Chapter 1 - The Window
The Window
Elara noticed the man because he was standing perfectly still.
It was a small thing.
So small that, if she had been doing anything other than standing beside her bedroom window with a mug of tea slowly going cold between her hands, she probably would never have noticed him at all.
The buildings opposite hers were old.
Not abandoned-old, not falling-apart-old, but the kind of old that had settled into itself after decades of people coming and going. Their pale walls had been darkened by years of rain, their windows were mismatched, and some of the balconies had been enclosed with glass while others still held rusting railings and forgotten flowerpots.
The narrow street between the two buildings was quiet tonight.
It was almost ten.
Most of the windows across from her were illuminated. A television flickered behind one curtain. Someone was washing dishes. In another apartment, a little girl was jumping on a bed while her mother tried to make her stop.
Elara had become accustomed to watching the opposite building without really seeing it.
It was simply there.
Part of the view.
Something her eyes passed over while her mind was somewhere else.
Tonight, however, her eyes stopped.
There was a man standing in one of the windows.
Third floor.
Directly opposite hers.
He was looking at her.
Elara frowned.
For a moment, she wondered whether he had been there before and she simply hadn't noticed.
She set her mug down on the windowsill.
The man didn't move.
He stood behind the glass of his window, his figure partially illuminated by the weak light inside his apartment.
He was dressed in black.
A black shirt beneath a black coat.
His hair appeared dark too, though she couldn't tell exactly what color it was from this distance.
She couldn't see his face clearly enough to make out his features.
But she could see his eyes.
Or rather, she could feel them.
He was looking directly at her.
Not vaguely toward her building.
Not at the window.
At her.
Elara's fingers tightened around the edge of the windowsill.
She stared back.
Neither of them moved.
The silence between the two buildings seemed strangely heavy.
Elara became aware of little things she hadn't noticed before.
The refrigerator humming somewhere behind her.
The ticking of the clock on her desk.
The faint sound of traffic farther down the street.
The warmth of her apartment.
The cold glass beneath her fingertips.
The man remained motionless.
She couldn't explain why the sight of him made her uncomfortable.
There was nothing particularly frightening about him.
He wasn't doing anything.
He wasn't threatening her.
He wasn't even close enough to speak to her.
He was simply standing in his own apartment, looking through his own window.
People looked out of windows.
People noticed their neighbors.
It wasn't strange.
It wasn't even unusual.
Elara almost looked away.
Then something changed.
The man's eyes moved.
Only slightly.
His focus shifted from her face.
Past her.
Toward the space behind her.
Elara's stomach tightened.
She didn't understand why.
There was something in the way he looked that made her feel as though he had suddenly noticed something she hadn't.
Something inside her apartment.
Something standing behind her.
Her body reacted before her mind could catch up.
She turned.
Her bedroom was exactly as she'd left it.
Her bed was unmade.
A gray sweater lay across the foot of the mattress.
Two books were open on her desk, one on top of the other.
Her small lamp was switched on.
Her wardrobe doors were closed.
The curtains moved slightly from the air coming through the open window.
Nothing else.
No one.
Elara stared at the room.
She felt ridiculous.
Slowly, she turned back toward the window.
The man's apartment was empty.
Elara stopped breathing for a second.
She searched the window.
Nothing.
The curtains hadn't moved.
The room beyond the glass was still.
There was no doorway she could see him disappearing through.
No movement.
No shadow.
Just an empty room.
She leaned closer to the window.
Her reflection stared back at her.
She looked across the street again.
Still nothing.
"Okay," she whispered.
Her voice sounded embarrassingly loud in the quiet room.
She stepped away from the window.
She picked up her mug.
The tea was cold.
She made a face and carried it toward the kitchen.
Halfway there, she stopped.
She looked back.
The opposite window remained empty.
She told herself that she had simply looked away at the wrong moment.
That was all.
There were dozens of perfectly ordinary explanations.
He could have stepped away.
