I swallowed, standing still in the heavy rain. Soft footsteps echoed on the wooden door of the complex balcony.
As I moved to turn slowly, my phone buzzed again, startling me.
I peeked at it. A message from Melody, "Christopher is dead. I received a message from the hospital just now."
My world spun.
Their twenty-second victim, was it.
Just right then, I felt the presence again.
I didn't bother to gaze back but I locked my phone, making its screen blank and I raised it up, right above my shoulder, gazing at the figure behind me through the screen…
A woman?
I looked closely. The figure was gone, only the entrance door of the complex peeked through the screen. I shoved the phone back into my pocket.
A gentle tap on my back had me flinching. I froze. The tap came again and I turn around this time, a little slower than usual. The iceberg scent was gone but I had still held that fear dear to me.
And, she is standing there, early fifties at most, wrapped in a cozy floral housecoat like its the middle of a tea party instead of the chilly, rainy night of an haunted complex. Grinning like she had just won a lottery ticket with my help.
Her teeth are red though. Blood red.
My spine tightens. "You uh… you good?"
She catches my hard stare and giggles, her bloody teeth on full display even more. Then, causally, as if she had mastered the act, she sucks her teeth and goes, "Oh, its just raspberry juice. I drink it by the bottle, dear. Antioxidants."
Right. Juice. Of course. What was I thinking? Why would she have blood on her teeth?
"Cool," I say, taking a half-step back. The rain was wetting me even more in the position but I was good.
She leans in, ignoring the hint. "I saw you last night—coming back late. You work long hours?"
"No." I glance past her, subtly checking the threshold.
"So, you get off work early?"
"No. I don't work at all."
She frowned. "Are you on trust fund, then? I mean, where did you get all those designer wears and you even own a car."
"I quit working."
"Is there a specific reason you did?"
"Why are you curious?"
"I don't know. You just seem…" she paused, scanning me, "mysterious."
"I would like to believe this complex possesses more mystery." Icrossedmyarms. Thundercrackedinthesky. "Haveyouseen any woman figure of sort roaming around in the shadows?"
Her smile flattens, but she shakes her head. "No, nothing like that. Just me and the pigeons."
"The pigeons?"
"They like my windowsill," she says like that explains everything.
I nod slowly. "Good to know."
She eyes me for a moment, eyes a bit too wide. "So, you live alone?"
I raise a brow. "That's a strange question."
She laughs again, brushing invisible crumbs off her robe. "Oh, I don't mean it like that, dear. Just… it's good to know your neighbors. Don't you think? You've been here what—two days?"
"Three."
"Right. And still no dinner invite!" she tuts. Dinner? Fucking dinner? "I've got a daughter, you know. About your age. Works at the community center. Sweet girl. You should meet her."
I smile, polite but firm. "Appreciate the thought, but I've got a girlfriend. Melody."
Her expression barely flinches, but something behind her eyes changes. Tightens.
"Oh," she says. "That's nice."
"She's great. Smarter than me, probably funnier too. Works in publishing. Always corrects my grammar when I try to sound impressive." I smile to myself, my thoughts drifting to our last date night at her father's farm house.
"Sounds… bossy."
I chuckle. "Only when I deserve it. Keeps me humble." The silence stretches. She's not smiling anymore.
"You should still meet my daughter," she says, voice thinner now. "It's not like you're married."
I cock my head. "Still taken, though. Kind of how that works."
"You do know break up happens?"
I cocked a brow. "I do but, we don't live off expecting the worse, do we?"
Her lips twitch. Not a smile. Something colder. "I know but I do smell a break up and it'd be for the sake of my daughter." What the hell?
She turns sharply and walks off—mid-conversation. Not even a goodbye.
I watch her disappear into the shadows of the hallway, her slippers slapping against the floor.
Is there any normal person in this complex?
"Nice chat," I mutter under my breath, then turn to head back tomyplace. ImmediatelyIreachedforthehandleofthedouble doors, my phone screen lit up, startling me for the second time that night.
Melody's name flashed across my screen.
I picked up.
"Mel," I answered, feeling the weight on my shoulders lift off.
"I heard Oliver's attempts to dissuade you from your grand journalistic debut were… should we say, unsuccessful?" Melody began with a playful tone.
"Futile is the word." I said, grinning into the phone speaker.
"You are so stubborn." She paused, "I like you."
"I know," I whispered playfully, setting back into the complex, completely drenched. The door was left ajar and they were boot prints on the wooden floor.
I cleared my throat, bringing my voice to a normal tone as I stepped into the hallway that led to my new apartment, "So, is this you finally revealing yourself as the mastermind behind Oliver's sudden, overbearing concern for my well-being?"
"Hey, he was really worried. And so was the rest of the team. You are not heading into a safe path. We saw what happened to the other journalists."
Silence stretched.
Christopher.
