Sophia spent the morning in a state of barely controlled panic, pacing her apartment while Maya sat on the couch watching her with growing concern.
"You need to call the police," Maya said for the fifth time, her hands moving in the sign language they'd both learned together in college. Maya had been Sophia's roommate freshman year, and unlike most people who promised to learn ASL to communicate better, Maya had actually followed through. "If the killer is literally moving in next door, they need to know."
What if he IS the police? Sophia signed back, her movements sharp and agitated. Did you see how those cops reacted when I showed them my drawing? They recognized him, Maya. And now he's here. In my building. Next door.
"Then we call the FBI. Or a lawyer. Or"
A knock on the door interrupted her. Both women froze.
Sophia crept to the peephole and felt her stomach drop. It was him. The killer. Standing in her hallway with a friendly smile on his face and what appeared to be a plate of cookies in his hands.
Another knock, more insistent this time.
Maya appeared at her shoulder, looked through the peephole, and grabbed Sophia's arm. "Don't open it," she signed frantically.
But what choice did Sophia have? Pretending she wasn't home would only delay the inevitable. And maybe maybe she was wrong. Maybe it was a coincidence. Maybe he had a twin brother or she'd misremembered his face in the chaos and fear of last night.
Even as she thought it, Sophia knew she was lying to herself. She never forgot a face.
She took a deep breath, made sure the chain lock was secure, and opened the door a crack.
Up close, he was even more striking than he'd seemed from across the courtyard. Tall at least six-two with dark hair slightly mussed from moving, sharp features that belonged on a movie screen, and those eyes. Gray-blue and intense, like a storm trapped in ice. He wore his casual clothes like they were tailored, and when he smiled, he revealed perfect white teeth.
He was exactly the kind of handsome that would make women cross the street for a second look. The kind that would make them ignore every red flag.
"Hi," he said, speaking clearly and facing her directly the way people did when they knew she was deaf. "I'm Marcus Kade. Just moving into 4B. Thought I'd introduce myself to the neighbors."
He held up the plate of cookies. They looked homemade. Chocolate chip.
Sophia stared at him, her throat tight. Was this really happening? Was a murderer actually doing the whole welcome-to-the-neighborhood routine?
"I know you probably can't hear me," Marcus continued, still smiling, "but I wanted to say hello anyway. I hope we'll be good neighbors."
Behind Sophia, Maya appeared, positioning herself protectively. "She can read lips," Maya said coldly. "And she's not interested in cookies from strangers."
Marcus's eyes shifted to Maya, and something flickered in his expression calculation, assessment. Then the friendly smile was back. "Of course. I completely understand. It was presumptuous." He set the plate down in the hallway. "I'll just leave these here in case you change your mind."
His gaze returned to Sophia, and for just a moment, the smile faded. She saw something raw and honest in his expression an acknowledgment of what they both knew, what neither could say out loud with Maya standing there.
I know you saw me. And now I'm here. What are you going to do about it?
The smile returned. "It was nice meeting you both. I'm sure I'll see you around."
He walked back to his apartment, and Sophia closed the door, engaging all three locks with shaking hands.
"Oh my god," Maya breathed. "Sophia, that's him, isn't it? The man from last night?"
Sophia nodded, then sank onto her couch, pulling her knees to her chest.
"We're calling the police. Right now." Maya grabbed her phone.
Sophia caught her wrist, shaking her head frantically. Wait. Think about this. If he's moving in next door, he wants me to call the police. He wants to see what I'll do. What if he IS a cop? What if this is all some kind of test?
"A test? Sophia, you saw him kill someone!"
Did I? Sophia signed, hating the doubt creeping into her own mind but unable to stop it. It was dark. I was across the courtyard. What if I misread what I saw? What if it was something else?
"You drew his face! You were certain!"
I'm deaf, Maya. My perceptions are always questioned. If I call the police and say the man I identified last night just moved in next door, what do you think they'll say? That I'm paranoid? Confused? That the stress made me see things that weren't there?
Maya's face crumpled with frustration because she knew Sophia was right. Throughout Sophia's life, people had dismissed her observations, questioned her interpretations, assumed her disability meant she couldn't be a reliable witness to anything.
"So what do you do?" Maya asked quietly. "Just live next door to a killer and hope for the best?"
Sophia didn't have an answer.
After Maya reluctantly left with promises to check in every hour and plans to come back that evening Sophia stood at her window, staring at the building across the courtyard. Police tape still marked the murder scene, though most of the official presence had cleared out.
A man had died there. She'd seen it. She knew what she'd seen.
Didn't she?
A vibration made her look down at her phone. An unknown number had texted her:
The cookies really are homemade. My grandmother's recipe. You should try one. - Your neighbor in 4B
Sophia's hands trembled. How did he have her number?
Another text: Don't worry about how I got your number. I'm a detective. It's literally my job to find information.
A detective. Of course. That's why the officers had recognized her drawing. That's why he could move freely, why he had access, why he was so confident.
You killed that man she texted back before she could think better of it.
The response came immediately: Did I? Are you sure about what you saw? Because from where I'm standing, you're a deaf woman who observed something from across a dark courtyard at midnight. That's not exactly reliable testimony.
Sophia felt sick. He was already building the defense, already undermining her credibility.
I know what I saw. And I told the police.
I know you did. I read your statement this morning. Very detailed. Very creative. But here's the thing, Sophia may I call you Sophia? The apartment you think I was in belongs to a confidential informant in a major drug case. What you saw was me confronting him about lying to us. It got heated. He pulled a weapon. I defended myself. It was a clean shoot. Justified.
You shot him three times.
Because he was high on meth and didn't go down easy. The investigation will clear me, just like it has the other four times I've had to discharge my weapon in the line of duty. I'm one of the good guys, Sophia. I save lives. I stop bad people from hurting innocents.
Then why are you here? Why move in next to me?
The response took longer this time: Because I need to make sure you understand what really happened. Because I can't have a confused civilian spreading false narratives about a clean operation. And because…
Sophia waited, staring at the three dots indicating he was still typing.
…because you're interesting. The way you watched. The way you drew my face with such perfect detail. The way you're not running or hiding right now, even though I know you're terrified. You're brave, Sophia. Stupid, maybe. But brave.
Stay away from me.
Can't do that. We're neighbors now. These walls are thin. I'll hear everything you do. Well, not hear, exactly. But I'll know. I'll feel the vibrations. Just like you do.
The casual way he referenced her deafness made Sophia's skin crawl. He'd researched her. Learned about her. This wasn't random.
She didn't respond. Instead, she blocked the number and threw her phone onto the couch like it had burned her.
For the rest of the day, Sophia tried to work on her commissions, but her hands were too unsteady. She tried to read, but couldn't focus on the words. She tried to eat the lunch Maya had left for her, but her stomach was in knots.
Every sound every vibration through the walls made her jump. Was that him? Was he listening? Watching?
By evening, Sophia was exhausted from anxiety, running on nothing but adrenaline and fear. She was considering calling Maya back, asking her to spend the night, when her phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. Different from before.
It was a photo. Of her. Standing at her window that morning, taken from street level.
The caption: You really should close your curtains. Never know who might be watching.
Sophia's blood turned to ice. He was taking pictures of her. Stalking her. And there was nothing she could do about it because he was the police. Who would she even report this to?
Another text: Relax. Just wanted to remind you to be careful. This is a dangerous neighborhood. All kinds of criminals around. A woman living alone should take precautions.
The implied threat was clear. He could get to her anytime he wanted.
Sophia grabbed her laptop and started researching Marcus Kade. If he was a detective, there would be records. News articles. Something.
And there was. Lots of something.