He could have walked into another room.
He could have closed the curtains.
She had only seen him for a few seconds.
There was nothing strange about that.
Nothing.
Elara forced herself to stop thinking about it.
She finished her tea.
She washed the mug.
She returned to her room.
She closed the window.
She went to bed.
And for the next hour, she didn't think about the man at all.
At least, that was what she told herself.
---
The next morning, Elara woke with the uncomfortable certainty that someone had been watching her.
She opened her eyes.
Her bedroom was quiet.
Sunlight came through the curtains in pale strips.
Nothing had changed.
She lay still for a few seconds, staring at the ceiling.
Then she remembered.
The man.
She sat up.
Her eyes immediately went to the window.
The opposite apartment was visible through the gap between her curtains.
Daylight made everything look less threatening.
She almost laughed at herself.
The building opposite was ugly in daylight.
The paint was faded.
One balcony had a blue plastic chair on it.
Someone had hung laundry across another.
A woman was watering plants on the second floor.
Everything looked ordinary.
She pulled the curtains open.
The window opposite hers was visible.
Empty.
Elara exhaled.
"Obviously."
She turned away.
By eight thirty, she had forgotten about him.
By nine fifteen, she remembered him again.
Not because she saw him.
Because she realized she didn't know who lived there.
It was such a small question.
It shouldn't have bothered her.
But once it entered her mind, she couldn't stop thinking about it.
The apartment was directly opposite hers.
She had probably seen its occupants hundreds of times without paying attention.
Maybe someone lived there with their curtains permanently closed.
Maybe the man had just moved in.
Maybe he had always lived there.
Maybe—
Elara stopped herself.
She was thinking too much.
She grabbed her bag and left for the day.
---
She returned shortly after five.
The building's hallway smelled faintly of detergent and cooked onions.
Mrs. Haddad, who lived on the first floor, was arguing with someone over the phone.
A child was crying somewhere upstairs.
The elevator was broken again.
Elara climbed the stairs, her bag hanging from one shoulder.
She passed the second floor.
Then the third.
She was almost at her apartment when Mr. Whitmore coming down the hallway from the opposite direction.
Mr. Whitmore lived on the ground floor and managed most of the building himself. He was a thin man in his sixties who always seemed tired, regardless of the time of day.
She stopped.
"Mr. Whitmore?"
He looked up.
"Yes?"
"Can I ask you something?"
His expression suggested that he already regretted saying yes.
"About the building opposite."
He waited.
"The apartment directly across from mine."
Something changed in his face.
It was brief.
So brief that Elara almost missed it.
"What about it?"
"Who lives there?"
Mr. Whitmore looked toward the street.
For a moment, he said nothing.
Then he rubbed his jaw.
"Nobody you need to worry about."
Elara frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"It means you shouldn't concern yourself with it."
She almost laughed.
"That's not really an answer."
"It is the answer you're getting."
There was something strange in his voice now.
Not anger.
Not annoyance.
Something closer to discomfort.
Elara lowered her voice.
"I saw someone there last night."
Mr. Whitmore looked directly at her.
"A man."
He didn't respond.
"He was standing by the window."
Still nothing.
"He was looking at me."
Mr. Whitmore face had gone completely still.
Elara noticed.
"What?"
He looked away.
"You're sure?"
"Yes."
"Maybe someone was visiting."
"Maybe."
She waited.
He didn't say anything else.
"Does someone live there?"
Mr. Whitmore sighed.
"An old woman."
Elara blinked.
"An old woman?"
"Yes."
"Alone?"
"Yes."
"Then I don't understand."
"You don't need to."
"How old is she?"
"Very old."
That was not particularly helpful.
Elara folded her arms.
"Does she have family?"
"Not here."
"Does she leave the apartment?"
"Rarely."
"Then how did I see a man?"
Mr. Whitmore looked at her again.
This time, there was something unmistakably serious in his eyes.
"I don't know."
Elara waited.
