

  "But my laptop is gone. All the files..."

  "That's a legitimate reason to need time," Reid pointed out. "Tell them your laptop was stolen and you're dealing with police reports and replacing it."

  Sarah nodded, though the thought of explaining even that much to Marcus made her stomach clench. He would be furious about the missed deadline, even more so about the lost files.

  Officer Williams returned with the printed statements, which Sarah and Michelle reviewed and signed. As promised, Reid arranged for a patrol officer—a burly man named Peterson with kind eyes and a military bearing—to drive them to Michelle's apartment.

  "I'll call you when we have more information," Reid said as they prepared to leave. "In the meantime, stay vigilant. Don't hesitate to call 911 if anything seems suspicious."

  "What about Eric—or whoever he is?" Sarah asked. "What if he's at the building when we go back for more of my things?"

  "Don't go back to your apartment for now," Reid advised. "Not until we've had a chance to question him and secure the scene properly. If you need additional items, make a list and we can have an officer retrieve them for you."

  Sarah nodded, gathering her purse. As they followed Officer Peterson toward the exit, she felt a strange mix of relief and heightened anxiety. The police were taking her case seriously. Action was being taken. Yet somehow, she felt more vulnerable than ever.

  In the precinct parking lot, Peterson opened the rear door of his patrol car for them. As Sarah slid into the back seat, her gaze was drawn to a figure across the street—a man in a dark coat standing beside a newspaper vendor, his face obscured by a baseball cap. Something about his posture, the stillness with which he watched the precinct entrance, sent a chill through her.

  "Wait," she said as Peterson started the engine. "That man across the street. In the dark coat."

  Peterson and Michelle both looked where she was pointing, but the man was already moving, melting into the flow of pedestrians on the sidewalk.

  "What about him?" Peterson asked, scanning the area with narrowed eyes.

  "He was watching the building," Sarah said, doubt already creeping into her voice. "At least, I think he was."

  Peterson continued to survey the street for a moment longer before turning back to her. "Do you recognize him? Is it your neighbor?"

  "I couldn't see his face," Sarah admitted. "Just... something about the way he was standing seemed familiar."

  Peterson nodded, not dismissing her concern but clearly unable to act on such vague information. "I'll note it in my report. If you see him again, try to get a better description."

  As they pulled away from the curb, Sarah kept her eyes fixed on the spot where the man had stood. Was she becoming paranoid, seeing threats in every shadow? Or had her stalker really been bold enough to watch her at a police station in broad daylight?

  The drive to Michelle's apartment was silent, each woman lost in her own thoughts. Officer Peterson maintained a vigilant watch, checking his mirrors frequently, taking a slightly indirect route as if to ensure they weren't being followed.

  Michelle's building looked exactly as they had left it that morning, though it felt like days had passed since they'd departed. The doorman greeted them with a polite nod, showing no particular interest in their police escort.

  "I'll remain parked across the street for the next few hours," Peterson informed them as they exited the car. "My replacement will identify himself to you when the shift changes. Don't open the door to anyone unless you're expecting them."

  "Thank you, Officer," Michelle said.

  In the elevator, Sarah leaned heavily against the wall, exhaustion suddenly crashing over her. The adrenaline that had kept her functioning since discovering the shower running in her apartment was finally ebbing, leaving her drained and shaky.

  "You need to rest," Michelle said, noting her friend's pallor. "When we get in, you're going to eat something real, then take a nap. No arguments."

  Sarah didn't have the energy to protest. She followed Michelle into the apartment, dropping her purse on the entryway table and sinking onto the futon that still bore the imprint of her restless night.

  "I'll make sandwiches," Michelle announced, moving to the kitchen. "You want to wash up first?"

  Sarah nodded, forcing herself to her feet. In Michelle's small bathroom, she splashed cold water on her face, avoiding her reflection in the mirror. She didn't want to see the fear in her own eyes, the tension etched around her mouth.

  As she reached for a towel, a small detail caught her attention—a smudge on the mirror, just at eye level. She leaned closer. Her breath caught.

  Fingerprints.

  Not Michelle's. Not her own.

  A clear set of prints that hadn't been there that morning. Someone had touched this mirror. Someone had stood exactly where she stood now.

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

  No response.

  "Michelle!" Louder this time, panic rising.

  "What?" Michelle appeared in the doorway, a butter knife in one hand. "What's wrong?"

  Sarah pointed at the fingerprints. "These weren't here this morning."

  Michelle stared at the mirror. Confusion. Then alarm. "Are you sure?"

  "Positive. I would have noticed." Sarah stepped back from the sink. Away from the prints. Away from the violation. "Someone's been in your apartment, Michelle. While we were at the police station."

  Michelle shook her head. "That's impossible. The building has security. A doorman. You need a key fob to access the elevator..."

  "Like in my building?" Sarah said quietly. "Where someone has been coming and going for months without detection?"

  They stared at each other. The implications sinking in. If someone had entered Michelle's secured apartment, then nowhere was safe. No lock could keep him out. No security system could detect him.

  "We need to call Peterson," Michelle said, already moving toward the living room where she'd left her phone.

  Sarah remained frozen in the bathroom doorway, her eyes fixed on the fingerprints that shouldn't exist. Five distinct marks on the glass. Perfectly placed. Someone had stood here. Looking at their reflection. Imagining her standing there later.

