Sorry, Kitty-Cat, I started typing as I neared home. I’ve got a bunch of work to do tonight. I don’t think I’m going to make it. Sorry!!!

Immediately, dots appeared to indicate Cat was typing. They disappeared and then reappeared before finally disappearing once more. No response came. Whatever Cat had planned on saying, she’d decided against it. I felt a smidgen of guilt but brushed it off. If anyone would understand bailing on social engagements to work, Cat would.

Just as I came to the front of my building, I heard a familiar scratching sound coming from the alley. I snapped my head in that direction, fully expecting to see that damn cat sauntering out … but also terrified of coming face-to-face with my stalker, whoever he might be. As I stood frozen, I realized that it was more than scratching—it was footsteps, too. Someone was undeniably moving through the alley. I held my breath as the alley gate swung open, and then Ryan came skulking out. His perpetually greasy hair was hidden beneath a bleach-stained baseball cap, and there was something dark smudged across the front of his loose V-neck T-shirt.

He stopped when he saw me staring at him and curled his lips into a predatory grin. “Hello, neighbor.”

“What are you doing in that alley?” I demanded.

“Walking,” he drawled as he continued past me to the stairs. “What’s it to you?”

“I’m barely here anymore,” I said. “So you can stop wasting your time.”

He paused partway up the stairs and turned to me, sucking on his teeth.

“And I loved those flowers,” I continued, hoping to catch him off guard. “Cutting off the heads was a really nice touch.”

He barked in laughter. “What are you on?”

“Just leave me alone,” I muttered.

“Sweet dreams,” he said, still laughing as he let himself into his unit.

I shuddered and continued walking up the path. I reached out to unlock the iron gate outside my door and found that it was standing open.

My stomach crashed to the ground.

“Ryan!” I shouted angrily, but his door was closed.

I looked back at my apartment and noticed that the front door was ajar as well. Fear tickled the back of my brain. I wanted to believe it was just Ryan burglarizing my unit again, but why would he have been sauntering through the alley, empty-handed? I swallowed my rising panic and backed away from the building, not stopping until I was on the other side of the street. I stepped behind a massive tree and called 911. I was tired of feeling unsafe.

AFTER THE DISPATCHER assured me help was on the way, I called Max. My fingers gripped the phone tightly as I waited for him to answer, already anticipating his soft, calm voice telling me that he would be there soon, that everything was going to be all right.

Hi, you’ve reached Max Metcalf. I’m not available right now. Please leave a message.

I pulled my phone away from my ear and stared at it in disbelief. Max had never not answered when I called. Once he’d even answered while on the treadmill. Where was he now, when I really needed him?