He continued.
"She spends most of her time sleeping. Her niece checks on her sometimes. That's all I know."
"So you think I imagined him?"
"I didn't say that."
"You didn't have to."
Mr. Whitmore shook his head.
"Just forget about what you saw."
Elara frowned.
"Why?"
He looked toward the stairs.
Then toward the front door.
When he spoke again, his voice was quieter.
"Because some things are better left alone."
Elara almost asked what that meant.
But Mr. Whitmore had already turned away.
She watched him disappear down the hallway.
The old woman.
She stared through the entrance doors at the building opposite.
Third floor.
Directly facing her apartment.
An old woman lived there.
Alone.
So who had been standing at the window?
As soon as she stepped inside her apartment, she looked toward the window.
She didn't mean to.
It happened automatically.
The opposite apartment was visible.
The curtains were open.
The room beyond them was empty.
Elara stared at it for several seconds.
Then she shut her door.
She tried to dismiss the thought.
She really did.
She dropped her bag on the chair and went straight to the kitchen.
She made dinner.
She watched television.
She answered messages.
She studied.
She even laughed at a video her friend sent her.
But every so often, her eyes returned to the window.
The opposite apartment remained dark.
At eleven thirty, Elara closed her curtains.
At midnight, she checked the lock on her front door.
Then she checked it again.
She didn't know why.
She was halfway back to her bedroom when she remembered something.
Mr. Whitmore's strange expression.
She returned to the door.
She stared at the lock.
Then, almost without thinking, she opened it.
The hallway was empty.
She looked left.
Nothing.
Right.
Nothing.
She closed the door.
Locked it.
Then she heard Mr. Whitmore's voice in her memory.
Some things are better left alone.
Elara went to bed.
---
She woke at 2:17 a.m.
She didn't know why.
There was no sound.
At least, not one she could identify.
She opened her eyes.
Darkness.
For several seconds she didn't move.
Then she heard it.
A knock.
Not loud.
Not violent.
Just three quiet taps.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
Elara sat up.
Her heart began beating faster.
She stared at the bedroom door.
Another three knocks.
This time, from the front door.
She remembered what Mr. Whitmore had told her.
She didn't know why the memory came back so clearly.
Some things are better left alone.
No.
That wasn't what he had said.
It was something else.
Something more specific.
Something she had forgotten.
Elara climbed out of bed.
She took one step toward the hallway.
Then stopped.
Her front door was on the other side of the apartment.
She could hear nothing now.
No footsteps.
No voice.
No movement.
She stood there listening.
Silence.
She waited.
Nothing.
Slowly, she returned to bed.
She pulled the blanket around herself.
Five minutes passed.
Ten.
She began to feel foolish.
Then she noticed something.
Her bedroom door was open.
Elara stared at it.
She was certain she had closed it.
She always closed it.
The hallway beyond was completely dark.
She couldn't see the living room.
Couldn't see the front door.
She remained still.
Then something moved in the darkness.
Not quickly.
Not suddenly.
A figure stepped into the faint light coming from the kitchen.
Black clothes.
Dark hair.
A pale face.
Elara's blood turned cold.
The man from the window.
He stood in her apartment.
And he was looking directly at her.
She couldn't scream.
She couldn't breathe.
He didn't move.
He didn't speak.
He simply stood there.
As though he had been waiting for her to wake up.
Then his eyes shifted.
Past her.
Toward the window.
Elara slowly turned her head.
The curtains were closed.
She looked back at him.
He was gone.
The hallway was empty.
The apartment was silent.
Elara remained frozen in bed.
She didn't move for several minutes.
Then she heard something scrape softly across the floor beside her.
She looked down.
A small object rested beside the bed.
She had never seen it before.
A brass key.
And beneath it was a folded piece of paper.
Elara stared at it.
She didn't touch it.
She didn't even breathe.
Because she knew, with a certainty she couldn't explain, that whatever was written inside had been left there for her.
