Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16456 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 82(@200wpm)___ 66(@250wpm)___ 55(@300wpm)
For a moment, he looks like he might argue further. Then his shoulders slump.
"Fine. Whatever." He shoves the package into my chest. "Just make sure she gets it."
I take the package without looking at it, my eyes never leaving his face. "Don't come back here."
"You can't stop her from getting deliveries."
"I can stop you specifically. Remember that." I step back, giving him space to leave. "Now get the fuck off my property."
He slinks away, throwing one last glance up at the windows before hurrying down the street. I watch until he's out of sight, the package heavy in my hand despite its small size.
Something's not right about any of this. Normal delivery guys don't act like that, don't insist on personal delivery, don't ask if you're someone's boyfriend. And they definitely don't look at a building like they're memorizing every detail.
I turn the package over in my hands. It's lightweight, about the size of a small book, with Alyssa's name and address printed on a label. No return address.
I head back inside, and Doug meets me at the top of the stairs, barking excitedly as if asking for a report.
"Good instincts, buddy," I tell him, scratching behind his ears. "You knew something was off about that guy."
Alyssa's waiting in her doorway, arms crossed over her chest. "What happened? You look murderous."
"We need to talk." I hold up the package. "About this, and about the guy who was trying to deliver it."
Her eyes widen slightly. "Is something wrong?"
I glance down the empty hallway, then back to her. "I don't know yet. But I don't think that was a real delivery guy, and I don't think this is a normal package."
6
ALYSSA
Istare at the small package in Damien's hands, a chill crawling up my spine despite the warmth of my apartment.
"What do you mean he wasn't a real delivery guy?"
Damien steps inside, closing the door behind him with his foot, the package between us like a ticking bomb. Doug trots over, sniffing at my ankles before settling at my feet.
"No uniform logo. No ID. Got defensive when I questioned him." Damien places the package on my kitchen counter, keeping his hand on top of it. "And he asked if I was your boyfriend."
My stomach drops. "Delivery people don't ask that."
"Exactly." His jaw tightens. "When I said yes, he looked ... upset."
A memory flashes—someone ducking behind a car in the parking area after our date. I dismissed it as paranoia, but now...
"I've been getting these comments on Instagram." The words tumble out in a rush. "Similar usernames. Always calling me 'the love of my life' or saying we're 'destined to be together.' I blocked the accounts, but new ones keep popping up."
Damien's entire body goes rigid. "How long?"
"Six months? Maybe longer." I wrap my arms around myself. "I thought it was just typical internet creepiness, you know? You post content, you get weird comments. It comes with the territory."
"This isn't typical, Alyssa."
The package sits innocuously on the counter—plain brown, professionally labeled with my name and address. No return address. Just like the last three that arrived mysteriously.
"I've gotten packages before," I say. "Small things. A bracelet. A book of poetry with passages highlighted. A photo frame." My cheeks burn with embarrassment. "I thought they were from fans. Some of my followers send gifts sometimes."
"Jesus Christ." Damien runs a hand through his hair. "Why didn't you say something?"
"Because I didn't want to sound paranoid! Because women get told they're overreacting all the time!" My voice rises with each word. "Because maybe I just wanted to believe people are decent!"
The silence that follows feels heavy. Doug whines softly, pressing against my leg.
"Do you want to open it?" Damien asks finally, nodding at the package.
"No. I don't want whatever's in there."
"We should call the police."
"And tell them what? That I got a package from someone who might be a fan or might be a stalker? That he looked at me funny?" I laugh, but it comes out brittle. "They'll tell me to come back when something actually happens."
Damien props his hands on his hips and glares at the box. "Something is happening. Right now. This guy knows where you live, Alyssa."
The thought makes my skin crawl. I think of all the videos I've posted, showing snippets of my apartment, my life, my work. How much information have I unknowingly given away?
"I need some air." I grab Doug's leash from the hook by the door. "I'm going to take him for a walk."
"I'll come with you."
"No. Please, Damian? I just need a minute, okay? Just around the block. Doug will protect me. Besides, he's probably left already."
We both look down at the tiny chihuahua, who tilts his head as if accepting this important mission.
"That's not funny, Alyssa."
"I know it's not. But I need to clear my head." I clip the leash to Doug's collar. "Ten minutes, that's all. Then we can figure this out."