CHAPTER ONE

The aroma was what woke me up. As I took a big inhale, the overpowering and pungent aftershave smell assailed my nose. It immediately broke the spell of my two sleeping pills and my eyes burst open. It was dark in my apartment, rolling over to check the time - a sound of pure annoyance rolled into my throat. The clock's vibrant undulating red numbers read: 6:27.

           Sprawled on my back, my red hair frizzy and loose in the lazy updo I placed it in before falling asleep and now strewn across my face, it had caught in my eyelashes. With a groan, I pushed it from my eyes and sat up on my elbows allowing my eyes to adjust to the early morning gray that shifted outside my window.

          Where did that smell come from?

          I peered around, taking a whiff of the air, and removed my feet from my warm comforter. My slippers were cool as I slipped my feet into them and stood up, the smell was strong and as I reached for the lamp on my bedside table I heard a noise. Quickly, shoving my arms into my robe I hurried out into my living room. As a single woman who lived alone, aftershave shouldn't be in my scent collection or just lingering around my apartment.

          I was startled out of my reverie by the muffled sound of trash bags being removed from a plastic trash can, and I noticed the corridor light shining brightly , seeping under my front door of my apartment. My door opened with a sluggish yawn, a rapid step over the packing boxes I hadn't yet reached, and a flick of the wrist. My weary eyes peered into the hallway. Hans, the building's maintenance worker and occasional janitor, was three doors down, past Mrs. Jackson's apartment. He looked up as he heard a door open and his steely blue eyes were bright even at this hour.

           "Good morning Ms. Weiss!" He cheerfully greeted me.

            Pulling my robe close I smiled and waved, "Hans, what did I tell you about calling me, Ms. Weiss?" His German accent was strong and sometimes difficult to understand if he spoke quickly.

            His lip curled up in a smirk as he blinked, feigning innocence, "To call you Elizabeth."

           "Please, I am not my mother," I responded, jumping as my alarm blared in my room alerting me that it was 6:30 - my usual wake-up time.

           The sound was faint but in the wee hours of the morning, it seemed to echo and rise in sound against the silent halls. Hans could hear it and he cocked his head towards me, his long silver ponytail slipping over his shoulder, "Time to save lives, Elizabeth."

           "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Sometimes I wonder why I even became a nurse. These early mornings and late nights are for the birds," The heel of my hand rubbed furiously at my eye and I sighed knowing tea and a hot shower were the only things that would wake me fully.

           "To save lives, Ms. Weiss."

            Smirking, I looked up at the older man and placed my hand on my doorknob, "Don't I know it. Have a great morning, Hans."

            He gave a nod of his head and turned his attention back to the large plastic bag in hand before shutting the door, sliding the chain across it and hurrying to turn my alarm off.

• • •

           My stiff back was cushioned by the couch under me, and I lowered my heating pad a little. Due to a major fire at a paint factory, my shift was prolonged nearly three hours past the time I was supposed to leave for work. I clamped my eyes shut in an effort to block out the smell of third-degree burns, the sight of those who had suffered severe burns, and the shouts of others who were writhing in pain. I sighed and let go of my brow.

           Come on, Elizabeth, think happy thoughts or you're going to take forever to go to sleep.

           "Alexa, what time is it?"

           "The current time is 9:47 PM." Alexa's monotone voice replied.

           I rolled off the couch with a moan, holding the heating pad to my back, and stood up facing my bedroom. The only barrier separating it from the rest of the flat was a bamboo beaded curtain. Despite the bedroom's limited size and the queen mattress I got when I initially moved in, I was able to put a small vanity next to the window.

         The new library was located on Commerce Street, but the large window looked out over an older structure that I believe was the library back in the 1940s. The previous structure was now dilapidated and abandoned; a few shattered windows and some graffiti served as a clear warning of just how awful the economy could get.

