Page 18

The soles of Nicki”s sneakers squeaked against the meticulously cleaned linoleum, causing her to flinch. The loud noise reverberated through the empty office space, sending chills down her spine. She nervously glanced around at the endless rows of identical cubicles, feeling like she was being watched. Despite no one lifting their gaze from their computer screens, a wave of paranoia washed over her, and her heart started racing.

Nicki”s colleague barely looked up from their computer screen as she walked into the office.

”Morning, Nicki,” they mumbled, their eyes glued to the monitor.

”Morning,” she replied in a strained whisper, her voice betraying her tiredness and frustration.

At her desk, the click-clack of keyboards around her morphed into footsteps in her mind, following, always following. She forced a gulp of cold coffee down her throat, trying to ignore the tremors in her hands.

”Nicki, you okay?” a voice cut through her spiraling thoughts.

”Fine,” she managed, her eyes darting to the clock. It was too early to leave, but the walls were closing in.

”Paranoid,” she muttered to herself, glancing over her shoulder. There was nothing amiss, just colleagues immersed in their tasks. But her gut screamed danger, and she couldn”t bear another second by lunchtime. Muttering an excuse about feeling unwell, she gathered her bag and fled.

Her heart raced with fear and relief as she turned the key in the rusty lock. The familiar scent of lavender greeted her as she stepped inside, flicking the lights on out of habit. She made a beeline for her bedroom, where a worn suitcase lay hidden under the bed. She pulled it out and laid it on the bed with a sigh of anxiety.

Clothes flew into the open case, not folded, just gone. She needed the essentials: cash, her passport, and her phone. Her hands trembled as she dialed the familiar number.

”Hey, it”s Nicki… Can I crash for a few days?”

”Sure, but what”s going?—”

”Thanks.” She cut off the questions she couldn”t answer, not yet.

She ran her fingers along the cool metal zipper, pulling it closed with a satisfying slide. The suitcase”s weight pressed against her chest, reminding her of everything she was leaving behind. She took one last glance around the room, taking in every picture on the wall, every knick-knack on the shelves. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears as she whispered, ”Stay alive,” to herself. With a grunt, she lifted the heavy suitcase and walked out the door.

She bounded down the stairs, her heart racing with urgency. The living room was shrouded in darkness, the heavy curtains pulled tightly shut. As she reached the bottom step, a figure stepped out of the shadows, startling her.

Nicki dropped her suitcase to the floor with a thud.

Her heart slammed against her ribs, cold sweat beading on her forehead. ”I-I”m sorry,” she stammered, the words dying in her throat. ”I really am very, very sorry.”

”Sorry doesn”t cut it, Nicki,” came the reply, low and devoid of warmth.

A metallic click and the world narrowed to the barrel of the gun. The trigger pulled, soundless over her own scream.