To rid herself of that grimy feeling that comes with being out in Manhattan for a long time, she starts a shower. Just as she gets ready to begin the long process of conditioning her hair the phone rings. Thinking that it might be Kierk she darts out, grabbing a towel for some instinctive reason and wrapping it around her as she leaves puddles all the way to her cell phone in the kitchen.

“Hello?” she says, smiling, one hand clutching her towel closed.

There is the sound of a deep exhalation, a guttural pant.

Carmen is frozen. Dripping wet she is suddenly intensely cold, her whole skin flushing with goose bumps.

With far more courage than she feels—“Who are you?”

The guttural breathing begins to intensify, breaks with a huffing snort, then goes back to the deep breathing. Why now? Had someone followed her back from the subway?

Carmen’s face contorts—“If we ever meet, if I ever find out who you are, I am going to kill you. Do you understand? I will kill you.”

The breathing seems unfazed, or maybe even excited, continuing to ramp up, working toward something she didn’t want to imagine; it sounds like spittle is flying with every breath and the tone has grown even deeper, guttural, a heaving thing beyond language. Then there is a moment of dislocation, a doubling. The sound is both coming from the phone but also, somehow, it is near her in real life too. Her whole body reacts in the sensation of utter terror. She freezes completely. It is here. It is near her.