           In the dim light of my bedroom, which threw low shadows across the weathered brick, I briefly inspected the structure. I was curious about the interior. Imagining marble flooring, tall ceilings, and the heavenly scent of books and coffee, I'm confident it was magnificent. The aroma of coffee may have even been accompanied by a radio playing classic songs.

          I winced and turned to go to my bathroom as a back muscle strained. My back was going to feel so much better after this shower. While the heat alone will be very helpful, the lavender spray will also aid to ease my muscles. I detested fast showers, but as I stood in the hot stream from my shower head, I noticed that my eyes were starting to glaze over. I quickly grabbed the shower handle and turned the water off. I vowed never to doze off while taking a shower again! With renewed vigor, I rapidly showered and completed my nighttime routine in a rush to get under the covers.

         I checked the front door - the chain felt chilly under my fingers. Even though there were two deadbolts, I insisted on tugging at it every night to test its durability since my mind would constantly tell me that the day I didn't would be regrettable. A nagging thought that I was a single woman living alone kept popping up in the back of my mind. My kitchen window, which has been randomly opening for the past two days, was the last item to be checked and secured.

         Hans might need to check this.

         Dressed in silk shorts and an oversized hospital baseball t-shirt I shuffled over to my bed. My eyes were heavy now and they were beginning to burn so I kicked off my slippers, pulled the light cord on my lamp and practically planted my face planted into my bed.

• • •

        "You said the window keeps popping open at night?" Hans asked as he surveyed the window by my small dining table and next to the fire escape. I only had a small patio set and a long-dead spider plant out there, frozen in the late October wind.

          I nodded, "I woke up this morning to it open. I know I shut it last night. Could the seal be broken?" I wondered from my couch, the heat of my tea warmed my fingers as I watched him pull open and push the window closed a few times. He then leaned in close to inspect the seal making a 'tsk' sound with his teeth.

        "The seal looks fine to me," He said turning towards me, "It closes and locks pretty securely too. It could be the drop in temperature at night? It is starting to get into the colder months now - and you are on the top floor."

         "The cold could be shrinking the seal?" I set my mug down and hurried over to him- my sock clad feet slipping on my wooden floor.

         "I'm not sure, but see -," he shuts the window and turns the handle at the top, "it clicks right into place." Hans tries to pull the handle to see if there's a weakness but it doesn't budge.

          "Hmm, I don't know why it keeps popping open. Should I put something heavy in front of it to keep it from opening at night?" I asked Hans, trying not to sound too worried.

           He spun around to me, "If you want. We haven't had any break-ins in a few years now if that's what you're worried about."

           My eyes shifted to my pale blue wool socks before glancing up into Han's icy blues, "That's a lot of really narrow old stairs to climb up just to break into a top-floor apartment. I might be overthinking it or just sleep deprived but I think someone has been in my apartment."

           His face hardens and his thin lips pull into a sharp line as his white brows furrow, "What makes you think that? Want me to nail the window shut?"

           "That would be a fire hazard, Hans. I think I'm just sleep-deprived. I've smelt aftershave like the pine aftershave - really early in the morning. It's woken me up a few times."

           Hans' shoulders relax a bit and he rubs his patchy beard with his hand, "Mr. Yoke lives below you. His bathroom is the window next to his fire escape - maybe he keeps it open in the morning when he showers?"

          "Maybe. He does usually take his showers in the morning..." My mind wanders to the number of times I've been woken up by Bob Marley drifting up through his open window in the summer and the smell of heavy fruity shampoo or body wash, "That could be it. I keep forgetting Mr. Yoke loves to pamper himself," I laugh.

           Mr. Yoke lives by himself but loves to peruse the bars down the street and brag about all the men he brings home. It's as if he thinks we can't hear just how much fun they're having in this old building. Sound travels so easily through these hundred-year-old walls and even though we hate the disruptions of his happy nights everyone usually ignores it. He's such a nice guy though, living out his late 50s how he wished he lived his entire life, so we let him be.

