The neighbor (PART 1)

Strange noises emerge from the apartment upstairs. It sounds like the weird neighbor jumps up and down his bed again. I have no idea if he’s doing that but I can hear the squishy sounds of the bed. Since he’s living alone, sex is out of the question. Or he could be masturbating hard, which is disturbing just to think about.
Maybe he got himself a hooker - or do we say escort now?
The noises stopped and that’s another mystery that will go unsolved.

This guy freaks me out. He has this weird look - even though he never looked me in the eyes - and a haircut that suggests that he’s slowly losing his hair but doesn’t want to act on it. Of course, he’s wearing glasses, or he wouldn’t be a weirdo without glasses.
The thing that bugs me remains that he could be a psychopath. The guy is between 30 and 40 years old, he leaves alone, weird sounds come out of his apartment, he doesn’t drive, he looks weird, should I go on?
What if he is a psychopath or a serial killer? Shouldn’t I do something?
I can’t stand not knowing what is happening and I’m almost sure that something is wrong with this guy.
What would you do in my situation?

Now that the sound stopped, I can’t stop staring at the ceiling, waiting for another one to come out of the apartment.
The neighbor is up to something. I know it.
The only way to understand him would be to follow him so the next time he goes outside I’ll simply tail him. I’ve seen him walk around and he doesn’t seem fast so it should be a piece of cake.
If he’s a psychopath, we’ll know soon enough.

The door slams shut in the hall and I run towards the window to see who comes out. Is it him? I’m on to you buddy.
I heard the click of the light in the hall. Any second now.
It’s not him. The old lady with her tiny dog comes out and aims for the parking lot.
Hopefully, this won’t be too long. My idea of a Saturday afternoon doesn’t look like waiting by the window and hoping for the next-door psycho to come out.
I guess I could work in the meantime, but I have not much to do. Clients haven’t been pounding my door lately and it’s quiet around here. I just have enough to get by but can’t go out much anymore.
The white ceiling bores me and I’m about to fall asleep when the sound of another door startles me. This time, I’m sure it’s him. He usually goes out every day before the sun sets and I’ve seen him walk almost every day.
I jump out of the bed and rush towards my viewing spot.
It’s him. Let’s go!

I’ve never put on my shoes that fast. After grabbing my coat and keys, I lock the door and run to the entrance of the building.
He’s gone.
How did he leave that fast?
Looking around in all directions, I don’t see him. I start walking down the street, that’s where most of the shops are and he’s most likely to have gone in the same direction.
Well, if the guy happens to be a psychopath, maybe he didn’t go to the most obvious place.
I speed up and try to get to the intersection before losing him for good.
He’s going down the street at a slow pace. I don’t know how he almost got away from me. Apparently, I need to get better at putting my shoes on. I realize that I wasted some precious seconds deciding on whether to wear a coat or not. I went for it. It’s not that cold outside but I don’t know how long we’re gonna stay out for.
The neighbor and I have a good distance that separates us. He doesn’t seem to be agitated, but he could be trying to blend in.
Where is he going?
The curious part is that he’s wearing a coat too. Is he planning on staying out long? Could he be going to a meat freezer where he stashes dead bodies? Damn! That’s cold. That’s why he needs the coat!
Okay, just shut up, Mark. Focus on the potential serial killer and stop making dumb jokes in your head.
Great! Now, I’m talking to myself - in addition to talking to you.

Even at a safe distance, I distinguish that a few hairs cover the bald part of his skull. It looks to me like he’s in denial. The guy is going bald. But he tied a thin ponytail of curly and greasy hair in an attempt to hide that fact. That’s not a good enough reason to call him a psychopath but a good enough one to judge him.
Tailing the neighbor turns out to be less fun than I pictured in my head and it’s a little anticlimactic.
We have been walking around the neighborhood for the past 15 minutes and he doesn’t seem to have a purpose.
Wait.
Is he on to me?
Maybe he spotted me a while back and didn’t go where he supposedly wanted to.
Shit!
Maybe I should leave a greater distance between us - even if it’s too late for that.
I slow down my pace and he starts to fade away in the distance. Maybe I need glasses, my vision is kind of blurry at this distance. Am I the worst detective?
When I realize that my eyes probably need a checkup, I lose him and he disappears for good.
I accelerate the pace but he’s already gone. Where did he go?
There is no intersection. I simply lost him in a straight line. How is that possible?
While deciding what my best course of action is, I stop, trying to look as innocent as possible. We never know, he might still be around and I don’t want to appear suspicious. I crunch down to look like I’m tying my shoe, glancing behind me, like a normal person would do - I guess.
After 10-20 seconds - what seems to be a good amount for someone to tie his shoe back on, I stand back up and a man passes me from the right, startling me. It’s him!
What the fuck!
Where was he and how did he get here so fast?
He didn’t look at me but I think he knows.
I froze and couldn't move for a couple of seconds looking back at him, terrified by his shady walk, almost limping but not clearly. He’s hiding something. I know it!
The sensation came back in my feet and I resumed walking in the opposite direction.
It’s good enough for today.

