Sarah woke gasping for air. Darkness pressed around her. Unfamiliar shapes loomed in the dimness. For one terrifying moment, she couldn't remember where she was.

  Michelle's apartment. The futon. Safety.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs as reality reasserted itself. She fumbled for her phone on the coffee table, illuminating the screen. 3:17 AM. She'd slept for hours.

  The apartment was silent except for the occasional gurgle of pipes and the distant hum of the city. No sign of Michelle. Her bedroom door was closed, a thin line of light visible beneath it.

  Sarah sat up, rubbing her eyes. The nightmare that had jolted her awake was already fading, leaving only impressions: being followed, a hand reaching for her, walls closing in. She'd had variations of the same dream since childhood, but never with this intensity.

  She swung her legs off the futon, wincing as her bare feet touched the cold floor. Her mouth was dry, her head fuzzy with interrupted sleep. Water. She needed water.

  In the kitchenette, she filled a glass from the tap and drank deeply. The temporary police phone Reid had given her sat on the counter, a cheap flip model that felt alien in her hand. No messages. No missed calls. No stalker reaching out through the digital void.

  Small mercies.

  A soft thud from Michelle's bedroom drew her attention. Sarah padded toward the door, raising her hand to knock, then hesitated. The light still glowed beneath the door. Michelle was probably awake, maybe reading or texting Jake.

  "Michelle?" she called softly. "You up?"

  No response.

  She knocked gently. "Michelle?"

  Still nothing.

  A prickle of unease traveled up Sarah's spine. She turned the handle slowly, pushing the door open just enough to peer inside.

  Michelle's bed was empty. Neatly made. Unslept in.

  "Michelle?" Sarah pushed the door wider, scanning the room. The bathroom door stood open, revealing darkness beyond. No sign of her friend.

  She was alone in the apartment.

  Sarah's pulse quickened. She checked her temporary phone again. No messages explaining Michelle's absence. She tried calling Michelle's number, but it went straight to voicemail.

  "This is Michelle. Leave a message and I'll call you back."

  "Michelle, where are you? Call me as soon as you get this. I'm worried."

  Sarah ended the call, her mind racing through possibilities. Maybe Michelle had gone to Jake's? But she wouldn't have left without saying something, not after everything that had happened.

  She moved back to the living room, looking for clues. Michelle's purse was gone from the entryway table. Her jacket missing from the hook by the door. She'd left voluntarily, at least.

  Relief, momentary and fleeting. Then new questions. Why leave in the middle of the night? Why not wake Sarah?

  Outside the window, the city slumbered under a canopy of light pollution. Five floors below, Peterson's patrol car was gone. His replacement should have been there. Sarah scanned the street, but saw no police presence. Had the protection detail been canceled? Had Reid decided she wasn't in danger after all?

  She checked the door. Locked. Dead bolt secured. Chain in place. She was safe inside, even if Michelle was mysteriously absent.

  In the kitchen again, Sarah opened the refrigerator, the light startlingly bright in the dim apartment. A note was stuck to a container of leftover pasta:

  *Had to step out. Emergency at hospital. Didn't want to wake you. Back by morning. Leftovers in fridge. STAY INSIDE. New officer outside. —M*

  Sarah exhaled slowly, tension ebbing from her shoulders. A hospital emergency. Of course. Michelle was a nurse. She probably got called in for a trauma case or staff shortage. The note explained everything.

  Except.

  She checked the temporary phone again. Nothing from Michelle. Wouldn't she have texted as well as left a note? And why mention a new officer when Sarah could plainly see no patrol car outside?

  Something felt wrong.

  She returned to the window, pressing her forehead against the cool glass as she peered down at the street. Empty parking spaces lined both sides. No police car. No Peterson. No replacement.

  Had Michelle been lying about the police protection? No, that made no sense. They'd both seen Peterson. Both spoken to him.

  Sarah dialed the precinct number Reid had given her. After several rings, a tired-sounding desk officer answered.

  "Fourteenth Precinct, Officer Danehy speaking."

  "Hi, this is Sarah Prescott. I need to speak with Detective Reid. It's urgent."

  "Detective Reid isn't available right now. Can I take a message?"

  "When will he be back? This is important. I'm a victim in a stalking case he's handling."

  A pause, the sound of computer keys clicking. "I don't see Detective Reid assigned to any active stalking cases, ma'am."

  Sarah's stomach dropped. "That's not possible. I spoke with him yesterday. He took my statement. Officer Williams typed it up."

