Chapter Six:When the rain hides footsteps
1016 Words
I hadn’t paid my rent.
The notice had been sitting on my counter for two days now, mocking me like it had every right to. Mr. Denton's voice still rang in my head from the voicemail he left last night. “You’ve got until tomorrow morning, Tessa. After that, I’m changing the locks.” Short, sharp, final.
And honestly? I didn’t even know what to feel anymore. Fear had already made a home in my chest. It lived there now, rent-free. With everything else going on, I hadn’t exactly had the time to think about rent. My thoughts were being pulled in too many directions—and every single one of them was terrifying.
A strange man had been watching me. Following me. Leaving notes, items. A button. A handprint on my bathroom mirror. My life didn’t feel like mine anymore.it should have felt less concerning since there wasn't any solid proof-no photos,no clear threats,just Fragments but that didn't make the threat less real.
In the grand scheme of things, rent felt like a luxury I couldn't afford to worry about.
Still, worry always found a way in. It slithered through the cracks, latched onto my nerves, and refused to let go.
I stood by the window, arms wrapped around myself, watching as gray clouds swallowed the sky. The city looked bruised beneath them, drenched in an eerie, colorless light. Rain began to tap gently against the glass, then grew stronger, steadier—a countdown I couldn’t stop. I closed my eyes for a second, then reached for my worn Harbor Lane apron and slipped it over my head. My fingers trembled as I tied it at my back.
I had a shift. And I had to show up.
Maybe, just maybe, if I worked hard enough today, I could pick up extra hours, earn enough tips, buy myself some time. That was the story I told myself, and I was desperate enough to believe it.
The walk to work was cold and soaked. My umbrella flipped inside out halfway there, like even it had finally lost hope. I gave up trying to fix it and shoved it into the trash outside a corner store. Rain streamed down my face, soaking my hoodie, plastering my hair to my skin. By the time I stepped through the doors of the café, I was dripping.
Jake took one look at me from behind the counter and handed me a towel.
“Rough morning?”
I gave him the brittle smile I’d been using like a band-aid. “You have no idea.”
He didn’t ask anything else, and for that, I was grateful. He had before, though. A few days ago, he asked if the guy—the stalker—had shown up again. I’d shaken my head. “No,” I said. “Not today.”
But every day after that, I kept expecting him to come back. He didn’t. And somehow, that made things worse.
The café was quieter than usual. A few regulars came and went, but there were long, empty stretches where the espresso machine stayed silent and the milk steamer untouched. I cleaned the same spot on the counter three times just to keep my hands busy.
The hours dragged by, and my tips barely covered bus fare. It was like the universe had decided I should be completely and utterly invisible today.
Around noon, I checked my phone. No texts. No calls. No strange messages. No button. No signs of him. For the first time in days, I wasn’t being watched.
It didn’t feel like relief.
It felt like abandonment.
By the end of my shift, my shoulders were sore from tension, and my chest felt hollow. I stepped outside into a city wrapped in damp mist. The rain had thinned to a drizzle, more of a whisper than a threat now, but everything still felt heavy. The streets were quiet. Hollow. Like even the city had given up.
I didn’t know where to go. By morning, I might be locked out of my apartment. I didn’t have enough money to pay Mr. Denton. I had nothing.
And maybe it was the weight of it all, or maybe it was just the cold, but I found myself thinking about my mom.
I hadn’t called her in days.
The realization hit me softly, like a dull ache in my ribs. She must’ve noticed by now. She must be wondering. Worrying.
I missed her. I missed the sound of her voice, the smell of her kitchen, even the old armchair by the window she always insisted I sit in when I visited. I wanted to call. I wanted to hear her tell me it would be okay. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Not with everything happening.
I couldn’t even imagine making it through the weekend at her house. Not when I felt like I was unraveling one thread at a time.
So instead of calling her, I just kept walking.
I turned the corner onto my street, hugging my arms tight around myself to block the wind. My building was just ahead. Three more blocks.
That’s when I heard it.
A footstep behind me.
Then another.
My heart jumped into my throat.
I didn’t turn around.
Don’t panic, I told myself. It’s just someone else walking. Just a stranger heading home. Totally normal.
But the steps got closer.
I crossed the street without looking.
They followed.
The mist seemed to thicken, blurring the city around me. The streetlights looked dimmer. The world felt farther away. I could hear my own breathing now, fast and uneven.
My fingers slipped into my coat pocket, searching for my keys. Something. Anything.
I should have run.
But I didn’t.
I turned into the alley between the bakery and the old bookstore, a shortcut I’d taken a hundred times before.
This time, it was a mistake.
A shadow moved in front of me.
Too fast.
I gasped, my feet skidding on the wet pavement.
A hand reached out.
I tried to scream.
Tried.
Everything went dark.
- Writer
