I lean away from the window, hiding. I wait as a couple of sets of headlights move along the wall as cars drive by. I build up my courage to lean back over to the window.

But when I do, the figure on the street is gone.

I’m standing in my baggy cardigan with the sleeves rolled up, hunching over one of my unfinished portraits. I know it’s my work. I’m certain of it. But I feel no bond to it, no affiliation. I stare at it, feeling nothing. A loud, abrupt knock on the door startles me.

I walk to the front entrance and wait for another knock before I put my eye to the peephole: a bald man dressed in a blue uniform, holding a tool bag at his side.

“Yes?” I say, through the locked door.

“Here for the maintenance check.”

“I didn’t ask for anyone to come.”

I see him roll his eyes.

“It’s been scheduled for weeks,” he says.

I don’t know what else to do, so I unlock the dead bolt, the chain, and let him in. He sets his leather kit down and peers around the room.

“It’s a routine upgrade. We’re doing it in all the units.”

“Mike should tell me these things,” I say. “I should be warned in advance.”

“He was supposed to let everyone know.”

“Well, he didn’t!” I snap.

He starts taking out some tools.

“Do you have an outlet in your room?”

“By the bed,” I say. “And one in the closet. But please don’t touch anything in there.”

“I won’t,” he says. “I’ll be back.”

He leaves me standing in the living room. I move closer to the wall and listen to this stranger working in my bedroom. I hear a drill and some pounding. When he returns, he starts to gather his equipment.

“I see you still have radiant heat,” he says. “Are they working okay? Feels a bit cold in here.”

“The radiators?”

“Yeah.”

“They’re working. Was that you?” I ask. “Last night. Were you out on the street?”

He stops what he’s doing and looks at me.

“The street?”

“Was that you, out there… watching me?”

“I’m just here to change your outlets,” he says. “I don’t want any trouble.”

“Have you been there yet?” I ask, pointing to the wall that separates my apartment from the next one over.

“I did that unit before yours.”

“Did you talk to them?”

“Who?”

“The tenants.”

“No one’s living there. It’s vacant. Listen, I still have more units to get through.”

I feel my face flush.

“Are you okay? Is someone checking in on you from time to time?”

I don’t immediately reply.

“I’m… fine,” I say.

“Okay. Take care of yourself.”

After he leaves, I follow his path to the door and open it, just enough to see through. I watch him walk all the way down the hall. He doesn’t stop at any of the other doors. He gets to the end of the hall, waits for the elevator, and leaves without looking back.