I don’t know how long I lie in bed, staring up at the paint peeling on my cracked and worn ceiling, not getting the sleep that I need. I finally give up and pull myself from my bed with a deep sigh. The man with the deepest blue eyes I’ve ever seen in my life would appear every time I tried to close mine. He’s haunting me.

I walk into my bathroom, the light still on from the day before. I couldn’t bring myself to turn it off after what happened last night. I wanted to keep the dark away, or maybe I wanted to make sure if something came for me I’d see it. I was scared, but something else was lingering. A strange sort of excitement that I can’t understand. There’s something about him. He stirred a strange feeling inside me, but it isn’t fear. Because in that moment, I almost felt safe as he towered over me.

I look at myself in the mirror and groan. I look like hell. The dark circles under my eyes are worse today, but I shouldn’t be surprised after my lack of sleep. I hardly ever wear makeup and I debate digging for some concealer. I know I have some stuck back in this bathroom, but I’ve lost the energy to look. “Forget it,” I mumble to myself. Maybe a shower will wake me up. Hopefully it’ll help me look like I’m not dragging myself around.

I yank my sleep shirt off and pull my underwear down my legs, then turn on the shower. What would be the point of the makeup anyway? I’m not trying to impress anyone. If I’m lucky, maybe I won’t die by the end of the day. For all I know, this could be the last time I walk out of my door. A chill runs down my spine at the thought.

I jump into the water, trying to wash away the sudden chill.

Angel.

The word slips through my mind for the hundredth time, and oddly enough it helps chase away the dark clouds better than the heat of the water. Why did he keep calling me that, and why did he say everything else? Those were the thoughts that kept running through my head and kept sleep from coming.

Putting my head under the thundering water, I wash my hair and my body and stand there until the water starts to turn cold. It’s not like it takes that long in this building anyway. I’m shocked I got as much as I did, but maybe it’s because I’m up early and no one else in the building is hogging it yet. Not many are early risers around here. Normally I’d feel bad, but I can’t seem to care. It’s not like anyone else feels bad when they do it.

Shutting off the shower, I hop out, drying myself off before putting my hair up in the towel to help it dry. I go about my morning routine, finding a clean uniform for Rita’s after I leave my day job. I yawn just thinking about it. When I open my purse, I pause, seeing the money the man had left in there the night before. I pick it up and count it out: five hundred dollars.

I want to cry, and I don’t know if it’s because I’m thankful for it or because I feel dirty that I’m going to keep it. I should call the cops. It’s the right thing to do, but I’m not dumb. I don’t know who he was, but someone with money and likely power isn’t someone I want to mess with. I witnessed a murder last night, and I don’t need to know any more than that. If I want to stay alive, I know I need to keep my mouth shut. I just hope it’s enough.

He probably has tons of people behind him and here I am, alone. I’m not sure anyone would even notice if I went missing. My jobs would likely think I was a no - call, no - show and quit. Maybe my landlord, but only because he wants his money. He’d probably just throw my stuff out after a week and rent it to someone else, not even telling anyone I disappeared. God, that’s sad and makes me want to really cry now. My eyes start to water as I feel sorry for myself.

I probably wouldn’t even make it back from the police station without a bullet in my head. I pray that what he told me about the man was true. That he was a bad person. I’m tempted to turn on the TV and see if there’s anything on the news about it, but I stop myself.

It would eat me alive if I found out the dead man was someone with a family that loved him, if he was hardworking and they needed him. I can see it now — a wife holding her baby, sobbing, while her kids stand all around her. I take the money over to my dresser and put it inside a pair of socks.

What kind of criminal tells you how to get away from someone like him? “Never run home,” he’d said. Then told me to lock my door. Maybe he’s a good guy. I lie to myself as I shut my dresser drawer.

I know I’m trying to make myself feel better by thinking that. That it’s okay I’m not going to the cops and I’m keeping the money. That there is no wife crying over the dead man.

I open a few more drawers, finding something to wear to work today. I don’t have a closet in my tiny bedroom, so my meager amount of clothes is stuffed into this thing. I pull out a pair of thick black leggings and a lightweight purple sweater that falls off one shoulder. We get to go casual at the telemarketing job because no one sees us. I’ve seen some roll out of bed and come to work, literally showing up in their pajamas. As long as they don’t stink, management doesn’t say anything. And even if they do, they just get put in their own corner.

I get dressed then go back into the bathroom and brush out my hair before giving it a quick blow dry. I decide to put on some eyeliner and mascara. It only takes a second and makes me look like I’m not falling asleep. I go back into my bedroom to double check that I have everything I need for the day.

