Now We Know

The air was practically a liquid as I walked home from work. My thin shirt clung to my chest as I marveled at the completely cloudless sky. The humidity was making my skin bead with mingled sweat and condensation and yet somehow, the sky had no accumulation from which to get relief from the cloying damp. I half expected to see my breath; surely my body temperature was less than the heat outside.

At last, my apartment building came into view. I inhaled deeply in preparation to exhale with relief, but I stopped short. There was a scent I couldn’t quite place. I sniffed again. The little hairs stood up on the back of my neck and I suddenly had the intense desire to hide. As discreetly and nonchalantly as I could, I ducked behind the massive oak tree in the green next to my building, peeking around the trunk to look at the front doors and into the lobby.

There. After what felt like an hour of staring, a shadow moved away from the wall of mailboxes and disappeared toward the back of the building, and a few minutes later, my sensitive ears caught the subtle hiss of the hydraulic mechanism on the back door. Slowly, I walked toward the front door, my hand tucked into the mouth of my messenger bag. I used my key card to get into the lobby and glanced around, pretending to check my mailbox as I waited to see if anyone was watching me.

As soon as my instincts told me that the coast was clear, I jogged to the elevator, and not bravely, either. As much as it shamed me, I ran, my chest heaving as the elevator doors closed behind me.

“Come on, come on,” I shook my hands out anxiously as I watched the numbers climb on the readout. The odd scent from outside wafted into the elevator as the doors slid open when I reached my floor and I sunk into a crouch. When I didn’t hear anything, I walked quickly to my apartment, looking over my shoulder as I went.

I nearly fell as my feet collided with something wedged against my door jamb. I cursed under my breath and looked down. I swallowed hard. I looked around. I couldn’t just leave it in the hallway. Licking my lips as my mouth was suddenly bone-dry, I leaned down to retrieve it.

It looked so ... innocent. Just a brown paper package. If it was tied up with string, I could burst into song. Too bad I didn’t feel like singing. Everything inside me said that this was... bad. I closed the door behind me and ripped off the paper. A plain black shoe box met my fingertips. I opened the lid.

“Oh....shit.”

There was a note inside the box that said, “Gotcha.” Beneath it was a picture. Of me. Though, you wouldn’t know it unless... you knew.

I sat up in bed, dripping with sweat.

The humidity was real enough. Maybe that’s what had prompted this totally out of character dream. I chuckled shakily, scolding myself, and got into the shower. The cool water helped wash away the remaining uncertainty from the dream. My subconscious was good at weaving scenarios that seemed entirely too real. “...these are a few of my favorite things...” I hummed as I dried my hair and piled it on top of my head. It was too hot to wear it down. The heat also dictated my clothing choices. A nearly sheer white top that was just nice enough not to be considered a tee shirt and a pair of flowing gray linen palazzos that looked dressy without weighing me down. Finally a pair of strappy sandals and I was ready for a, hopefully, uneventful day at work.

All day, I felt like people were staring, doing double takes. I peeked in mirrors and windows and other reflective surfaces, trying to see what it was that caught them by surprise. The changes I half expected to see were not present. The only hint of my otherness, a dark black ring around my irises, was always there, and subtle enough not to draw that much attention. Telling myself it was just in my head, that I was jumpy from my dream, I tried to ignore the sensation of being watched.

Determined to make the most of my day and that I was not going to let a silly dream disrupt my whole life, I went to my favorite cafe after work and treated myself to my favorite drink and a delicious snack to drive away the gloom. I even sat outside, determined not to hide from my imaginary stalkers.

The walk home was long, but it was too much like work to order a cab, and besides, I had the calories from the cafe to work off. I told myself that I was earning my treat by taking the long way home, but really I was putting off the minutes until I got to my apartment.

“No more hesitating,” I told myself firmly, refusing to sniff the air around my complex as I walked straight to the door of my apartment building. “Right upstairs. Thatta girl.”

Walk, not run, to the elevator, after calmly checking my mail. Breathe in the unsullied air of the hallway and sigh my relief. Note the lack of packages. See? It was just a silly, paranoid dream.

Still, I jumped when the intercom buzzed. I laughed at myself and pushed the button to respond to the doorman, “Yes, Gary?” The speaker crackled for a second and then he said, “There’s a package for you here at the desk.” I gasped and pressed my hand to my suddenly tight chest. I pushed the button again, “What does it look like?” More crackling. “Just a brown paper package, Miss. Was here when I got here. Musta been hand delivered, there’s no postage.”

I slumped against the wall for long moments, feeling my blood hammer in my veins. Then, with a growl at myself and my subconscious, I told myself to stop being stupid. I flung open my door and marched toward the elevator, practically seeing red as I determined to smash this nightmare nonsense once and for all. It was just a coincidence and I was being ridiculous.

Strong arms pulled me into a shadowy niche, one hand tightly covering my mouth. The scent of him filled my nose and I whimpered with dread and terrible, foreboding recognition.

His lips tickled the back of my ear as he leaned in to tell me something.

“Gotcha,” he whispered.