It is time to get more information about this guy. I need to find out everything there is to know about him: his name, occupation, relatives, relationships, hobbies, schedule. He is living just above my head and he might be a serious danger to other people.
I wish Hannah were here, she’s very good at these things - reading people and gathering information. Where is she? The last time I saw her she was leaving for work. She hasn’t called since. It’s not like her. Something’s wrong.
Wait.
When she left, that morning, the neighbor left the building, I clearly remember seeing both of them from the window. I always look at her leaving and I distinctively saw that weirdo before she got into her car.
I swoop to the window. No signs of her car.
She hasn’t come home since work. Something unusual is going on. I can’t believe I didn’t notice this before.
The neighbor is involved in this. I’m sure of it.
I grab my coat and put on my shoes before leaving the apartment. If I want to get more information, at least I need his name.
Not all mailboxes have name tags on them and if this guy kills people for a living, he probably didn’t put his real one. But it doesn’t hurt to check so I’ll start with that.
Apartment 8, that’s the one.
Glen Moore. That’s a serial killer’s name for sure.
The mailbox doesn’t even close properly, but there’s nothing in it.
The automatic lights outside the building turn on. It startles me and I’m not sure why.
On my way back to the apartment, the elevator doors open, I glance above my left shoulder as I walk and see him - Glen Moore - passing the hallway and exiting the building. He didn’t look at me and headed straight for the door. Is he pretending not to see me? Maybe he didn’t notice that I was here. I wonder he’s going this time.
I slam the door that I had just opened before running towards the main entrance without making too much noise. I don’t want him to hear me.

He progresses on the street with a determined pace and I try to keep a better distance between us than the last time I did this.
He crosses the street and shows some interest when passing a clothing store.
When I pass it, I look as well but it’s women’s clothes only. Why was he looking? I’ve never seen him with a woman. He’s such a creep. Why would he be looking at women’s clothes?
What if he used the store as an excuse to slow down and peek behind him? Maybe he’s smarter than I give him credit for.
But this time I’m following him from the other side of the street and always keeping a safe distance. I even put a cap on so he doesn’t recognize me.
After wandering for a while, he enters the supermarket. Should I follow him inside?
I decide to do it and grab a shopping cart to blend in. He goes straight to the aisle where all the canned goods are. I don’t follow him to avoid looking suspicious.
He comes out of there with his hands full of cans before heading towards the cashier.
What is he doing with all these cans? That’s handy for feeding his victims, I presume. No one would eat that every day and he doesn’t look like the type of guy to go camping.
We leave the store and end up back at the building.
Is he playing with me? Or there could be the possibility that all the shady stuff happens in his apartment and he pretends to live a normal life when he’s out so he doesn’t look suspicious from the outside.

It is not easy returning to my normal day-to-day life after following him. The sounds coming from his apartment bug me and it makes me wonder what’s happening up there.
Hannah hasn’t returned any of my calls and I’m starting to worry. I pick up the phone and dial her number for the seventh time since lunch but it goes straight to voicemail. Her battery might be dead but she always finds a way to charge her phone, even at work.
I try to occupy myself by doing the dishes and organizing spices alphabetically but it doesn’t help. After an hour of cleaning and sorting around the apartment, I go nuts. I don’t understand where she is and now I’m imagining the worst possible scenarios in my head. Maybe she had an accident while driving. Maybe she had a heart attack. Maybe someone assaulted her while walking to her car and she’s at the hospital in a coma. All these pictures drive me insane. But it all comes back to the upstairs neighbor. I know he’s somewhat responsible for her disappearance.
My fingers rub the side of my head to calm me but it doesn’t work. I’m calling the cops.
No, wait. I can’t call the cops. Where is the proof? Why would I call them? What would I say to them? They won’t arrest this psychopath without evidence.
Maybe my imagination plays tricks on me again. Hannah might be stuck in traffic with an old phone and a dead battery. Let’s just wait for her to come home.

I’m lying in bed again, staring at the ceiling and expecting strange sounds from the apartment upstairs. The sky is dark and I guess it’s the middle of the night. The exhaustion from following the neighbor and cleaning the kitchen smacked me behind the head and I slept for a couple of hours.
I swirl on the blanket to grab my phone. No missed calls. Where is she?
Squeaky noises emerge from above again and this time I hear a woman’s voice. It’s Hannah’s.
What is she doing there?
I jumped on the bed and try to stick my ear to the ceiling but I can’t quite reach it. Standing still on the mattress, I try to listen to what is happening. Her muffled voice doesn’t give me much indication and its the only one I’m able to hear. Apparently, the neighbor doesn’t reply.
I run to the closet, get my coat, my shoes, and rush towards the elevator.