  More clicking. "We don't have an Officer Williams at this precinct either, ma'am."

  The room seemed to tilt. Sarah gripped the counter to steady herself.

  "This is the Fourteenth Precinct, right?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "I was there yesterday. Detective Thomas Reid. He's investigating someone stalking me."

  "I'm sorry, but we have no Detective Reid on staff. Never have, as far as I know."

  Sarah's mind reeled. "Could he be from another precinct? Working a case with your department?"

  "It's possible, but I still should see the case in our system." The officer's tone had shifted from tired to concerned. "Would you like to speak with the watch commander? Or file a report?"

  "No—yes—I don't know." Sarah struggled to organize her thoughts. "Someone claiming to be Detective Reid brought me to your precinct yesterday. I gave a statement about someone stalking me."

  "What time was this?"

  "Around ten in the morning. I was with my friend Michelle. We met with Reid in a small interview room at the back of the building."

  "Hold on." More clicking, a murmured conversation with someone nearby. Then: "Ma'am, our interview rooms were being renovated yesterday. None were in use."

  Ice flooded Sarah's veins. "That's not possible."

  "Ms. Prescott, where are you right now? Are you safe?"

  The question pierced through her confusion. Was she safe? She'd thought so, moments ago. Now she wasn't sure of anything.

  "I'm at my friend's apartment. But she's not here. She left a note saying she went to the hospital, but something feels wrong."

  "What's the address? I'll send a patrol car right away."

  Sarah gave Michelle's address, a sense of unreality washing over her. How had everything unraveled so quickly?

  "Stay on the line until they arrive," Officer Danehy instructed. "About fifteen minutes, okay?"

  "Okay."

  Sarah sank onto one of the kitchen stools, the phone pressed to her ear. Fifteen minutes. She could manage fifteen minutes. Then real police officers would arrive, and this nightmare would start making sense again.

  The lights went out.

  Not just the kitchen light—every light in the apartment. Complete darkness engulfed her.

  "Officer Danehy?" Her voice sounded thin, fragile in the blackness.

  "I'm here. What happened?"

  "The power just went out."

  "The whole building or just your apartment?"

  Sarah moved to the window, peering out. Other buildings on the street still blazed with light. Even the hallway outside Michelle's door showed a sliver of illumination beneath it.

  "Just this apartment, I think."

  "Could be a circuit breaker. Do you know where it is?"

  "No."

  "Stay where you are. Officers are on their way."

  A soft click came from the front door. Then another. Metal against metal. The sound of a key in a lock.

  "Someone's at the door." Sarah whispered, backing away. "Someone's unlocking the door."

  "Get to a secure room. Lock yourself in. Officers are five minutes away."

  Sarah retreated toward Michelle's bedroom, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness. The front door handle turned slowly. The chain caught with a metallic clink.

  A voice called through the gap. "Sarah? It's me. The chain's on."

  Michelle's voice.

  Relief flooded her system. "Michelle! Hold on."

  "Ms. Prescott, wait!" Officer Danehy's voice crackled from the phone. "Don't—"

  Sarah set the phone down on a side table and hurried to the door, sliding the chain free. The door swung open.

  Michelle stood in the hallway's fluorescent glare, looking exhausted in her scrubs. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you. The hospital called—"

  "I know, I saw your note. Why is the power out?"

  Michelle frowned, stepping inside and flicking the light switch. Nothing happened. "That's weird. It was fine when I left."

  "Your note said there was a new officer outside, but I don't see anyone."

  "What? I didn't leave a note."

  The words hung between them for a moment, their implication sinking in like a stone into dark water.

  Sarah backed away from Michelle, reaching blindly for the phone. "If you didn't leave a note, who did?"

  A figure stepped out from behind the open door. Tall. Male. The hallway light behind him cast his face in shadow.

  "That would be me," said a familiar voice. "I've always had a talent for mimicking handwriting."

  Eric Larsen. Her neighbor. The fake police officer.

  He closed the door behind him with a quiet click.

  "What the hell?" Michelle started forward, but Eric moved faster, producing something from his pocket that glinted in the dim light from the window.

  A knife.

  "Stay exactly where you are," he said pleasantly. "Both of you."

  Sarah's fingers found the phone on the side table. She raised it to her ear, her eyes never leaving Eric. "Officer Danehy?"

  Silence. The line was dead.

  "No one's coming to help you, Sarah." Eric's voice was calm, almost gentle. "There never was an Officer Danehy. Just me, using my considerable talents."

  "You're not a police officer," Sarah said, her voice steadier than she felt.

