Page 95 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Suddenly, I hear a faint scratching sound coming from the front door. My heart leaps into my throat. I freeze, straining to listen. There it is again—a soft scraping, like someone trying to pick a lock.

Panic floods through me. Is it Tyler? Jack? Or am I imagining things?

I grab my phone, ready to call 911, when I hear a familiar meow. Relief washes over me as I realize it’s just my neighbor’s cat, Miss Patches, probably seeking shelter from the storm. I laugh shakily at my own paranoia.

As I open the door to let the cat in, a gust of icy wind hits me. Snow swirls into the kitchen, and I shiver, quickly ushering the cat inside and shutting the door.

I’m about to turn back to my tea when something catches my eye. There, in the fresh snow on the porch, are footprints. Large, masculine footprints, leading to the side of the house. Leading to the Christmas light-covered hedge that conceals my bedroom window.

My heart races as I stare at the footprints, my mind reeling. I slam the door shut and lock it, my hands shaking so badly I can barely manage the deadbolt. The cat meows plaintively, sensing my distress, but I barely notice as I stumble back into the kitchen.

I grab my phone, ready to call the police, but hesitate. What if I’m overreacting? What if it’s Mr. Haven checking on his salt job, or some other innocent explanation? I don’t want to look foolish.

But those footprints... they looked fresh. And they led directly to my bedroom window.

I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself. Maybe I should call Jack after all. He’d come over in a heartbeat, I know he would. But the seed of doubt planted earlier grows, spreading tendrils of suspicion through my mind. What if...?

No. I shake my head, angry at myself for even considering it. Jack has been nothing but kind and supportive. He doesn’t deserve my suspicion just because of a few coincidences and some badly chosen words from others.

Still, I can’t bring myself to call him. Instead, I grab a kitchen knife and make my way through the house, checking every lock, every window. The wind howls outside, tree branches scraping against the siding like skeletal fingers. Every sound makes me jump, my nerves frayed to the breaking point.

As I approach my bedroom, knife clutched tightly in my sweaty hand, I hear a soft thud from outside. I freeze, my breath catching in my throat. Slowly, I edge toward the window, my heart thrashing so hard it hurts.

I peer through the frosted glass, squinting against the snow swirling in the multi-colored glow of the holiday lights. At first, I see nothing but the hedge, its branches laden with snow. Then, a shadow moves. A dark figure straightens up from behind the bushes, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of a familiar profile.

My blood runs cold as recognition dawns. It can’t be. It just can’t be.

But as the figure turns, I know without a doubt who it is. The knife clatters to the floor as my world tilts on its axis.

“Jack,” I choke out.

As if hearing my voice, he looks directly at my window. Our eyes meet through the glass, and I gasp and stumble backward. Jack’s eyes widen in surprise, then narrow with determination. He takes a step toward the window, his hand reaching out as if to open it.

My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’ve just seen. Jack, outside my window in the middle of a snowstorm. Jack, who I thought was safely at home. Jack, who now seems like a stranger.

I fumble for my phone, my fingers shaking so badly I can barely unlock it. Who do I call? The police? But what would I say? My boyfriend—or whatever he is— is standing outside my window? It sounds ridiculous, even to my own ears.

A soft tapping on the glass makes me jump. “Chloe?” Jack’s muffled voice comes through the window. “Chloe, I can explain. Please, let me in.”

His tone is gentle, pleading, so like the Jack I thought I knew. For a moment, I’m tempted to open the window, to let him explain. But the warning bells banging in my head are deafening.

“Go away, Jack,” I call out, hating how my voice quavers. “Go home!”

There’s a pause, then a heavy sigh. “Chloe, please. I wanted to make sure you were safe in the storm. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I back away from the window, my mind whirling. How long has this been going on? How many times has he been out there, watching me without my knowledge?

Suddenly, my phone buzzes in my hand, making me yelp. It’s a text from Jack. I’m sorry. I’ll go. But please, can we talk first? There’s so much I need to tell you.

I stare at the message, torn between fear and a desperate desire to understand. Part of me wants to believe there’s a reasonable explanation for all of this. But another part, a part that’s growing stronger by the minute, knows that something is very, very wrong.

I hear the crunch of snow as Jack moves away from the window. Relief floods through me, quickly followed by a wave of exhaustion. I sink onto the edge of my bed, my legs suddenly too weak to support me.

There’s a knock on the door. “Chloe. Please. Open up. Just for five minutes and then I’ll go.”

The rational part of my brain screams at me not to open it, but a small voice inside whispers that maybe, just maybe, there’s an explanation for all of this.

“Jack,” I call out, my voice trembling, “I need you to leave. Now. Or I’m calling the police.”

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