CHAPTER 4

A violent rape followed by years of harassment. A child to protect.

But the binding. The overkill and the slashed throat.

That would be hard to justify.

I grab my purse, files, and head out.

Halfway down the stoop, I check my phone again. Still no reply from Mari.

The signs are escalating and her fear is no longer theoretical.

It’s real and it’s here.

It’s crawling under her skin—and mine.

Four days ago, she went back to her apartment for her laptop and work badge—forgotten in her rush to leave.

She was there only minutes but froze when she found a pile of cigarette butts on the fire escape.

She called me after hearing something. A note slid under the door.

I still remember the way you tasted.

Mari was hysterical. I stayed on the line while two uniforms escorted her to her car.

Then, two nights ago at the hotel—her voice trembling beneath false bravado.

“I didn’t put the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.”

That was all she said at first. But I heard the unraveling. She’d left early for work—late, exhausted, barely holding it together. Came back to find the sign dangling from the handle.

That red plastic tag screaming the true message:I was inside.

She got the manager and asked they accompany her inside. She waited by the door until they came up and went in with her.

It was empty—but not untouched.

Her suitcase was repacked—clothes folded too neatly. Cosmetics moved from the right side of the counter to the left. Hangers turned the opposite direction. Everything was intentional.

He was telling her, he’d been there. And he’d taken his time.

That was two days ago.

Yesterday, she didn’t answer.

Not on her cell. Not at work.

Voicemail went straight to the generic carrier message.

Which is how I find myself here, in front of her apartment, one hand curled around my keychain pepper spray as I stare are her partially open apartment door.

My pulse spikes as I push it gently with my knuckle and it creaks inward.

“Mari?” I call, stepping inside.

No answer.

I ease the door open, avoiding contact, every step a silent prayer this isn’t what I think it is. That she’s asleep. Out. Forgot her phone.

But it’s on the kitchen counter, right where she’d have dropped it if she’d come in.

Except she’s not here.

The apartment is too still and eerily so.

It feels tense. Like the whole apartment building is holding its collective breath.

I scan slowly, heart pounding.

The blinds are drawn as morning light slices across the floor.

There’s no struggle. No broken glass. No blood.

But something’s wrong. I can feel it.

“Mari?” I call again, louder.

Still nothing.

I move toward the hallway, pepper spray clenched, listening.

The floor creaks under my heels—then, faintly, a sharp, strangled sound.

A sob that makes me freeze.

“Mari?” I say, softer now. “It’s me. It’s Paty. Are you here?”

A shuffle. Fabric against tile. Another choked sound.

“Bathroom,” she manages.

I find the door at the hall’s end. Closed and locked.

I press my palm to the wood, voice gentle, coaxing.

“It’s me, okay? Just me. I’m here.”

Silence.

“I need you to unlock the door. Please.”

After a moment, I hear the faintest click on the other side of the door and it opens.

There she is, curled in the bathroom corner, knees to her chest, back against the tile wall. Her makeup’s smudged, her clothes are wrinkled, and her hands are shaking.

She doesn’t look up. Just says, barely audible, “He—he.”

I crouch slowly, careful not to spook her, and wrap my arms around her.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Take your time.”

She buries her face in my shoulder and lets out a sound that cracks me open—fear and exhaustion tangled into one.

“I was in the shower.” She swallows. “When I got out… there was a used condom on the counter.”

My stomach drops.

“There was a note,” she adds, blinking fast. “It said—” She falters. “It said,you look good naked.”

Every part of me goes still.

“Where is it?” I ask, voice steady.

She points to the trash can. I open it and see the unrolled condom. A crumpled note with it.

I bite the inside of my cheek until I taste copper.

She hugs her knees, voice unraveling.

“I heard him. Coming in then leaving. He walked up to the door more than once. I could hear him breathing. He leaned in… like he was trying to smell me through the crack.”

I squeeze my eyes shut for half a second. I can’t lose it now. Mari needs someone strong for her.

“He made something in the kitchen,” she adds, voice flat. “I heard the microwave. Plates. Silverware. Then nothing. For hours. I thought he was still out there, waiting. Waiting to see how long it would take me to break. To come out.”

I lower myself and take her hand.

“You did everything right,” I tell her. “You stayed safe. You stayed hidden. And now you’re not alone.”

She nods, mechanical.

And I know this is only the beginning.

He’s not just stalking her.

He’s hunting her.

And he’s not rushing. He’s savoring this.

“Okay,” I say gently. “I’m going to make some calls.”

She doesn’t stop me. Just curls tighter as I slip out.