Bloody Knives in My Leftovers

Hours Before Chapter 2 - One More Hour

Persistent knocking, notes stuck to her door, blood and slushed snow on the bottom of her curtains, locks broken, drinks missing.

Two weeks. Two entire weeks of paranoia and hunting.

Lia couldn't stand it, escaping to work like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Maybe it was.

It wasn't always this bad. She had a good life, a secretive life. Solitude brought her comfort.

Malia Ayad was a victim.

She should have known something was wrong when the notes started, silly sticky notes left on her apartment door. Smiley faces drawn in crayon and marker that she chalked up to the rowdy kids from down the hall.

It was stupid, playful even. Hints of threat not taken seriously when kids were just kids.

But wasn't the handwriting too perfect, miss-spellings never a habit? Dead mice turning up randomly in her home, lizards gutted on her window ledges.

'The birds...pesky beasts..' She told herself, scraping dried reptile skin from her concrete sill.

'Maintenance...a good thing..' She consoled, using rubber gloves to toss a rotting rodent into the trash can.

The random numbers that would spam her inbox with nonsense letters and numbers, forcing her to switch providers just a couple days into the onslaught.

Windows letting in cool winter air she was sure she locked, the chain on her door laying on the ground that she never bothered to replace, washing her curtains for the third time that week because she must have gotten her boots on them.

Lia was kept up most nights by soft knocking on glass, not human enough to make her scared.

Two weeks of it. Easy enough to brush it off and focus on her goals.

Then the photos came in.

Snapshots of her at every angle.

Brushing her teeth, pouring coffee, talking to friends, shopping, and chillingly close shots of her sleeping face.

They had been dropped in her mailbox and retrieved by her as she was coming home from work one snowy afternoon. All of what she assumed was junk mail thrown onto her side table before she settled into bed for a midday nap.

When she woke she swung her legs over the side of her bed and sorted through the letters and coupons. Stopping when she reached the small square envelope and prying open the seal.

The photos fall to the floor of her room, scattered and revealing all the intimate parts of her life. High-quality and clearly her, dated as far as two weeks back. When everything started.

Lia cries, confused and horrified. She has no idea who could be behind this or why they would do something so horrible. Trying to remember anything weird that had happened in the past couple weeks and coming to the scary realization that things had not been normal for a while now.

She scampers to the door, rushing to collect her keys and put on a pair of slippers by the door, desperate to make it to the police station down the road to report this.

She swings open the door and collides with a hard chest.

It's late into the evening now, broken fluorescent lights flickering down the complex hallway as she tilts her head up to meet the red gaze of a childish smiley face.

Black hood covering his features, hands wearing thick leather gloves that clasp harshly over her arms, but most terrifyingly of all...the hunting rifle strapped to his back that peeked out as he leaned down to her level.

He doesn't speak, he doesn't need to. She knows it was him who was responsible for her terror, knew he was here as a warning. Her heart races out of her chest as she tilts his head and then carefully slides his hand down her arm. She holds eye contact with the smiley face, letting his fingers pry open her closed fist. Her keys drop to the ground and something is slipped into her hand. Then he squeezes her other arm tightly, she winces and then he lets go.

Lia watches as the hunking man stalks away, boots leaving snow in the hallway as he disappears from view.

With fear and adrenaline pumping her heart faster than ever before she yanks her keys off the ground and falls back into her apartment on her ass, kicking the door closed and causing it to slam. Sweat tangles her loose hair strands as she pants, chest heaving with panic. Her eyes search her hand, seeing the folded sticky note stuck to her palm.

With a frenzied feeling she pulls it open, nearly tearing it in half to reveal the neat scrawl inside.

'No cops :)'

So it was a warning. A deep one. And now she was so sure that eyes were on her every second. She swallows, crumpiling the note and screaming in frustration as she tosses it somewhere to the side.

She brings her knees up to her chest and buries her head into them, clutching it with her hands as tears burn the corners of her eyes. Never in her life has she felt this afraid.

Thoughts run into her mind, people to call, to warn, something that could save her. Yet, nothing seemed safe.

With shaking hands she pushes herself to stand, locking her doors as best she could and knowing deep down that it wouldn't help. She gnaws at her bottom lip as she trudges back to her room, checking every window and room on her way.

With her whole apartment seemingly clear she closes her bedroom door and collapses to the floor. And that's where she stays for the rest of the night, eyes open and mind racing.

Work will come in the morning and her co-worker will ask what's wrong.

And she'll keep her mouth shut, eyes on the back of her head as the hours click by.

Silence isn't rewarded, by the way.

But fear is.