          "I shouldn't worry about it too much. I could always put the brick from elementary against the window if it happens again."

          "Brick from elementary?" Hans asks while he gathers his tools into his toolbox and steals a glance at his watch.

          I walked him to the door, "Oh, I got it for perfect attendance. Keep it just in case I have to clobber someone."

         "Hopefully you will never need it," Hans turns to me outside my door and gives a wave before walking down the hall. He leaves rather quickly and I wonder if he was late for another tenant's appointment.

          Once my door is shut and the lock in place I slip back to the couch eager to finish the book I keep setting down. Leaning back into my cushions I pull my favorite green blanket up around me, flip through the pages anticipating the dog eared one. Settling further into the cushion I pull the book up only to lower it again and stare out my window.

         My living room window faces the old library and on top of it is a huge gargoyle. He's a massive sculpt with broad shoulders and strong thighs that are squatting down. He's perched like he's on surveillance and my eyes skim over the large horns protruding from his head. Weren't most gargoyles made to look scary and to ward off evil? This one just has a straight sightline into my apartment and most times I forget he's there, staring.

          My eyes slid across the edge of the library's roof, curious and moving. He's the only one on the property; maybe the others were damaged over time. I nodded at him, silently thanking him for the protective stare, and returned my gaze to my book.

        It was a rare day off for me, and I wasn't about to ruin the perfect reading day with my overactive mind. Nobody came into my apartment late at night, and nothing was moved. Flipping the page, my nimble fingers wrapped around the handle of my mug and reminded myself that reading during the day would be difficult to come by once the night shift began on Monday, so I put all thoughts of strange smells aside and returned to the murder in my novel.

• • •

The hair on the back of my neck stood up the moment my foot crossed the threshold of my apartment. As I stood in the doorway, my eyes darted around the dimly lit living room, my hand reaching out to flick the light switch. A bright light exploded into the open space, and I cautiously shut the door but remained exactly where I was.

         My heart was hammering in my chest and my mind was screaming at me to walk back out the door, but my eyes weren't picking up anything that would explain why I felt so exposed. My keys clanked into the clay bowl next to where I kept my mail and I took a small step further into my apartment. Scanning across the kitchen taking in the open shelves cluttered with mismatched bowls and vintage glassware. The wine glass I drank out of last night was still next to my sink - kept it there knowing it would be reused pretty quickly the following morning...but my lip balm smudge was no longer on the brim of the glass. Someone had washed it and that someone wasn't me. As I crept through the kitchen my fingers placed my grocery bags on the floor and grabbed a sharp knife from the knife block. I made my way into the living room. The soles of my sneakers were quiet against the wooden floor.

        Standing behind the green suede couch, I took another look around the space. At the end of the couch, beautifully folded, was my blanket, which my mother had given me when I first moved in. Panic rose in my veins as I remembered throwing it over the couch's back. On my coffee table made of dark wood, everything was exactly as I had left it. My teacup and the puzzle I had placed on the table were cast in dark shadows by the creamy yellow light as I proceeded toward the dining room. When I saw that the final six pieces I needed had been put perfectly into their slots, completing the entire jigsaw, I observed it with bated breath and a tangled thread of questions in my head.

         Immediately I took in my clean tea mug and new tea bag and felt my blood run cold.

They even put my favorite tea in it.

That means they know what it is.

It means they're watching me.

                  My eyes darted to the open bathroom door by the tv - the mirror reflected the kitchen and right as I took a step towards it the long dark green blind moved.

         Halting instantly I drew in a breath and stared at the heavy fabric as it shifted again.

        Get it over with, Elizabeth!

       The sound of metal discs sliding along the curtain pole as I pulled aside the curtain shattered the room's deafening silence. The window that was constantly opening was the culprit. How? I hadn't touched it since Hans shut it the other day. Cool air flowed ruffling my curtain and I slammed it shut. The sounds of cars and wind silenced abruptly and I kept a firm hand on the handle. I would need the brick after all.

