Enchanted With My Security

The Flat

I was on my way to the local farmers’ market, the back seat of my car lined with reusable bags, each one a little hopeful container for fresh strawberries, crusty bread, and maybe—if I let myself admit it—something that reminded me of home. Whatever *home* meant now.

The road was mostly empty, just me, a playlist humming low, and the kind of morning that made you believe maybe peace was possible.

Then the car jolted, hard.

I swerved instinctively toward the shoulder, heart sinking as the wheel pulled to one side.

Flat tire.

“Of course,” I muttered, throwing the car in park. I reached for my phone, already annoyed—and that’s when I saw it.

No signal.

*Perfect.*

I leaned back in the seat, gripping the wheel with both hands as I tried to stay calm. The breeze through the half-open window barely touched my skin. I was two miles short of the market. I could walk. I could wait. Neither option sat well.

Then I caught movement in my rearview mirror.

Someone approaching. Tall. Measured steps. Uniform. My stomach tensed.

It was Francis.

My breath caught. Francis was *always* at The Crestwood. At the gate. Behind the glass. Always still, always watching. But now he was here, walking toward my stranded car like he’d just stepped out of a different version of reality.

“Miss Montgomery,” he said, voice low and composed, just like always. “Trouble with the tire?”

I blinked. “Francis? What are you—how did you...?”

“I was nearby,” he said with that same faint smile. Not unkind. Just unreadable. “Saw your car pulled over. Thought I’d check in.”

*Nearby?* There was nothing nearby. No reason for him to be here. And yet... he was.

Still, relief fluttered up through my confusion. “Well, your timing is... kind of unreal. I had no idea what to do.”

He nodded once, already walking toward the trunk. “Let’s have a look.”

I stepped aside as he got to work—calm, efficient, completely in control. He moved like someone used to fixing things. Like someone who expected the world to break and came ready.

“You do this often?” I asked, watching as he loosened the lug nuts with practiced ease.

He didn’t look up. “I’ve learned to be prepared for most things.”

That answer didn’t comfort me as much as it probably should have.

When he finished, he stood and wiped his hands on a cloth he had in his pocket. Of course he had one. “There. You’re good to go.”

I looked at him, really looked this time. He’d just appeared out of nowhere. Fixed the problem. And now... he was ready to vanish again.

“Thank you, Francis. Seriously. I don’t know what I would’ve done.”

“Not at all. Just part of the job,” he said.

But his voice was different—distant. Like the words were rehearsed. Mechanical. As if I were just a line in a play he already knew the ending to.

I hesitated. “But... how did you know I was here?”

His eyes locked with mine for a second too long.

“I keep an eye on residents. It’s part of my responsibility.”

That line hit like a cold breeze. Heavy. Intentionally vague.

I offered a faint smile, trying to hide how uneasy I suddenly felt. I wanted to ask more. *Do you follow me? How far do your responsibilities go?* But before I could say anything, he nodded politely and turned away.

Just like that—gone.

“Take care, Miss Montgomery,” he said, walking back the way he came.

I stood there by the roadside, the silence thick around me. That had been… strange. Not threatening, exactly. But something about it scratched at the back of my mind.

Still, the car was fixed. The market was waiting.

I got behind the wheel and drove, though the thoughts didn’t leave me. I’d seen Francis every day for weeks—always calm, always polite. But now? Now I couldn’t stop thinking about how little I actually knew about him.

And how he always seemed to be exactly where I was.

By the time I reached the market, I was doing my best to shake it off. The smells of fresh bread and ripe peaches greeted me as I stepped from the car. People moved in every direction, smiling, laughing, holding hands. Children danced to a folk band playing near the fountain. It was the kind of place that begged you to forget your worries.

So I tried.

I sampled goat cheese, dipped crackers in honey, and bought a small bundle of lavender just because it reminded me of summer mornings when I was a kid. For a moment, I let myself enjoy it.

Then my phone buzzed.

I pulled it from my pocket and glanced at the screen.

No contact name. No subject.

Just a message.

**“You’re not as alone as you think, Miss Montgomery.”**

My throat closed.

I looked up, eyes scanning the crowd. Too many faces. Too many moving parts. No one looking directly at me.

But I felt it—that unmistakable sensation of being watched.

I checked the number.

Blocked.

No trace.

And then I saw him.

Across the square, near the vendor’s truck. A man in a dark coat. Still. Staring.

The moment our eyes met, he turned—and disappeared behind the truck.

My pulse exploded in my ears.

I wasn’t just being watched.

I was being *followed.*

And whoever it was... they already knew my name.

I clutched my phone, heart racing, and turned back toward my car—only to stop cold.

There, neatly folded under my windshield wiper, was a small white envelope.

My name written on the front. Same handwriting as the note from my apartment door.

But this time, there was no one around.

Just the envelope. And a single line written inside:

**“Ask Francis what he’s not telling you.”**