  "Oh, but I am." His smile was visible even in the dim light. "Detective Thomas Reid, at your service."

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Michelle gasped. "You were Reid? How is that possible? We spent hours with him at the precinct."

  "Did you?" Eric—Reid—whoever he was, sounded amused. "Are you sure about that? Memory is such a fragile thing. So easily manipulated."

  Sarah's mind raced. The precinct. The statements. Officer Williams. Peterson. It had all seemed real. But Officer Danehy had just told her there was no Detective Reid, no Officer Williams.

  "You never took us to a real police station," she realized, horror dawning. "It was all fake."

  "Not all of it." He leaned against the wall, casual despite the knife in his hand. "The building was real. An old precinct, decommissioned last year. I've found it useful for various... encounters. Amazing what people will believe when you present them with the right setting, the right props."

  "The police are coming," Sarah said, hoping her voice didn't betray her uncertainty. "The real police. I just called them."

  "Did you? Was that before or after I cut the phone lines?" He tilted his head. "Or did you use that burner phone I gave you? The one that only calls me, no matter what number you dial?"

  The temporary phone. The fake Detective Reid had given it to her. Had any of her calls actually gone through?

  "Why are you doing this?" Michelle demanded, her body tense, eyes darting between Eric and the kitchen where knives were stored. "What do you want?"

  "I want what I've always wanted." His gaze fixed on Sarah, intense even in the semi-darkness. "To be seen. Truly seen."

  "I don't understand," Sarah said, buying time, her mind scrambling for a way out.

  "You will." He straightened from the wall, taking a step toward them. "We have so much to discuss, Sarah. About us. About our connection. About how long I've been watching you."

  "There is no us," she said, her voice shaking now. "I barely know you."

  "That's where you're wrong." Another step closer. "I know everything about you. Your favorite foods. How you sleep curled on your left side. The little sigh you make when you're concentrating on your work. I know you better than anyone ever has."

  Michelle used his distraction to edge toward the kitchen, but Eric noticed immediately.

  "Stop," he commanded. When she froze, he nodded approvingly. "Good. Now both of you, sit on the couch. Hands where I can see them."

  They complied, Sarah's mind racing. Where was Walter in all this? Was he part of the deception too? And what about the real police officers at her apartment—Officer Chen and Officer Ramirez? Had they been real?

  "I can see the questions in your eyes, Sarah." Eric perched on the arm of a chair opposite them, the knife resting casually on his thigh. "You're wondering what's real and what isn't. Who's real and who isn't. It's disorienting, isn't it? That feeling of not being able to trust your own perceptions?"

  "Like how you've been moving things around my apartment," Sarah said, realization dawning. "Making me think I was losing my mind."

  "Very good." He smiled, almost proud. "Though that was just the beginning. A little taste of what was to come."

  "The shower," Michelle said. "The flowers. The jacket. That was all you?"

  "All me." He tapped the knife against his leg. "Though I must admit, I didn't expect you to find my photo collection so soon. That was meant to be a revelation for later."

  "How did you get into my building?" Sarah asked. "Past security?"

  "Walter?" Eric laughed. "He's been extraordinarily helpful, though not intentionally. His schedule is so predictable. His breaks, his meals, his little smoke breaks in the alley. And security key cards are embarrassingly easy to clone if you have the right equipment."

  "And my apartment? How did you get in?"

  "I've had a key to your place since you moved in." His smile widened at her shocked expression. "I worked for the management company that renovated the building before you arrived. Made a copy of every key. Just in case."

  "In case of what?" Michelle demanded.

  "In case I found someone special." His gaze never left Sarah's face. "Someone worth watching."

  A siren wailed in the distance, growing louder. Eric's head turned sharply toward the window.

  "Expecting company?" His voice had lost its casual tone.

  "I called the real police before you got here," Sarah said, hope flaring. "They're on their way."

  Eric stood, moving to the window. The street below was still empty, but the siren was definitely getting closer.

  "This complicates things." He turned back to them, his expression hardening. "We'll have to continue our conversation elsewhere."

  "We're not going anywhere with you," Michelle said, her hands clenched into fists on her knees.

  "You're not." Eric moved with surprising speed, grabbing Sarah's arm and yanking her to her feet. "But she is."

  The knife pressed against Sarah's side, just below her ribs. "One wrong move and this goes in. Understand?"

  Sarah nodded, fear paralyzing her voice.

  "Michelle, you're going to stay right where you are until we're gone. If you try to follow or call for help, Sarah pays the price." He pressed the knife harder for emphasis. "Clear?"

