The Empty Apartment
1320 Words
Adrian ran all the way home.
The messages kept replaying in his mind.
You've been watching me for three years.
You should hide them better.
You remember me.
By the time he reached his apartment building, his breathing was steady again.
Running had never calmed him.
Control did.
The receptionist looked up as Adrian entered.
"Mr. Vale?"
"Has anyone gone to my apartment?"
The man frowned.
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"I've been here the whole time."
Adrian held up the black envelope.
"This was delivered this morning."
The receptionist nodded.
"Yes."
"Did anyone ask about me afterward?"
"No."
Adrian said nothing.
He walked toward the elevator.
The ride to the sixth floor felt unusually long.
Six.
Five.
Four.
The light flickered again.
Adrian stared at the metal door.
For a split second, another reflection appeared beside him.
A little girl.
Gray eyes.
Then it was gone.
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
His apartment stood at the end of the hallway.
The door was closed.
Locked.
Exactly as he had left it.
Adrian crouched beside the lock.
No scratches.
No signs of forced entry.
He unlocked the door carefully.
Silence.
The apartment looked untouched.
The sofa.
The table.
The kitchen.
Everything remained where it belonged.
He stepped inside without turning on the lights.
The air felt normal.
No unfamiliar smell.
No sound.
Adrian reached into his pocket and removed a small flashlight.
He swept the beam across the living room.
Nothing.
Kitchen.
Nothing.
Bedroom.
Nothing.
Bathroom.
Empty.
He exhaled.
Perhaps whoever had entered had already left.
Or perhaps no one had entered at all.
His phone buzzed.
Unknown Number.
A single message.
Check the window.
Adrian froze.
Slowly, he turned toward the living room.
The curtains moved gently in the breeze.
One window was slightly open.
He was certain he had locked it before leaving.
Adrian approached.
The notebook was still on the table.
Exactly where it had been in the photograph.
He opened it.
The pages describing Elara's routine were still there.
Nothing had been removed.
Then something slipped onto the floor.
A bookmark.
Old.
Yellowed with age.
Adrian picked it up.
It was made from thick paper.
One side showed a drawing of a bird.
On the other side were handwritten words.
Observation creates memory.
His heartbeat slowed.
He had seen those words before.
Somewhere.
He just couldn't remember where.
Another vibration.
Do you remember now?
Adrian ignored the message.
Instead, he walked to the bookshelf beside his desk.
Most of the books were about sound restoration, psychology, and criminal investigations.
One book caught his attention.
Memory and Identity.
He had no memory of buying it.
He opened the cover.
Inside, written in faded blue ink, was a sentence.
Property of Witness Four.
Adrian frowned.
Witness Four.
The words felt familiar.
Too familiar.
He searched his memory.
Nothing.
His head began to ache.
He closed the book.
A folded piece of paper fell from between the pages.
It looked old.
The edges were brittle.
Carefully, Adrian unfolded it.
It was a child's drawing.
Two figures stood on opposite sides of a large glass wall.
One was labeled 4.
The other was labeled 7.
Between them were three words written in shaky handwriting.
Don't look away.
Adrian's hand trembled.
He had seen those words twice today.
His phone vibrated again.
Good.
Then another message.
You're finding them faster this time.
This time.
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
He pressed send.
For several minutes, nothing happened.
Then the reply came.
You always needed clues.
Adrian typed again.
Who are you?
No answer.
Instead, another photograph arrived.
It showed his living room.
The picture had been taken only moments ago.
Adrian looked around in panic.
There was no one.
The angle was impossible.
It seemed to come from somewhere near the ceiling.
He looked up.
Smoke detector.
Adrian dragged a chair beneath it.
He climbed up and twisted the detector loose.
A tiny camera dropped into his hand.
He stared at it in disbelief.
Someone had replaced his smoke detector.
Someone had been inside his apartment long enough to install it.
His phone buzzed.