        It was in my room under my bed. My eyes flickered to the unwavering beads that separated my bedroom from my living room. I hadn't kept the warm lit lamp on my nightstand on and the corners looked impossibly dark. The shine of the moon and the lamps outside illuminated my bedroom a bit and as I crept towards it I hoped no one would bolt out of the shadows. I didn't know if I'd stab with the knife or drop it. Sucking in a breath I tightened my hold on the knife and reached for the string that was latched to the doorway.

         The string allowed me to pull the curtain beads apart down the center and as the familiar soft chime reached my ears I was anything but calm. My blood was loud in my ears as my heartbeat was like a drum. My breathing was growing heavy and once the beads were fully parted I peered into the room but didn't take a step inside.

        I was familiar with the layout; my bed would be straight in front of me. The Ikea desk, which took me far too long to assemble, is to the right. My shades were partially open and a large window just behind it projected eerie shadows across my bedding. I quickly moved to the corner of my room where I could see my bed, vanity, and closet doors after turning on the light. My room was comfortable and gave me a sense of security, but at the moment it was chilly and lifeless.

          Suddenly, the click of my front door shutting made me freeze where I was. My heart was loud in my ears as I began to panic. There was no way I mistook that sound. It was my door shutting.

           Move Elizabeth, move!

           Adrenaline swam through my veins and I bolted for my front door. The chain was swaying, unhooked and I wretched it open, raising my knife.

          "Oh my fucking God!"

          Before me was my neighbor Theresa, she lived right next door and her blue eyes were wide with fright. Immediately, I dropped the knife and stammered out an apology.

           "Theresa! I am so sorry!"

           She lowered her hands - the dozens of bangles and charm bracelets clacking together as she did so. I watched her hands clenched around her green flowy skirt before I brought my eyes back up to hers.

           "What's the deal with the knife, Elizabeth?" She asked her coal-encased eyes, squinting with question and accusation.

          Mr. Johnson emerged from the door that opened across the hallway. He was a mature black man with a loud chuckle and a commanding demeanor. I was pleased that he had welcomed me on the day I had been to see the apartment six months earlier. One of the reasons I chose this apartment was because of his atmosphere, which exuded a sense of fatherly protection. I felt having him across the hall would improve my sense of security. I wasn't so sure at the moment, though, as his full lips drew into a tight line and his honey brown eyes gazed at me after examining the knife that was lying on the ground.

           "Elizabeth?" His voice broke my thoughts and I looked up at him, "You're shaking. Why do you have a knife? What's going on?"

           I stared at the two people before me before looking down at my vibrating hands and the knife glinting on the floor in the hall light.

          "Someone - someone was in my apartment."

• • •

          "Well?" I asked as Mr. Johnson stepped towards us. I informed him that someone was in my flat, and he immediately took me outside, grabbed the knife, and entered alone. I stood outside the doorway with Theresa and we watched. Before entering my bedroom, he gently took his time and checked every angle. As a veteran of the Vietnam War, Mr. Johnson instantly went into army mode; even the manner he carried the knife was planned, and he moved with incredible control at all times. Mr. Johnson had walked back to us and he sighed, rubbing at his coarse facial hair before sliding the knife back into the knife block.      

          "There's no one here, Elizabeth."

          As I hurriedly entered my apartment, I rapidly checked every area where he might have looked. As I emerged from my bedroom, my stomach churned. He was right. Even the smell and sense of someone being there were absent. There was nothing, despite my hopes that perhaps the aftershave from the previous day would still be present. I looked at the tall, imposing man and the short blonde, who were both staring at me, and ran a hand through my messy hair.

          "I'm not crazy," I blurted.

          "Nobody said you were, Elizabeth," Theresa told me, shutting my front door.

           I plopped down on my sofa and leaned back covering my face with my hands, "I feel like I'm going crazy."

