They say panic makes time pass quicker, but every one of my heartbeats feels like an eternity. I take gulping breaths, panic constricting my throat. I try to tell myself it must be one of my neighbors, but deep down, I know it isn’t. It’s him. He’s found me.
I stumble toward to the door and look through the peephole. I can’t see anyone. Is he waiting outside the door, just out of sight? Is the man who ruined my life mere feet away from me? Or did he run right after ringing my doorbell? How did he get into the house?
I want to be the kind of person that would just push open the door and step outside fearlessly. Instead, I go back to bed and hide under the covers, trying to slow down my frantic breathing. I don’t dare fall asleep. I don’t dare move until the sun peaks in through the gap in my curtain, slicing through the gloom, and I hear one of my neighbor’s doors open.
Steeling myself, I get up and go to the door. Fingers shaking, I unlock it and peek outside.
“Morning,” the middle-aged woman who lives in the only other apartment on my floor says.
“Mor—” The word gets stuck in my throat when I see the large brown envelope lying just outside my door. Quickly, I pick it up and close the door behind me, my heart thundering. I tear it open, terrified of what’s inside but needing to know.
When I pull out the envelope’s content, I gasp, dropping it. At least twenty pictures flutter to the floor. My legs give out and I crash to my knees, hardly feeling the impact.
They’re all pictures of me or my apartment. There I am, walking down the street in the clothes I wore yesterday. There’s another one from when I was sick two months ago and had to go to the pharmacy. Another from when I couldn’t get out of a visit to my parents’ house on my mom’s birthday.
Bile rises in my throat. I’m not safe here, not anymore. Maybe I never was. This can’t go on any longer. I need money, and I need it fast.
I push myself to my feet and walk over to my bed, where my phone is still lying on the bedside table. I pick it up and call Carrie.