This is my first time on the second floor of the building. The lighting is different because of the windowless hallway.
I guess where the upstairs neighbor lives based on the configuration of the ground floor. I can’t believe I’m about to knock at a psychopath’s door.
I ring the bell to avoid startling him by pounding at this fucker’s door.
What is he doing with my girlfriend?!
His distressed mug appears behind the green door.
“Hello?”
“Hi! Are you alone?”
He frowns his brows and doesn’t answer immediately.
“Is there someone in the apartment with you?”
Looking at his face, I took him by surprise. He wasn’t expecting me to show up at his doorstep.
He glances at the empty living room behind his shoulder and back at me.
“Yes. Can I help you?”
I don’t know what to say. My plan stopped here.
“Have you seen my girlfriend?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know who your girlfriend is,” he says hesitantly and looks at me suspiciously. He definitely didn’t count on me suddenly getting into his business.
“It’s her.” I show him a photo of her on my phone.
“I don’t know her.” He paused and then added “Sorry” then backed away as he shut the door. “Good night”
I can’t believe he denied it. What did I expect? I’m so stupid. I’m standing behind the closed door, waiting for something to happen or for another idea to hit me - whatever comes first.

The automatic lights finally turned off and I’m standing in the dark in front of this psycho’s door. For a while, I can’t move. Hannah’s voice fled away and the silence fills the hall.
I’m here. Standing in the shadows. I can’t hear anything coming from his apartment. I wonder if he’s standing on the other side, waiting for me to leave.
I know you’re there.
I close my eyes for a second before the sounds in the elevator wake me up. I turn on the lights and walk back to my apartment, looking down, ashamed of myself for not rescuing Hannah.
I’ll come back for you - with or without evidence.
After opening the door and going back to my bed to lay there and enter into a staring contest with the ceiling, I think of ways to break into the apartment upstairs.
The first step would be to define a specific schedule for this creep, so I could know where I can get into his apartment without him being there.
Once I know when I can find out how.
The next few days consisted of me lurking outside the window and establishing a detailed agenda for Glen - the psychopath.
He is a creature of habit and always goes out at the same time every day.
After only 3 days, I could tell you at exactly what time he would come out of the building and when he would be back - give or take a couple of minutes.
Now that I know when I can get in, it’s time to find out how.
The easiest way would probably be the balcony.
His morning walk would let me enter the place without being seen because most people are already at work and there isn’t much vis-a-vis anyway.
All I need is a ladder to get upstairs, and I already know a trick for opening bay windows. I might also get lucky if he let it open. Fingers crossed.

My stomach rumbles and I might be sick. I feel awful. How can I be sick? I don’t come in contact with anyone. How could I catch a virus?
I hate being sick. The last time I felt this way, I was in high school. But once I realized that my parents didn’t want to take care of me, I stopped requesting attention. I never got sick again.
They did love me before Steve though. Everything changed after he came into my life.
Steve and I became very good friends in school. We would do everything together. He got me kicked out of classes a bunch of times. It even got to a point where teachers pretended he wasn’t there. My parents acted the same way from the beginning. They never acknowledged him. It was the kid who turned their son into a no-good boy.
Before the end of the year, they sent me to a shrink because my grades dropped and my attitude changed - in a last attempt for attention, take a hint.
Steve stopped showing up at school and I never saw him again. My best and only friend in the entire world disappeared. I asked my parents relentlessly but they always eluded the question. To this day, I have no idea what happened to Steve.
Life went on and my parents barely talked to me after that. They looked at me with disgust. I guess all their hopes of raising the perfect kid had gone in flames.

It had been a while since I had thought of Steve. I wonder what he might be up to. The other kids at school always looked at us in fear. We ruled back then.
I feel like throwing up but I don’t want to move from the bed. There is a 50% chance that standing and going to the bathroom will make me want to vomit. If I stay still, it might pass. I’ll take these odds.
The white ceiling is hypnotic and I feel the dizziness getting to my head. The objects around me are spinning.
I turn on the side of the bed and see her. Hannah.
She sleeps. She’s peaceful. I startle and step back. I blink and she’s gone. I need to rest.