  "Crystal," Michelle spat, her eyes blazing with helpless rage.

  "Good." Eric backed toward the door, dragging Sarah with him. "Sarah and I have a lot of catching up to do. Years worth. Don't worry, I'll take excellent care of her."

  "Please," Sarah finally found her voice. "Don't do this."

  "It's already done." His breath was warm against her ear. "It's been done since the first time I saw you, five years ago. Remember that break-in at your old apartment? The one where nothing was taken?"

  Cold horror washed over her. "That was you?"

  "Our beginning." He reached behind them, opening the door while keeping the knife pressed firmly against her. "I've been patient, Sarah. So patient. Watching. Waiting. But now it's time for you to see me. Really see me."

  The siren was very close now, perhaps on their street. Eric quickened his pace, guiding Sarah through the door and into the hallway.

  "Where are we going?" she asked, desperately trying to slow their progress, hoping the police would arrive in time.

  "Home," he replied simply. "Our home."

  They reached the stairwell, Eric bypassing the elevator. "Too risky," he explained, as if they were having a normal conversation. "Cameras. Potential witnesses."

  Down they went, flight after flight, the knife never wavering from her side. Sarah's mind raced, searching for a way out. Could she risk breaking away? The stairwell was narrow, the stairs steep. Even if she escaped his grip, the knife could find her before she got far.

  They reached the ground floor, Eric pausing at the door to the lobby.

  "The doorman," Sarah said. "He'll see us."

  "At four in the morning? He's either asleep or on his break." Eric peered through the small window in the door. "Besides, we're not going through the lobby."

  He guided her toward a different door, marked "EMERGENCY EXIT ONLY - ALARM WILL SOUND." With practiced movements, he disabled something on the doorframe—a wire, a sensor—before pushing it open. No alarm sounded.

  They emerged into an alley behind the building. A dark sedan was parked there, engine already running. Had he planned this entire scenario? How many steps ahead was he?

  The siren's wail suddenly cut off, replaced by the squeal of brakes out front. The police had arrived, but at the wrong entrance.

  "Perfect timing," Eric murmured, hurrying her toward the car. "Get in. Passenger side."

  Sarah had a split-second to decide. Fight now, with the knife at her ribs? Or wait, hope for a better opportunity, a moment when he was distracted?

  The choice was made for her when Eric suddenly stiffened, then crumpled to the ground beside her with a grunt of pain. The knife clattered on the pavement.

  Behind him stood Walter, her building's security guard, a heavy metal flashlight in his hand.

  "Ms. Prescott," he said, breathing heavily. "Are you all right?"

  Sarah backed away, confusion washing over her. "Walter? What are you—how did you—"

  "No time," he interrupted, kicking the knife away from Eric's prone form. "He won't stay down long. We need to move."

  "The police are out front," Sarah said, gesturing toward the street. "We should—"

  "Those aren't police," Walter cut her off. "More of his people."

  "His people? What are you talking about?"

  "I'll explain everything, but not here." Walter grabbed her arm, pulling her away from Eric and the waiting car. "There are others like him. Working with him. We need to go. Now."

  Sarah resisted, pulling back. "No. I don't understand what's happening. Michelle is still upstairs. If those aren't real police—"

  "Your friend will be fine," Walter insisted. "It's you they want."

  Eric groaned, beginning to stir on the ground. Walter's grip on Sarah's arm tightened.

  "Trust me, Ms. Prescott. Please. I've been trying to protect you from him for months."

  The sincerity in his weathered face seemed genuine. But after everything that had happened, how could she trust anyone? Eric had seemed genuine too, both as her neighbor and as the fictional Detective Reid.

  Walter saw her hesitation. "The break-in five years ago. You told the responding officers that nothing was taken, but that wasn't true, was it? Something was missing. Something only you would notice."

  Sarah's breath caught. "My father's watch. From his dresser drawer. I never reported it because I thought maybe I'd misplaced it."

  Walter nodded. "I know because I've been tracking him since then. He takes trophies from all his subjects. Keeps them as talismans."

  "Subjects?" The word sent a chill through her.

  "That's what he calls them. The women he watches." Walter glanced down at Eric, who was moving more purposefully now. "We need to go."

  A shout came from the mouth of the alley. Two men in police uniforms, running toward them.

  "Last chance," Walter said urgently. "Come with me if you want to live."

  Sarah took one final look at Eric on the ground, at the approaching "officers," at the building where Michelle was still waiting.

  Then she made her choice.