Once the initial adrenaline of the nightmare had worn off, I threw back the covers, climbed out of bed, and pulled on my sweats and a hoodie. I needed some fresh air. This tiny dwelling was currently stifling, a studio apartment that was barely 250 square feet. So small, I often found myself bouncing off the walls if I wasn’t paying attention. It was mine though, my own space, my little refuge from the world. 

I needed fresh air. I stepped into my slippers, grabbed my keys, and tip-toed past all of the other apartments to the balcony on my floor. It was a dingy little patio with black metal bars to prevent anyone from falling over the edge. I gripped the rail and leaned over, sucking in a deep breath of cool October air. It had an immediate calming effect. 

I needed to go back to sleep. I needed to rest. Tomorrow was a big day. I was job hunting, doing my level best to look like a put together and presentable woman who was wholly capable of taking care of children. I had been let go suddenly from my last nanny position when the family had moved out of the country. They had been all too happy to give me a glowing reference, but the timing had not been in my favor. There appeared to be a drought of available nanny positions, at least ones that paid a living wage. 

I was stuck picking up whatever shifts I could at the nearest grocery store. It was just enough to pay the bills, and not much else. 

I stood there on that balcony, staring out at the dark street below, lost in thought. It took me a moment to realize I had begun doing what I always found myself doing when I was stressed, or sad, or happy. Frankly, any emotion. 

I found myself singing.

I was caught up in the “Song of the Sirens” for several moments before I caught myself when hitting the highest notes, realizing I was going to wake my neighbors.

I covered my mouth with my hand, smirking, before I noticed a movement of shadow down by the road. A figure stood there, just out of reach of the street-light, a dark spectre. I could sense it, (him?), looking up at me. I felt a chill run over my body, and immediately turned and headed back into the building, back to the safety of my little studio apartment. 

I knew it wasn’t Jeffrey out there. He had gone to prison a year ago for what he had done to me, found guilty by a jury of his peers. I know that the pictures of my broken and bruised body had helped sway the jury in the case. I had watched the horror on their faces as they were shown exhibit after exhibit of my injuries. 

Logically, I knew that it could not be Jeffrey lurking in the shadows, but it didn’t make the prickle of anxiety I felt any less real. The world was full of creeps, and I seemed to have a habit of attracting them.