The sun illuminates the right side of the bed and I know it’s the morning. My mouth dried and I can’t swallow my spit without it hurting my throat. I’m still sick.
If that psychopath had left Hannah alone, I’m convinced I’ll be alright.
I look at the ceiling thinking that she could be on the other side, waiting for me to rescue her. It makes me mad. I want to kill him slowly so he can suffer the way I’m suffering now.
But I’m not well and I need all my strength to go up there. My body is still shivering, I guess I have a cold.
Patience has never been my strong suit and I can’t just wait in my bed while she’s upstairs, probably scared and confused.
I decide to take a shower to shake off the disease and be ready to get into this psycho's den.
It helps a little but I’m still haven’t fully recovered from my illness. Nevertheless, I choose to pursue my objective and put on my shoes, jacket and then I wait for the perfect moment.
My chair sits by the window while I uncomfortably look outside, waiting for the time he’s gonna show up for his morning walk.
After two minutes past the moment, I don’t understand. He didn’t show. Where is he?
Does he know about my plan? How could he? Why am I overthinking this? Maybe he’s just late.
I realize that I’m overthinking and start to breathe more deeply and slowly to calm my nerves.
Where is he? He’s never late. Something is different.
I wonder if I should go anyway. Maybe I missed him and he left already.
Fuck!
What should I do?
Tell me!
If he’s already gone then he might come back any minute now. It would be completely insane to go now.
And there might be the chance that he’s in the apartment. That would be weird to bump into him on my way to his apartment - on his balcony.
Maybe he’s sick. Maybe he got me sick.
After a dozen of minutes brainstorming ideas, I settle on not going. It’s too dangerous.

Something’s wrong. He hasn’t come out all day. What is he doing up there? Should I be worried?
I pace in the apartment despite my weakened condition and become exponentially nervous.
His schedule will return to normal and I convince myself to wait another day.
When going out on the balcony, I notice a ladder going all the way to the roof. I can use that tomorrow to get up to the second floor.
I’m tired and need to rest for my big day tomorrow.
After laying on my bed, I realize that it’s too early and I can’t sleep yet. I keep blinking at the ceiling in an attempt to communicate in Morse code, that I never learned.
The sun barely left but I force myself to sleep anyway.
Just before falling asleep, my stomach gurgles and makes me realize I haven’t eaten in at least two days.
I don’t have time to eat. I have to catch this psycho.

After a short night, I’m fully awake and too excited to sleep anymore. I carefully select the clothes I’m going to wear for getting into his apartment. Something comfortable and not too tight to climb one floor.
Putting a few options on the bed helps me make a decision until Glen decides to come out for his ritual that he hopefully will get back to today.
My pants get stuck in my legs when a shadow passes by the window. It’s him! GO!
I finish dressing myself and rush to the balcony.
After carefully looking around, no one is here to see me so I can proceed.
I climb the ladder and reach the second floor without too much trouble. Focusing on not falling and checking my surroundings is another story. We never know and he could come back in a hurry. After what happened - or didn’t happen - yesterday, it wouldn’t be too much of a surprise.
His balcony is empty, and it alarms me for some reason that I can’t explain.
It didn’t occur to me before but I’m about to break in into his apartment and it could be booby-trapped.
Once I safely put my legs on the terrasse, I proceed with caution and look around for hidden cameras or projectiles that would injure me.
The window is locked. It should surprise me. So I try a technique that worked for me in the past. I press it with my palms and swiftly push and pull it. I managed to get into my own apartment after forgetting my key and locking myself outside on a rainy night.
I remember that night because we had a fight with Hannah and she left in a hurry. Running after her didn’t help and I ended up outside of the building without my set of keys. That particular evening, I learned two valuable lessons: never forget your keys, and don’t upset your girlfriend.
It worked again! The window opens and I get into the psycho’s apartment.

On first notice, it looks basic. The living room is furnished but it doesn’t look like someone is living here. Everything is in place and the room is immaculate. It could be a picture in an interior design magazine. The model apartment seems inhabited at first, but then I walk around and see various items that don’t quite fit.
Opening a drawer, there is a feminine scarf. It’s Hannah’s! I’m almost positive she left with that very scarf the day she disappeared!
I rush to the bedroom, the room above mine, and find it empty, to my surprise.
The white walls have been freshly painted and the wooden floor has a drag mark on it.
What happened in this room?
I can tell that something bad happened here. Where is Hannah? What has he done to her?
Her scarf is here but she’s not. That doesn’t make any sense.
I walk around the apartment as if it were mine and pace urgently. There is proof somewhere. I just have to find it.
Nothing out of order in the kitchen. It doesn’t look like anything has been used recently - or ever.
The knives are clean and barely dented. The plates have the new smell of plastic.
Then it suddenly hits me. This guy is not living here. He doesn’t do anything in this apartment. He’s just pretending to live here.
On my way to the bathroom, I notice that the wall dividing the kitchen and the bedroom is larger than it should be.
I pause and look at the white wall starring back at me.
This wall should be smaller.
I run to the bedroom and knock on the wall, then rush back to the kitchen to double the experiment. There is an empty room between the two. But there is no door. My mind overflows with thoughts and possibilities moving too fast for me to stop and analyze any of them.
But one thought interrupts me. I hear steps in the hallway behind the entrance door before the sound of jingling keys. It’s him!
I have to leave. I dance in the hallway, when I realize that I’m so close to figuring out what happened here, and I step closer to to the exit and then back in front of the white wall but I have no time left and I have to leave, so I stop stepping and rush towards the balcony.
The windows are heavy and it takes me a few seconds to slide it back from the outside.
I walk backward closer to the edge and to the ladder but a bird startles me and I fall backward over the balcony landing on my ankle.
My back kisses the grass and I see him walking into the building.
It probably was another neighbor in the hallway and I rushed for nothing. I could have found the answer. I’m pissed at myself and can’t walk.
I struggle to stand on my two legs and start limping toward the terrasse to get back into my apartment.
At least I know Hannah was there. Or maybe he just kept a souvenir from her.
I’m gonna get him. I swear to you.