Found one.
One?
Adrian looked around the apartment.
His pulse quickened.
He searched every room.
Behind picture hooks.
Inside air vents.
Under shelves.
After twenty minutes, he found another hidden camera beneath the kitchen cabinet.
Then a third inside the bedroom clock.
Three cameras.
Exactly as the messages had described.
Adrian lined them up on the table.
None of them had brand names.
No serial numbers.
Professional equipment.
He suddenly remembered something.
The security system.
He opened the application again.
Offline.
Every camera inside his apartment had disappeared from the network at exactly 8:11 a.m.
Eleven minutes after Elara had left her apartment.
Eleven minutes.
Again.
Adrian looked toward the window.
Across the street, Elara's apartment remained empty.
The curtains were closed.
He picked up his binoculars.
Nothing.
No movement.
No light.
His gaze shifted to the neighboring apartments.
Families.
An old couple.
A college student.
Normal lives.
Then he noticed something strange.
The apartment directly above Elara's had a window slightly open.
Someone stood behind the curtain.
Watching.
Adrian focused the binoculars.
The figure disappeared.
His phone vibrated.
Not that window.
Adrian lowered the binoculars immediately.
Someone could see what he was doing.
His chest tightened.
He looked around his apartment.
Every shadow suddenly felt alive.
Another message arrived.
Wrong apartment.
His breathing became shallow.
Whoever sent the messages could see him right now.
He closed every curtain.
Locked every window.
Turned off every light.
Darkness filled the room.
Only his phone illuminated his face.
A final message appeared.
Better.
Adrian sat motionless.
Minutes passed.
Nothing happened.
Then—
Knock.
Three slow knocks echoed through the apartment.
Adrian looked toward the door.
No one spoke.
Another three knocks.
He walked quietly across the room.
No footsteps outside.
No breathing.
He looked through the peephole.
The hallway was empty.
Adrian opened the door.
No one.
Only a small cardboard box sat on the floor.
No address.
No label.
He carried it inside.
The box was surprisingly light.
His hands hesitated before opening it.
Inside lay a cassette tape.
Old.
Dusty.
A handwritten label covered one side.
SESSION 11
Below it was a date.
Twenty-two years ago.
Adrian owned dozens of cassette players for his restoration work.
Within minutes, the tape was inside one of them.
He pressed PLAY.
Static.
A child crying.
Someone breathing.
Then a calm male voice.
"Session Eleven."
A pause.
"Witness Four is present."
Adrian froze.
The voice continued.
"Subject Seven is becoming unstable."
Another pause.
"Begin observation."
Silence.
Then the faint voice of a little girl.
"Are you still there?"
A boy answered quietly.
"Yes."
"You won't look away?"
"I promise."
The little girl laughed softly.
"I believe you."
Adrian stopped the tape.
His hands were shaking.
He knew that voice.
The boy...
...was him.
He rewound the cassette.
Played the final thirty seconds again.
The recording ended with the doctor's voice.
"If Subject Seven disappears..."
A long silence followed.
Then the answer.
The young Adrian whispered,
"I'll remember her."
The tape clicked.
End of recording.
Adrian stared at the machine.
His own voice echoed inside his head.
I'll remember her.
Outside, rain began to fall.
Across the street, a single light turned on inside Elara's apartment.
The curtains slowly opened.
Elara stepped into view.
She stood perfectly still.
Looking toward Adrian's dark apartment.
As if she knew exactly where he was.
Slowly, she lifted one hand.
Not to wave.
Not to greet him.
She simply pointed toward the cassette player.
Then she mouthed two silent words.
Play everything.
The light inside her apartment went out.
She vanished into the darkness.
Adrian looked down at the cassette.
On the inside of the cardboard box, hidden beneath the lid, were words he had not noticed before.
There are thirty-one tapes.
His phone vibrated one last time.
Welcome back, Witness Four.
- Writer