  Touching what she would touch. Seeing what she would see. Always one step ahead.

  Michelle returned, phone in hand, already speaking to Officer Peterson. "Yes, fingerprints on the bathroom mirror... No, they definitely weren't there this morning... Yes, we're both here... The door was locked when we arrived..."

  As Michelle continued her conversation, Sarah moved toward the window, drawn by some instinct she couldn't name. The view overlooked the street, five floors below. Officer Peterson's patrol car was clearly visible, parked across the way as promised. Pedestrians moved along the sidewalk, normal people going about their normal lives.

  And there, leaning against a streetlight directly across from Michelle's building, was a man in a dark coat. He stood perfectly still amid the flowing foot traffic, his face tilted upward, looking directly at Michelle's window.

  Looking directly at Sarah.

  Even from this distance, she recognized him. Not Eric Larsen, as she had half-expected, but Walter—the security guard from her building who had promised to watch her apartment, who had expressed such concern for her safety, who had seen her leave with Detective Reid.

  Who now stood watching her supposed safe haven with cold, calculating eyes.

  Sarah stepped quickly away from the window, her heart hammering in her chest.

  "Michelle," she whispered, gesturing urgently for her friend to join her away from the window. "Walter is outside. Watching the building."

  Michelle frowned, still on the phone with Peterson. "Hold on a second," she said to him, then covered the mouthpiece. "Walter? Your building's security guard?"

  "Yes. He's standing across the street right now, watching this window."

  Michelle moved cautiously to the window, peeking out at an angle. Her expression confirmed what Sarah already knew.

  "Officer Peterson," Michelle said into the phone, her voice tight with new urgency. "We need you to check out a man standing across from the building. By the streetlight. Dark coat, gray hair. He's the security guard from Sarah's building, and he shouldn't be here."

  She listened for a moment, then added, "Be careful. We think he might be involved." Another pause. "Yes, we'll stay inside and keep the door locked."

  She ended the call and turned to Sarah. "Peterson is going to approach him now."

  They both moved to the window, watching as Peterson emerged from his patrol car and crossed the street with deliberate casualness. Walter remained where he was, seemingly oblivious to the approaching officer.

  Peterson stopped beside Walter, saying something they couldn't hear from their vantage point. Walter responded, gesturing toward the building. The conversation continued for several minutes, Walter's posture relaxed, open.

  "What are they saying?" Sarah whispered, as if they might be overheard across the street and five floors up.

  "I don't know," Michelle replied, equally quiet. "But Peterson doesn't seem to be treating him as a suspect."

  Indeed, the officer's body language suggested a routine conversation rather than a confrontation. After another minute, Peterson nodded and moved away, returning to his patrol car. Walter remained where he was for a moment longer, then walked away in the opposite direction.

  Michelle's phone rang. "It's Peterson," she said, answering it immediately. "Yes? ... What did he say? ... Uh-huh... Are you sure? ... Okay. Thank you."

  She hung up, her expression troubled.

  "Well?" Sarah prompted.

  "Walter claims he came to check on you," Michelle explained. "Said he was worried after what happened at your apartment and wanted to make sure you were somewhere safe. He saw the patrol car and figured this must be where you're staying."

  "And Peterson believed him?"

  "He said Walter seemed genuinely concerned. Showed his building ID, gave Peterson his contact information in case they need to reach him about your case." Michelle hesitated. "Peterson says he seemed legitimate, Sarah."

  "Then why didn't he come to the door?" Sarah demanded. "Why stand across the street staring up at the building like some kind of...?" She couldn't finish the sentence.

  "Peterson asked him that. He said he didn't want to intrude or frighten you after everything that had happened. That he was just going to call your cell once he confirmed where you were staying."

  Sarah shook her head, unconvinced. "And the fingerprints? How do we explain those?"

  "I don't know," Michelle admitted. "Maybe we just didn't notice them this morning? It was pretty chaotic."

  "No," Sarah insisted. "They weren't there. I'm certain of it."

  Michelle sighed, rubbing her temples. "Look, let's be practical. Peterson is right outside. The door is locked. No one is getting in here without us knowing. Why don't you try to rest while I call Reid and update him?"

  Sarah wanted to argue further, to make Michelle understand that their security was an illusion, that locks and doors meant nothing to someone determined enough. But exhaustion was clouding her thoughts, making coherent arguments impossible.

  "Fine," she conceded. "But wake me when you hear from Reid."

  She settled onto the futon, pulling a throw blanket over herself though she wasn't cold. Michelle moved into the kitchen, her voice a low murmur as she spoke with Reid on the phone.

  Despite her racing thoughts, Sarah's eyelids grew heavy. The events of the day—the shower, the photos, the police station, the fingerprints, Walter—swirled in her mind, forming connections and patterns she was too tired to fully comprehend.

  Just before sleep claimed her, a final unsettling thought surfaced: If Walter was the stalker, why had she seen Eric watching her leave? And if Eric was the stalker, why was Walter outside Michelle's building?

  The obvious answer—that they might be working together, or that there might be more than one person watching her—was too terrifying to contemplate.

  Sleep dragged her under before she could explore the thought further, her dreams filled with shadowy figures watching from windows, fingerprints appearing on mirrors she'd just cleaned, and the constant, unshakable sensation of eyes on her, always watching, never blinking.

  Never looking away.