The pain in my ankle hurts a lot and laying in bed doesn’t help. I tried putting ice on it but it doesn’t change the fact that I dropped one story and landed on it. This is not the kind of thing you can get over in a matter of hours.
The pain makes me angry because it will delay my investigation into this psychopath’s life.
What do I know so far?
Hannah visited the apartment upstairs at one point: voluntarily or not. That part is still blurry. I heard her voice and found her scarf. But she isn’t there anymore.
However, I found what could be a secret room between the kitchen and the bedroom.
Whatever shady things happen, they happen in that apartment. But the apartment is clean so they might have happened in there before he moved Hannah to another location.
And this is why he’s going out all the time. He surely has to feed her every day - I hope she’s still alive.
A pulsating sensation takes over my entire leg and I realize that the size of my ankle doubled.
As I look down at my poor leg, the shadow of the neighbor passes by the window. It’s time to follow him.
I struggle to get out of my current sitting position and manage to reach the door.
I limp in the hallway and attain the entrance of the building to follow Glen.
Tailing someone is already a hard enough task without having to drag a dead leg. I manage to keep him at a safe distance without losing him.
We’re not taking the usual route and there is something different about the way he looks.
He’s nervous and looking around. He’s definitely suspicious.
Either he knows someone entered his apartment, or he’s about to do something bad.
My leg hurts more and more and it’s getting harder not to lose him.
The limping turned into hopping and strangers passing by look at me disturbingly.
An old woman said something I couldn’t understand. I heard her mumble while staring at me.
Where is he?
I lost him.
Damm old woman!

I’m in bed again. It seems to be the place where I do my best thinking. The white ceiling still taunts me and begs me to go back to the other side to keep exploring the psycho’s den. I tell him that I can’t right now. My ankle is still messed up and I haven’t found much in the first place.
A cat keeps scratching outside and it gets on my nerves. It has been going on for a while now.
I never noticed that before. It must be a new cat.
I wonder who owns the cat. I’ve never even seen this cat.
The immaculate ceiling is looking back. The feline now pounds away and knocks on a wall. These sounds annoy me. It’s light but incessant and it can become infuriating.
Enough is enough. I limp to the living room.
The noises dissipated. What the fuck?
Well, finally, I can have some peace and quiet.
I limp back to the bedroom. I hear the sounds again.
Is it coming from the bedroom?
I search around the apartment and still hear the same sounds of scratching at the same level.
I sit on the bed and lookup.
The white ceiling dares me.
I struggle to get up on the bed with the dead weight that my leg has become to bring my ear closer to the concrete.
The sounds become more and more distinct.
Glen doesn’t have a cat, I’m sure of it.
There were no traces of animals up there when I went.
The voice sounds familiar.
Wait.
Hannah?

Her voice resembles murmurs and I can’t make out any words in particular.
I don’t want to pound on the ceiling if he’s in the apartment. If he knows I know she’s there, he might kill her for good this time.
Closing my eyes helps me focus on her voice but I still don’t understand what she says. The tone of her voice disappears little by little and soon all I can hear is my breath on the ceiling.
My leg hurts a lot and I only realize that now.
I fall on the bed and stay there for a while.
I’m lost. What course of action should I take now?
If I go back to his apartment, will I find her? Where is he hiding her?
An idea hits me. After he’s gone, I’ll go back there again and tear every wall if I need to until I finally find her.
All I have in the apartment is a relatively small hammer but it’ll do the trick. I’m pissed and could destroy the entire apartment only using this tiny piece of hardware.

As soon as I see him leave the building, I rush to the balcony to climb the ladder.
But despite the adrenaline rushing through my veins, the pain in my leg prevents me from going up. I try a few times but there is nothing to do. On my last try, I slip on the ladder and end up with my ass on the grass again.
A neighbor heard the noise and took her head out of the window, showing her mischief through thick brows.
I struggle to stand and limp back to my place. I shut the window and go back to bed.
I can still hear the scratches coming from the apartment upstairs.
I’m sorry Hannah. I’ll try again soon.

The sounds of her voice and the continuous scratches bang in my skull and give me a headache. It pounds and pounds and pounds and never stops!
Please.
Make it stop!
I can’t sleep.
I can’t eat.
I’m sorry Hannah. Please stop. I’m sorry.