I make my way into my tiny eat-in kitchen and open the fridge. Like I was expecting, there isn’t anything to eat. I glance at the clock and see I have time to stop and grab something if I want. It’s not something I normally do, and I really shouldn’t waste my money, but my mind flicks back to the cash in the dresser. It’s a safe cushion and I can afford a small splurge. After a scare like that, I think I deserve one of my favorite bagels and a cup of hot chocolate with whipped cream on it. My stomach rumbles at the idea. Him telling me to eat is also pushing that decision for some reason. As if I’m supposed to do what he tells me.

After work I should really go to the store though. I still have the tips from Rita’s in my purse, plus what I make tonight. Maybe I can cut out a little early.

I glance over at the door and pull out my keys. Not like I can stay in here forever. Besides, I think if he wanted in or wanted to send someone in, he could have. The door isn’t bulletproof, and he’s a big enough guy that he could easily kick it in.

Taking a deep breath, I open the door and peek out. Nothing. Just the normal dirty walls of the hallway and the stained green carpet. Stepping out, I shut the door, sliding my key in and turning the lock.

“Sugar.”

I scream. Jumping, I turn around to see it’s my neighbor Big Shot. I’m guessing that’s not really his name, but that’s what he tells everyone to call him. He isn’t half wrong. He’s big, but not big like the man from last night. No, the stranger who chased after me was all muscle.

I hate how I noticed how attractive he was. It wasn’t something that should have been on my mind, but I couldn’t help myself. I’d never seen a man like him before. Power and dominance rolled off him. I could feel it pushing at me with each command he’d given me.

Hell, if I did go to the cops, I could give them every detail of his face. From the strong set of his jaw that had a small cut on the left side of it, to his dark lashes that made those deep blue eyes seem more deadly. Even his teeth seemed too perfect to be real. He looked like he hadn’t shaved in a while and his stubble was coming in. I paid way too much attention to him.

I could even tell them that he smelled like cherry wood with a mix of gunpowder. He was so big, and he made me feel small. He easily towered over me, his big chest filling up all the space in front of me.

“Didn’t mean to scare you, sugar,” Big Shot says, breaking me from the thoughts I shouldn’t be having. “You’re out early.”

He’s probably still up from last night. Big Shot always gives me the creeps. He stares a little too long, but beyond that he’s never done more. He always has women coming and going, though. A lot of them are pretty. Prettier than me, so I don’t understand why he’s always trying to get my attention and talk to me. Or why those women are coming and going, either. I keep to myself and don’t ask him questions. I wish he’d do the same.

“Yeah, going to grab some breakfast,” I tell him, slipping my keys into my bag. I go to move, but he steps in front of me.

“Who was the guy last night?” he asks.

I look up at him because I’m so short I have to look up at most people. I want to say “what guy?” but then he’ll know I’m lying because he must have seen him. Crap, I’m a terrible liar.

“I really gotta go,” I say, stepping around him. He moves out of my way, but not enough, and I have to brush past him. I glance back over my shoulder, and his eyes are on my ass. Gross.

I make my way down the stairs fast but pause at the door to leave the building. I shake my head and push through the door, trying to let go of my fear. My eyes dart up and down the street. I glance to the way I normally go, and curiosity wins out. Something my aunt used to tell me was going to get me in trouble one day. That I shouldn’t go digging into things but I could help but do it. I was always wondering what was going on around the house. There wasn’t a ton to do, but there was a ton of people-watching to do. It was oftentimes more interesting than the TV. Not that I ever got a turn at the TV.

I walk along my normal path. My heartbeat picks up as I make my way to the shortcut to get to my train. When I get to the fence, I pause and glance over. It looks like nothing happened. I step in, trying to get a better look, but still nothing. No signs that a man was murdered in there. I see movement out of the corner of my eye and I glance over to a man standing in the junkyard. He’s in a suit and is looking straight at me.

My breath freezes in my lungs. It’s not the man from last night, but I can’t seem to move. He studies me and can probably hear my heart beating even from this distance.

Act normal, I tell myself. “Hi,” I manage to say and give a small wave. A woman who saw someone get murdered here wouldn’t be so casual and friendly, right? Jesus, I want to smack myself. “Hope you don’t mind I cut through here. Shortcut to the station,” I say. He doesn’t say anything. He keeps staring at me.

Okay then. I turn and keep walking, picking up my steps a little and praying he doesn’t follow me. I feel the breath I was holding leave my lungs as I see the train pull up right as I get there. I jump in, falling into one of the seats, and my head drops back against the window. Maybe I’ll take a cab home tonight, because I’m never going down that alley again.