But I found the courage to do my job.
He wasn’t there.
I was so convinced that he would be standing there, in the same seat, with the same grin. I started to question what I actually saw, if it was just a trick of the stage lights, if my mind allowed the shadows to manipulate my reality.
Did it happen at all?
It did…right?
I returned to my apartment, just a few blocks from the theatre. The Eiffel Tower was far away in the distance, lit up like a beacon of hope and pride for all the Parisians who worshiped it with their eyes.
My purse and keys were tossed onto the kitchen island. My scarf was pulled from around my neck and set on top. Fall had arrived, and it was slightly chilly, but there was still a hint of summer at the warmest time of the day.
I walked to the large window in the living room where the parted curtains rested. The lights from the city were so bright, they illuminated my apartment even in the deepest night, and it became hard to sleep. I liked to sleep in after a performance, and the bright sunlight could easily sabotage that.
I grabbed each side of the curtains and started to pull them to the center.
But my eyes moved to the building across the street, as if I already knew something was there before I even looked. It was instinct, as if someone else commanded me to look and I obeyed.
There he was.
Standing in the window, dressed in black, staring at me from across the street, the same grin on his face, pulled back as wide as possible, showing his molars in the very back. His dark eyes were open and staring, taking me in like an experiment rather than a human being.
My hands gripped the curtains as the tremors took over.
I was terrified…but couldn’t look away.
My chest rose and fell quickly as my eyes began to smart. The man was nowhere near me, but it felt as if he were right in front of me, his breath falling on my face, his teeth even whiter now that they were close up.
He didn’t shift his body. He didn’t blink. He didn’t make any movement at all…like he wasn’t real.
I yanked the curtains closed as quickly as possible, blocking the light and the city, putting a structure between us so I wouldn’t have to stare at the fucking psychopath who drilled through my flesh and organs, directly to my spine.
I hyperventilated in front of the window, feeling him staring at me through the glass and curtains. I’d been mugged on the street and fought to get my purse back. I’d been groped on the bus and broke his balls. I lived my life alone without fear. But…this was different. This was bigger than me. This was so dark, so twisted, that I knew it couldn’t be defeated with a simple punch.
I sprinted to my purse and quickly pulled out my phone with shaking hands. I dialed the number and listened to it ring once before the operator answered.
“Police. What’s your emergency?”
The police sent two officers to investigate my claim.
When they opened the curtains and looked through the window, they saw an empty window across the street.
“He was there. He stood right there and stared me down. He was at the ballet, and now he knows where I live. He was smiling at me… It was fucking creepy.” I stood with my arms crossed over my chest, still shaken to the bone even when I was with officers with guns.
The first officer looked for a while before he turned to me. “If he was smiling at you, why is that creepy? That’s friendly.”
“No,” I snapped. “Trust me, it was creepy. He was at the theatre a few nights ago, and now he’s here. I’ve seen my neighbors across the street before. It’s a young couple, and the guy looks nothing like that.”
The officer looked again before he turned to his partner. “We’ll go across the street and see if there’s been a break-in.” He nodded, and they headed to the door.
I was hot on their tail. “I’m coming too.”
“You really need to stay here,” the first officer said. “In case—”
“I’m not staying in this apartment by myself until he’s caught.”
They let me have my way because I was so shaken up, and we crossed the street and entered the building. After taking several flights of stairs, we approached the front door.
I stood in the rear, letting them do their work.
With one hand on his gun, he knocked.
No response.
He knocked again. “Police. Open up.” He grabbed the handle and checked to see if it was locked. Then he turned to me.
“Go in there!” I threw my arms down. “He’s in there!”
He exchanged a look with his partner before he turned back to me. “We can’t just enter people’s apartments without cause—”
The door opened, and a man stood there—but not the man I’d seen. It was the husband I’d seen before, his eyes shifting back and forth between the officers. “Can I help you with something?”
What? “Did you just get home?”
The officers turned to me, wearing looks of annoyance.
“No…” He glanced at the officers before he turned back to me. “Just got out of the shower.”
I turned to the first officer. “That means he could be in there. He could have been in there when he was in the shower.” I knew what I’d seen. I didn’t make it up. I wasn’t crazy. I’d put my hand on the fucking bible and swear on my dead parents.
“Wait, who?” the guy asked. “What’s she talking about?”
“Nothing,” the first officer said. “We’re sorry to disturb you.”
“Wait.” I rushed forward. “Can we do a quick search of your apartment? Please?”
The officer placed his hand on my shoulder. “Constance, the door was locked.”
“So?” I snapped.
“He broke in then locked the door on his way out?” the officer asked incredulously.
He was there. I knew he was there. He was in this fucking apartment—taunting me. “He could have gotten in through a window—”
“Constance.” The officer squeezed my shoulder in an attempt to calm me. “There’s no fire escape. So, unless he jumped out the window and fell three stories, there’s no other way in or out of this apartment.”
“I saw him! He was there!” I pushed his arm off. “He was at the theatre, and then he was here!” Tears started to stream from my eyes because this was all bullshit. I looked like a fucking crazy person when I was the sanest woman alive.
The officer dismissed the tenant in the apartment then directed me down the hallway. “Sometimes immense stress can make us see things that aren’t really there. Are you having financial difficulties or—”
“I’m. Not. Making. It. Up.” I had to lower my voice and steady myself so I wouldn’t scream at the officers who were just doing their jobs. I was infuriated that they didn’t believe me, but I also understood why they didn’t—because I had no evidence. “Please, you have to believe me.” I pressed my palms together and rested my hands against my lips, silently praying for someone to help me.
The officer exchanged another look with his partner. “Look, I’ll give you my personal cell number. Call me if it happens again. But, if you call me and there’s nothing…don’t call me again.”