Chapter 3: The End of the Line

The next day Eliza called in sick to work. She couldn't bring herself to leave her apartment. She felt paralyzed by fear, trapped in a nightmare she couldn't escape. Every creak of the building, every siren in the distance, sent jolts of terror through her.

She spent the day huddled on her couch, the blinds drawn, the television blaring to fill the silence. But even the noise couldn't drown out the feeling of being watched.

As darkness fell, a persistent tapping at her door started. At first she tried to ignore it, hoping it would go away. But it continued, insistent and relentless. Tap?tap?tap.

Finally, driven to the edge of sanity, she crept to the door, peering through the peephole. He was there. The man in the grey coat. His face was pale, his eyes burning with an intensity she had never seen before. In his hand, he held a single, wilting red rose.

She didn't open the door. She backed away, heart pounding, and scrambled for her phone. But as she did, she heard the unmistakable sound of a key turning in the lock.

He had a key.

The door swung open, and he stepped inside. Eliza screamed, clutching the pepper spray in her hand. But he was too fast. He lunged, knocking the spray from her grasp. He grabbed her, his grip surprisingly strong.

She struggled, kicking and clawing, but it was no use. He dragged her into the bedroom, silencing her screams with a hand clamped over her mouth.

Later, after the sirens had faded and the flashing lights had gone, the apartment was silent. The man in the grey coat was gone, vanished back into the anonymity of the city. Eliza lay still on the bedroom floor, a single red rose placed carefully on her chest. Her eyes were open, staring blankly at the ceiling, reflecting the cold, uncaring light of the city. The shadow had finally consumed her. The end of the line.