           Theresa's bangles clacked together as she sat next to me, I felt her hand come up to settle on my shoulder and I welcomed the touch. Behind me, in the kitchen, I heard water being poured and soon Mr. Johnson was handing me a glass.

           "Drink this. You're still riled up," He suggested before sitting down on the faded blue vintage Bridgewater chair I had found on the side of the road years ago. It was a bit small for him but he didn't seem to mind.

           I sipped the cool water and let my eyes flick to my friends. Mr. Johnson was looking around my apartment, observing, and Theresa kept her eyes on me.

           "Want to tell us what's going on? Why do you think someone besides you has been in here?" He asked as we locked eyes.

          I swallowed down the last bit of water and set my glass down on the coaster before sighing. Although I knew it would sound crazy, as I prepared to tell them, a calmness overcame me. I knew I could trust them with this. After informing them of all I had seen just today and the persistent aftershave fragrance for weeks, Mr. Johnson left and came back with a metal bat. Theresa returned with a couple crystals as well.

           I stared down at the items before me, "I know what to do with the bat, but the rocks have me stumped."

          Theresa let out a laugh and I glanced up at her as she stepped forward picking up a few stones. They were rather big and different colors. She placed the big purple and blue one by the front door on the side table.

          "This is an Amethyst, it's a crystal used to ward off evil spirits. It's a powerful grounding stone that emits positive energy and provides security. I'm going to keep it by your door."

          We watched her make her way to the door leading to the fire escape. There she placed down another large stone next to the curtains on the ground, "This is a Fluorite, it fights off negative energy and I have one last thing for you."

          She effortlessly moves over to me across the floor, her green skirt billowing all about her. She hands me a couple tiny milky purple stones, "Put these under your pillow," To remove one of her necklaces, Theresa reaches around to the back of her neck. A tiny Amethyst is affixed, and it hangs from a short gold chain, "Wear this every day. Don't take it off."

           I moved forward to allow Theresa to fasten the necklace around my neck while my eyes strayed over to Mr. Johnson, who simply shrugged in response. The stone's weight was heavy against my chest and it was cold against my skin. I knew that after a while, I would grow accustomed to it and fail to even notice it.

            "Amethyst brings mental calm and stability because of its grounding properties combined with its high vibrational frequency. When you're depressed, wearing Amethyst jewelry can make you feel better."

           "I'm not depressed."

           She laughed, "I know, but it'll help with your mood. Calm your anxiety and fear. Trust me, it will." She must've seen the skeptic in me because she moved her long blonde hair to the side to show me another necklace just like the one I now had on, "I never take it off. It's helped me a lot."

            I nod, "Thank you. Let me just put these under my pillow, " I gestured to my full palms.

            There were maybe twelve of them and I spread them out evenly along my sheets and placed my pillow over top of them before returning to the living room. Mr. Johnson had picked up the metal bat and we gave it a wide berth before swinging it effortlessly through the air.

           "I don't have anything as fancy as Miss. Crystal over here," he teased winking at Theresa, "but a metal bat to the head or the knee will bring anyone down."

          He drew closer to me before giving me the weapon. The handle had frayed white tape on it, and the metal felt chilly to the touch. It was a little bit heavier than I anticipated. Black lines ran the length of the bat, and there was a little depression in the center. It appeared old and well-used.

            "I've had it since my kid was young. Go on," He gestured towards the bat and I blinked at him.

             "Go on?"

             He mimed swinging a bat, "Swing it. I need to make sure you can swing it properly."

            "Oh," I broadened my stance a little, setting my feet shoulder-width apart, sunk down a little, and prepared to swing. I was only imitating the stances I observed at the baseball games my sister dragged me to because I had never been interested in the sport.            

           "Move your hands a bit apart - there you go. Now swing." Mr. Johnson pulled Theresa back and I swung the bat. A whoosh went through the air as the bat cut into it.

