The paranoia starts on Thursday. It’s like he’s everywhere and nowhere at the same time. I swear I can feel him walking behind me while I’m grocery shopping, but when I turn, there’s no one. While I’m working, I can hear footsteps outside my office, as if someone is eavesdropping on my sessions with clients, but every time I check… it’s empty.
By Friday, I’m convinced something’s wrong. Maybe it’s my brain playing tricks on me because it can’t process the fact that I watched three men die and then went home to eat a salad.
Is Valerio stalking me?
My suspicions are confirmed on Saturday at the gym.
I’m on the treadmill, trying to outrun my thoughts. The rhythmicthud-thud-thudof my sneakers fills my ears, drowning out the rest.
“Hey. Charlotte, right?”
I jump, nearly losing my footing. It’s Mark. Or Matt. I don’t know.
“Yeah. Hey,” I pant, not slowing my pace.
“You’re going pretty hard. Everything okay?” He leans on the handrail of the machine next to mine. “You looked a little… out of it.”
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
“Right. Well, look, some of us are grabbing drinks later. At that place on 4th. You should come.”
My nose scrunches. There’s nothing I hate more than spending time with strangers in crowded bars. I rarely drink. Honestly, I think the most interesting thing about me is my brain—why try to sabotage it with drinks?
I open my mouth to refuse, but then I catch his reflection in the window, and my mouth slams shut.
Valerio sits on a bench in the weight area. He’s wearing a grey hoodie, hands shoved into the pockets. He isn’t looking at me. He’s staring at the back of Mark’s head.
Heisfollowing me.
Even though this is one of the creepiest things a woman can experience, I sigh in relief—becauseI’m not crazy. He was, andis, stalking me.
He looks like he’s deciding where he should stab Mark first.
Mark’s smile falters when he spots Valerio. The air in our little corner of the gym just died. Valerio truly has a vibe that screams danger—anyone can spot it, even from miles away. The glare he’s aiming at us doesn’t help either.
“Actually,” Mark stammers. “I just remembered I have… a thing. Catch you later?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, practically bolting.
I slow the treadmill to a stop, squaring my shoulders to confront him. But when I look back at the bench, it’s empty.
There’s no way he moved that fast. I wipe the sweat from my forehead, my knees buckling.You aren’t losing it, Charlotte.He really was there.
When you work with the clinically insane for so long, you develop a natural fear of becoming that—clinically insane. It’s an ugly thing that takes and takes and takes.
I sip from my water bottle, calming my nervous system.Breathe in. Breathe out.
I’m being hunted by a psychopath.
Fuck.
I find him again on Sunday.
I’m at a small café three blocks from my apartment. It’s always quiet, and this time there’s only me. People don’t really frequent cafés on Sundays; most have dates and family brunches. I have nothing. Without my rather peculiar job, my life would be meaningless. I know that’s not healthy and that Ineed a hobby or two…soon, I promise myself. It’s been a New Year’s resolution for the past five years, and I have no idea when I’ll get to it.
The lines of my clinical report blur.
A shadow falls over the table.