He went missing right after Kieran was found in this home, butchered ruthlessly. He was only found a few days ago, in a waste bin a few blocks from his home, tied up in a plastic bag. The doctor said his skull was crushed and damaged. A surgery was performed on him, its result bringing about his demise.
"Maybe try to talk me down? Tell me it's over if I don't get off. It's something you are good at."
"Do you wish for me to do that?" Her voice was soft, like the soft pour of rain earlier before its aggressive pours began.
"You know quite well I'll be forced to bring an end to whatever this is I'm doing if you threaten me with a break up." My hand hovered over the door handle.
It was warm. Again. I swallowed. "I guess that's why I'm not doing it." Silence stretched again.
"Are you scared?" she suddenly asked.
I recalled how the restroom handle had been warm. The scent of iceberg rose. The presence I felt behind me at the complex's entrance. And the figure of a woman my phone's blank screen had captured.
I couldn't be sure about the gender. But, I certainly caught a sharp gaze, glaring back at their reflection on my phone's blank screen.
"Y-yes." I breathed. "I'm scared. But—"
"I know, Sinclair. I do."
I twisted the knob and threw the door open. The smell of iceberg rose hit me again. Like an earthquake.
"Listen, Clair. You know, if things get unbearable, you can always come back. It is okay to give up, okay?"
I shut the door behind me, engulfed by the darkness in the minuscule apartment.
"Right," I moved to the kitchen area, testing its faucet.
As I moved around, I realized something — I had left the restroom door open before stepping out but now, it was closed.
"I got you a human tracker." Melody said as I stepped slowly towards the restroom door, my hand rested on the knob — warm again as predicted — and I twisted it, jerking the door open.
"I slipped it into your stuff. You'd see it in the compartments of your backpack."
I stepped into the restroom, gazing around carefully.
There was no sign of any presence.
"Once you activate it, it'll reveal if there are more than any other person around you. It helps with tracking down the
culprit."
My gaze landed on the mirror. Another message on it written with red ink. "She doesn't know, does she?", it read.
"Hello, Clair? Clair, are you there?"
"Yeah… I am."
My fingers hovered over the calligraphy, flickering at it and getting a crimson red stain on my finger tip.
I smelt it.
It was fresh blood.
"Are you okay over there? You seem… distracted."
"I'm fine." I gazed through the small rusted window of the bathroom. The rain had stopped. "Mel, I'll speak to you later.
I have to go."
* * *
By dawn, the tide was down, water had drenched a side of the apartment in my absence. Unfortunately, it was the side which I placed my belongings, leaving me in a load of work.
I made a mental note to report the leak to Father John as I surveyed my damp belongings scattered around the single, threadbare cushion. A wave of relief washed over him as the ancient standing fan sputtered to life, its wheezing blade giving a gradual drying process to all my wet belongings. The downpour had been relentless, soaking nearly everything I owned.
Thankfully, the car was unscathed. The engines were intact and there was no other damage.
The only thing slightly affected was the human tracker. Water had sipped into the device.
I slapped it and cleaned it on my towel until it was dry before I proceeded to test it out.
My phone buzzed on the dusty desk, and a smile spread across my lips as I saw Melody's name illuminate the screen.
"And to watch your own daft arse," Melody spoke immediately the line connected.
A nervous chuckle escaped me. "Come on, Mel, this isn't some dodgy horror flick." I said, examining the device.
"Isn't it?" Melody countered. The undertone in her voice made the hairs at the back of my neck stand and I quickly recall the cryptic messages the mystery person had dropped on the bathroom mirror.
"How do these trackers even work?" I asked, turning one of the small devices over in my hand.
"Place one in a corner where it'll have a clear view of the entire room. Thesecondonewilldisplaysimplesilhouettesofanyone present within range."
Inoddedslowly, mygazesweepingtheroomtofindtheperfect spot.
"These doesn't seem to be working anymore, though."
"Why?"
"Water got in."
"It will."
"It's screen is flickering."
"Just try it and stop being whiny."
I placed one of the trackers on the wall adjacent to the grimy window, ensuring it had an unobstructed view. Then, I pressed the small red button on the second device, its surface cool against his palm.
The screen of the second tracker flickered to life but flickered back off. When it flickered back on, it displayed two silhouette.
One of which was me and the other behind the curtain.
I scoffed. "You see? I told you it is broken."
"It cannot be ruined by water, Clair. It is waterproof."
I froze, my gaze pinned on the silhouette fainter but undeniably present on the screen of the tracker, positioned just behind the tattered curtain.
"Are you sure they are not broken?" "They are not, Clair. Is something wrong?" They are two silhouettes.
"How accurate is this?"
"The police commissioner once owned that before he transferred it to my father. Is that what worries you? Don't bother, he doesn't know I handed it to you."
"Mel, what if there are… two silhouettes?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. Was it fear? Was the frantic rhythm of my heartbeat a sign of fear?
"That means there's more than one person in the space,
Sinclair. It's not rocket science."
My eyes narrowed, my blood running cold.
"It most definitely isn't."