             "Good, when you swing, always keep a tight grip and don't let them grab the bat. Keep it close to you. Head, knees, and stomach are the best spots to go for. If you hit hard enough they'll go down and not get back up. A shattered knee cap will stop anyone."

              I nodded and set the bat against the wall my tv was on and looked up at them, "Thank you. I thought you guys would tell me it was all in my head."

             "Not at all. If this is what you feel is going on in your home - I'm not going to question that. You live here, I don't."

             "I can bring over Eli's old baby monitors too. We don't use them anymore now that he's in elementary school. I'm not planning on having another kid anytime soon so you keep them as long as you need. They don't have video and can't record but they pick up sound really well. Maybe keep one by your tv and the other next to your bed? I have four so I could even give one to Mr. Johnson." Theresa suggested.

             "That's a good idea. Want to grab them now?" I asked her.

             "They're in my junk closet. It'll make so much noise to go through it now. I'll bring them over to you tomorrow before work. You're starting the night shift tomorrow, right?"

             "Oh, I didn't realize it was so late," I glanced down at my watch.

             Half-past ten.

            "That's perfect. I won't be leaving until 6:30."

              They began to walk towards my front door and I followed. Mr. Johnson opened it for Theresa and she thanked him before turning to me.

             "I still wish you'd call the police." She said, pulling me into a warm hug.

              "The police can handle this so much better, Elizabeth," Mr. Johnson agreed as he stood in the hall.

              "I know, but I also know that without any evidence there's not much they can do. I'll keep the baby monitors until I can get cameras. Mr. Johnson, you're ok with keeping one with you while I'm at work?"

              He nodded his head, "Of course. I'm a light sleeper. I'll come by and grab your extra key tomorrow so if I hear anything I'll confront them myself," He explained, pulling me into a much-needed bear hug.

             "But I have your bat," I questioned, pulling back to look up at him.

             "Oh, sweetie that isn't my only weapon, it's just one that doesn't require bullets."

             "Ah," He settled his large hands on my shoulders and looked me in the eye.

            "If someone is coming in here while your away or asleep, we'll catch him. He'll be locked away if I don't kill him myself. Don't worry."

• • •

They had gone an hour earlier. After a lengthy dip in the tub, I organized my groceries and went to get the brick under my bed. As I lifted it to the window, rust-colored dirt chipped off; I'd clean that tomorrow. I had to try a few times to get the angle just right, but eventually it was securely propped up against the handle, and I was able to close the shades. At that point, I made the painful decision to disassemble the Vincent Van Gogh jigsaw of Starry Night. It took around ten minutes to pack all the pieces inside the cardboard box.

          I put my teacup away and put the puzzle box in the small bookcase I had. I hung my wine glass up, rinsed the few dishes in the sink, and threw the tea bag out. My blanket was the next thing to be put up, so I switched off the overhead light, grabbed the light green blanket from the couch, and went into my room. Where should it go? I could have hidden it beneath my bed, but I figured I'd forget about it if it was out of sight, so I chose to keep it in the closet above where I kept my cardigans and scrubs for work. Satisfied, I pulled the beaded curtains shut and set the bat down on the floor on the side I slept. I settled onto my bed, pulling my covers up.

          My bedroom lamp was the sole light on. I hoped they wouldn't return as I regarded the darkness beyond my beaded drapes. My room went dark as soon as I pulled the cord, and I recalled that I had remembered to turn off my alarm. After today, getting to sleep in was a treat. I flopped onto my side, facing the window, and allowed sleep to overtake me. I hoped that sleeping with the crystals under my pillow would help me to relax.

           • • •

Hi everyone! I am so excited to write this story! It's been on my mind for a week or so and I've been dying to get it on paper and I've been wanting to write another original book for a while. Take a break from only writing fandom books. The plot is crazy good and I'm ecstatic to hear what you guys think!

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You're going to want to stick around for this wild ride!