A car door slams and wakes me up. I look outside. It’s the middle of the night.
The upstairs sounds stopped and I managed to rest for an hour, or two. I can’t tell anymore.
My ankle hurts and I’m in no shape to climb that ladder but I can follow Glen around in the meantime and see what he’s up to.
I know he’s doing suspicious things that he doesn’t want people to see when he’s outside.
My stomach lets me know that it is empty but I forget about it as soon as I noticed and go back to the thoughts in my head.
I close my eyes, hoping to sleep a little bit more.

It hits me. I’ve been staring at the ceiling all night and early morning and haven’t slept since I woke up in a hurry from Hannah’s sounds.
I keep blinking rapidly. At this point, I can’t tell if it’s by choice or if it’s a habit that I nervously picked up. I’m aware of it but I can’t stop. I’m stuck. One, two, three, four, five. I want to stop at five but I can’t. I’m still stuck.
The blinking makes me wonder what I look like when I do that. It’s a good thing Hannah’s not here to see me like that. What would she think of me? Maybe that I’m no better than Glen Moore - that psychopath.
I stopped blinking. I’m not stuck anymore and it feels liberating for a second before I remember that Hannah is still missing, that my ankle is busted, and that there is still a FREAKING psychopath living right upstairs, sleeping a few feet from my face. We’re only separated by the concrete that divides us. But so much more separates us. We’re nothing alike. I hate him and I hate what he did to Hannah. I’m gonna find her and she’ll be fine.
I’m telling you! She’ll be fine!
I promise…

The red eyes that stare back at me in the mirror don’t seem natural and I barely notice that it’s relevant. I look tired.
I automatically shower, brush my teeth, and abruptly stop when blood flows out of my mouth. I brushed so hard and for so long that my gums bleed and slowly fill the sink with dripping drops of velvet juice.
The sound of my blood hitting the porcelain triggers a memory that won’t play through. It’s there. I just can’t access it yet. I hate it when that happens. Don’t you?
The melody of the accelerating tears of blood dropping makes me want to dance and I catch myself imperceptibly swinging in front of the mirror, bleeding from my mouth.
Not having Hannah with me really puts me down. I don’t even recognize myself anymore.
I shake it off and grab a towel to dab my mouth and stop the bleeding. I rinse off and it’s like it never happened. Good as I knew - on the outside.
But if I hadn’t told you, you’d never know. Would you?

This passage seems to me like an interlude in the ongoing investigation, it was barely an entertainment to prevent me from getting bored while waiting for the neighbor to get out.
I realize that now. Life is merely a succession of distractions that prevent you from thinking about the end. It’s true. Think about it.
I don’t want to. I have to follow him.
He gets out of the building like clockwork and I play my role to the letter when I step out of the apartment to tail him.
I’m limping but it’s better and I don’t think much about it. I’m too focused on him to notice the pain that may or may not be there. If I stay focused on something else, maybe the pain will stop. I hope it works. Not just for the physical pain.
But there are things you can’t come back from.
Or so I’ve heard.

He’s playing his role to the perfection and does the usual walk, although he seems agitated and quickly glances behind him from time to time. I do the same and notice a woman far behind me, following the both of us.
Is she following me or him?
I keep walking to avoid being suspicious, even though it feels like a trap. I’m in the middle of a psycho's sandwich and I don’t want to get squished.
At the corner, I turn, following the neighbor, and get a good look at the woman behind me. It’s Hannah.

Hannah? Why is she following me?
I freeze for a second before resuming tailing the neighbor to avoid looking weird while I think about the situation.
Why is Hannah following me? Is she also following him?
My last assumption was that she laid somewhere in his apartment, chained to the wall or something of that caliber.
But if she can walk around, why hasn’t she come home? Why hasn’t she called me?
I keep walking, questioning everything around me and even my own judgment. I automatically follow Glen while my mind races through every possibility.
What is going on?
Is she still behind me?
I quickly glance over my right shoulder, pretending to scratch my nose. She’s not there. Maybe I looked too fast.
As I approach an intersection, I realize I’ll be able to look before crossing the street and that’ll be my excuse to check behind me.
I see a person in the distance, it might be her. She increases the distance between us and it is difficult, almost impossible, to tell if it’s her.
She wears a hat and it makes it even harder to distinguish the features of her face.
I’m 85% sure it’s her. Maybe 82%.
It’s been 15 seconds since I should have crossed the street so I execute my move and decide to go right to go back in the direction of Hannah, on the other side of the street.
I walk faster as I get more excited, and even forget about my ankle until I trip on a rock and smash on the curb.
Where is she?
I look around quickly. I can’t see her.
She’s gone.
I want to cry. I want to yell and scream at the world surrounding me. Why is she gone again?
I miss her so much.
Hannah, please, come back.

