And that was when it caught my eye.
I closed the door and saw something taped to the front of my refrigerator. A piece of paper with beautiful cursive handwriting on it. My heart stopped. My hands shook. I reached out and plucked it from the face of the fridge as my limbs went numb.
I recognized that handwriting.
Holy hell, the stalker had been in my apartment.
It took me some time to find you. I commend you on your work. But your family can’t run from their sins. I’ve been waiting for you to return home so I can punish you properly. Prepare yourself, because I love a good fight.
Panic flooded my veins. My entire body paused as the note fell from my fingers to the floor beneath my feet. Was he in my apartment now? Was someone there, watching me shower? I held my breath and closed my eyes, listening to all of the sounds around me. People honking their horns outside and the neighbors above me having louder-than-sin sex. My body locked up as fear took over, wiping my mind of any rational thought and flooding my tears with eyes.
I swallowed silently and turned around, slowly sweeping my eyes over the small corners of my apartment. I didn’t have any way of defending myself. I didn’t have a gun or any knives or a baseball bat to grab. I didn’t take self-defense lessons or know how to fight in any sense of the word.
My body froze as I stood there in the dark, dank kitchen of my Cracker Jack–box apartment.
What in the world was I going to do if he was there?