I stand up, thanks to the help of a stranger. He asks me if I’m okay and I can only nod. No words come out of my mouth. I don’t want to speak, I'm afraid I’ll simply yell at him for no reason. He stares at me and I try to smile but it doesn’t work as well. I nod again and limp back to the building, staring at the ground, wishing I were dead.
This psycho is going to get the best of me. I can’t let him win. I have to be stronger - for Hannah.

As soon as I re-enter my apartment, I have a strange feeling. Did my shoes move?
I had left them in the middle and they are now on the side, next to the wall. Strange. I don’t remember placing them there.
I take off my shoes and limp to the kitchen for a glass of water. I always leave a glass on the counter but this time it’s by the sink. I never put it by the sink. Hannah used to do that and it always drives me nuts.
What is happening? Everything is out of place and my apartment is not the way I left it.
It hits me.
Someone came into my home while I was out following the psycho.
What the fuck?!
Why?
Who came here and why?
I check the windows but they’re all closed and shut tight. The front door was locked. How did they get in here?
I walk around the apartment to check for clues and make sure nothing else is out of the ordinary.
The light in the bathroom intrigues me and I open the door to find the top drawer of the cupboard wide open. All of Hannah’s stuff is gone. Everything!
Did she come here to take her stuff? That doesn’t make any sense!
Is she breaking up with me? Have I been all wrong about the way I interpreted things? Is she cheating on me with the psycho neighbor?
No, calm down. That doesn't add up. Glen Moore obviously lives alone and he’s a psychopath.
The traces of Hannah’s things in his apartment proves that he did something to her. But she wasn’t living there.
Why would someone come into the apartment to move things around and steal her stuff?
I pace around the apartment before stopping due to the pain in my ankle. I should stop walking that much in my condition.
I double-check all the windows and the front door lock before going to bed, then standing up and double-checking everything again for the 7th time.
Now I stare at the white ceiling. It’s my only constant. My only friend in this.
It’s the only thing that helps me focus and calms my nerves.
Thanks for being there, old friend.

The cracks in the pain disturb me and I can’t unsee them. What I thought was an immaculate white painted ceiling now looks like the Grand Canyon. I’m disgusted by the nature of paint.
The night is still young but I haven’t been able to sleep since someone entered my home.
I can’t call the cops. This psycho is too good to get caught easily. So far I haven’t been able to find hard evidence. He doesn’t leave much behind him.
But he made a big mistake coming into my home.
The current lighting makes it hard for me to focus on the cracks but the outside lamp and its shadow turn my old friend into a wall of vines that crawl all the way to the walls.
If I stay still for a while, it looks like they’re moving with the wind.
They’re just like branches floating with the breeze.
It makes me forget about Glen until it doesn’t.
I still hear the scratches but they faded and sometimes I don’t even realize they’re still here. I guess Hannah is getting tired. I wish I could tell her I’m waiting for my ankle to heal, then I’ll come and rescue her. There is so much I would like to tell her. But I can’t.
The voices also faded and disappeared completely a few days ago.

The scratches wake me up. Again. I can’t wait any longer and I have to take action.
I’m going back up there.
But this time I won’t go by the balcony. I’ll knock on the door.
I’m decided and I get ready for battle. I put on my shoes, coat, a knife in my pocket, and I pee before leaving so I’m not distracted.
I take the elevator, thinking it’s going to relax me more than taking the stairs. I don’t want to arrive there out of breath.
The hall never seemed so long. I walk for what seems to be an eternity before arriving in front of the door. His door. The psycho’s door stops me from knowing what is happening behind it.
Should I really do this?
I picked the worst time to second guess myself.
The door seems so intimidating. I freeze in space and time, not knowing what to do next, what the best course of action is, or what could help Hannah survive. There are so many moving pieces in this puzzle and I always hated puzzles. I like chess. I like challenges. Anything but these damn jigsaw puzzles!
Now I’m angry. I need to calm down. I hear a sound that startles me and I instinctively knock on the door to avoid being seen in the hallway staring at the door.
I can’t tell if the sound came from the apartment but I can now hear steps and someone getting closer to my position. Then they stop. Nothing. I wait for 5 or 10 seconds, standing in the hallway with my knife in my pocket and my fist ready to pound at anything that comes between me and my goal.
The lights automatically turn off and I’m now standing in the dark.
Before I can react, the sound of the locks emerge and the door opens, shining light upon my person and hiding his.
The natural light from the balcony reflects on his head and I can barely distinguish the features of his face.
We stare at each other. We don’t talk.
He knows.
I can’t see him clearly but he can. The sun blinds me a little and I try to stand in his shadow to see clearly in front of me.
He doesn’t budge.
“Yes?”
“Have you seen…a-a-a…a cat?”
He still doesn’t move and takes his time to answer carefully. I don’t know why I said that. I don’t have a cat but I needed an excuse to come up. I probably should have thought this through before showing up at the local psycho’s residence.
“A cat?”
He pretends to be interested in my fake story as if it were well crafted.
“Yes, I lost my cat. Have you seen my cat?” Why do I keep repeating “my cat”? I’m the one that sounds psychotic now. Get it together man!
“I haven’t seen any cats.”
“Are you sure? I heard scratches?” I shouldn’t have said that. Fuck! Why did I say that?
I’m swallowing a lot of spit leftover in my mouth and I’m producing so much more. My eyes are twitching from the sun and I sweat nervously. What the fuck? I should have stayed downstairs.
Now he knows.
I’m sure I can take him.

My hand digs deep in my pocket to grab the knife that I hid previously.
He looks at me and slightly frowns his brows without wanting to. He probably knows that I heard the noises. He just wants to see how long he can play this game.
But I won’t give him the satisfaction so I slowly take out my hand from my pocket and he defensively stares at my hand, not knowing what will come out.
I drop the knife and pretend to scratch my beard once my hand is out.
He must have shit his pants, sure that I was about to attack him.
I don’t remember where we are in the conversation and he doesn’t seem to either.
It hits me that we’ve been gazing at each other for the longest time without saying a word but we said so much anyway, without meaning to divulge that much information.
He didn’t respond to my inquiry about the noises coming from his apartment and he looks like his mind is running multiple scenarios.
He knows he’s the one who needs to answer and I don’t want to help him avoid the question. If he wants an exit strategy, he can think of it himself. This psycho never counted on me coming up straight to his apartment but now that I’m here, I’m not leaving.
He turns his head and looks up like he remembers something.
“Now that I think of it. I might have heard noises in the hallway. Maybe your cat was there. I hope it helps. Bye.”
He spoke quickly and didn’t let me answer.
Now the door is closed and it’s over.
All this for nothing.
Well, not nothing. At least, he knows I’m not afraid of him and I know he’s keeping Hannah so he’ll have to take action in a hurry and drop whatever his plans were.
Thinking about rattling this psycho’s cage makes me smile and I realize I haven’t smiled in a long time. I can’t remember the last time I did. Hannah was still there.
I walk with a determined pace down the hall and take the stairs back to my place. My head throws images at me I don’t want to see: this psycho’s face staring at me, Hannah crying, me losing her in the street.
My hands are shaking and I have trouble inserting the key into the hole to unlock the door of my apartment.
I close it behind me and run to the kitchen for a glass of water. Big drops of sweat run down my forehead and on my temples. I attempt to catch a glass but I come up too short and knock it over, breaking it into a million pieces. I rush back to the entrance and into the bathroom, lift the toilet seat and throw up things I didn’t know I had in my stomach.
I think I’m having a panic attack.
My lips are trembling and I’m cold. I don’t feel good and my vision gets blurred.
Did he poison me?
I try to snap out of it but I can’t, even though I would like nothing more than to feel normal for a change. Why can’t I feel normal?
Flashes of his face show up in front of me and I try to shake it off. I don’t want to see that.
It all comes up again and I put my head down the toilet for a second time, throwing up a little bit more.
Nothing barely comes out.
It’s all in my head. It’s not something I ate.
He made me sick.
How can he live with himself? I can barely look at him without feeling sick.
It stops spinning and my vision isn’t blurred anymore. I stand and turn to the sink to wash my face and mouth.
I close my eyes, splashing my head with cold water, and I see her.
Before I could see her, then only hear her scratches, and now I only picture her in my mind.
She’s slowly disappearing from my life and I can only hope it won’t be too fast before I can’t remember her.
I miss her so much.
All the emotion comes back and I rush to the toilet for the third time. But this time nothing comes out. I want to vomit and my stomach and throat gag but there is nothing left. I’m laying on the bathroom floor, convulsing and waiting for it to stop.
I miss her so much.

After a few minutes, my body returns to its usual state and I feel better. The panic attack or whatever it was stopped and I can finally breathe normally.
I should call the cops, and maybe Hannah’s parents.
I might not be equipped to deal with a psycho/murderer on my own.
My phone sleeps under a big pile of laundry that I can’t tell if it's clean or dirty and I dial the number for the police.
After putting me on hold for an eternity, they finally thank me for calling and let me know that they will see what they can do. Thanks for nothing!
I don’t know why I bother. They’re useless.
I’m pissed and angrily dial the number for Hannah’s parents. I’m surprised I know it.
It rings for a long time before I hear the shivering voice of her mother.
“Please don’t call us.”
She instantly hung up.
I don’t understand.
Do they not care about their daughter?
I don’t think they forgave her for going out with me. They thought I was too “mature” - their words - for her and in other words old.
I believe she liked a strong and confident person and don’t think age should matter that much.
Her parents are way too uptight and I’m not sure if they really love her.
Now I’m back to square one and on my own, again.

TO BE CONTINUED...