I was about to head out for coffee when I saw the street below my apartment building swarming with police cars and ambulances. An unspoken tension tightened the air.

Detective Donovan intercepted me. Blair, the influencer across the hall, was dead.

"I'll cooperate fully," I assured him. "I just hope you catch the killer soon."

The detective looked up, his gaze sharp as a scalpel, dissecting me.

"I never said it was a murder."

I smiled. "You didn't have to. Blair was a creature of habit. She never missed her morning fitness class. This was no accident." I added, tacking on a lie, "Besides, I'm a true-crime buff."

The scrutiny in his gaze softened, replaced by a flicker of something I couldn't quite read.

"I'll be back for a formal statement."

As he was leaving, his gaze flickered to my TV screen.

"I don't see any true-crime shows in your Netflix history."

His sharp observation sent a jolt through me, but I smoothed my expression over in an instant. "I prefer true-crime podcasts."

————————

1

The residents' group chat was blowing up. Word was that Blair's body was horrific, as if she'd been doused in acid—her face completely destroyed.

I had lived in this apartment building, The Astoria, for three years. Blair had been here even longer.

She was an influencer, always glamorous and perfectly put-together. It was hard to reconcile the glamorous woman I knew with such a brutal murder.

To die like that...

Not even caffeine could untie the anxious knot in my stomach. All day, every tiny sound made me jump.

That evening, Detective Donovan came to my door.

He asked if I had seen anyone suspicious on the night of the incident.

I thought for a moment. "That night, a man claiming to be a building maintenance worker rang my doorbell. But something felt off."

I let a moment of feigned hesitation hang in the air.

"I checked the feed on my smart doorbell."

"What did you see?"

"At first, nothing. Then, a pair of bloodshot eyes suddenly filled the frame, staring with pure malice. I was so terrified I killed the feed instantly."

"A moment later, I heard the doorknob rattle."

Then, as if a thought had just struck me, I grabbed Detective Donovan's arm.

"Right, and he tried a master key on my door, but it didn't work. That's why he couldn't get in."

He wrote down everything I said, then stood up to leave, saying he would investigate this "maintenance worker."

The police did investigate, but they came up with nothing.

The building's records showed that a maintenance worker had come to repair the public pipes, but he had a perfect alibi.

The lead went cold.

For the next three days, an eerie calm settled over the apartment building, like the quiet before a storm. Then, on the evening of the third day, the police tape went up again.

It was Professor Eleanor from the floor above me.

She was found dead in her home, her vocal cords brutally removed.

It was a grim reminder that Professor Eleanor's life had been anything but easy.

Even through the thick ceiling, I could often hear her husband's vicious tirades.

The slightest thing would set him off, and he’d belittle his wife with the foulest language imaginable.

But Professor Eleanor never fought back, simply enduring it all in silence.

We neighbors had tried to persuade her not to be so tolerant.

But she would just sigh and offer a bitter smile. "After a lifetime together, what's one more thing to endure? I'm used to it."

Over time, we stopped trying, offering our sympathy for the poor woman only in private.

And now this quiet, dignified woman had died so horribly.

A wave of sadness washed over me.

Passing through the lobby, I greeted the new building manager, Mr. Arthur. His expression was as grim as mine, and we exchanged a few hushed words about the horrors that had befallen our building.

My phone vibrated. It was a private message from Ryder, a resident on the second floor.

"Did you kill them?"

"What are you talking about? How could I?"

Icy dread coiled in my gut, and my denial was instant.

To be fair, his suspicion wasn't entirely baseless.

Since Blair's murder, the police had sealed off the building, concluding the killer was one of us.

The residents began to suspect one another.

At the community memorial service held for Eleanor, the residents gathered, but their eyes darted around, sizing each other up.

A room full of familiar faces, and suddenly everyone was a potential murderer, yet no one looked the part.

When you filtered out the residents who were rarely seen or weren’t currently living here, a handful of us remained: Marcus, the photographer from the first floor; the brothers Ryder and Jesse from the second; Mr. Finch from the third; me from the fifth; and Julian, the chairman of the homeowners' association from the sixth floor.

Both victims were women. I started to get scared.

The next one... could it be me?

I whispered the thought aloud, and Julian was quick to comfort me. "Don't be afraid, Nova. I'll protect you."

I forced a smile and didn't respond.

"The killer might be among us right now," Ryder said suddenly. His voice wasn't loud, but everyone heard him.

As he said it, his eyes were still fixed on me.

A surge of anger made me confront him directly. "Why are you staring at me? What gives you the right to suspect me? Do I look like I could do something like this?"

Before Ryder could respond, Julian stepped in front of me protectively.

"Ryder, don't you dare make baseless accusations. If we're talking about who's most suspicious, I'd say it's you!"

Julian's accusation infuriated Ryder. He cursed and lunged forward, ready to fight, but was held back by Marcus and Jesse.

The confrontation immediately drew everyone's attention, including the police.

Unsurprisingly, the police began to focus their investigation on those of us who had been arguing.

Although the police suspected the killer was one of us, I knew in my heart that it was none of them.

Everyone was exhausted from the endless police questioning.

I continued to work from home. An officer assigned to guard the building looked at me, a little puzzled, "Ma'am, there have been two murders in this building. How can you still be working?"

I spread my hands helplessly. "Bills don't pay themselves. If I stop working, I'll starve before a killer gets me."

I knew the police presence was meant to protect us.

Just when we thought things would quiet down for a while, that night, a man's bloodcurdling scream tore through the night, waking every soul in the building.

From the direction of the scream, it had to be from one of the lower floors.

My mind raced through the names: Ryder, Jesse, Marcus, or Mr. Finch.

My first instinct was to open the door and check, but as I reached the door and my hand grasped the doorknob, I stopped.

Something was wrong.

The previous two murders had been silent. Why did someone scream so loudly this time?

Every instinct I had screamed that this was wrong.

It sounded less like a victim's genuine terror and more like a performance the killer had allowed.

Why would he do that? To lure others out of their apartments?

My hand unconsciously tightened on the doorknob as I stood behind the door, my mind racing.

Then a chilling thought pierced through my haze: Someone... is right outside my door.

The thought sent an icy chill crawling up my spine.

I forced myself to calm down.

To test my theory, I forced my shaking hands to pull up the live feed from my smart doorbell.

It was those eyes again! The same terrifying, malicious, bloodshot eyes!

He was right outside! Waiting for me to open the door!

Before a scream could escape my throat, I clamped a hand over my mouth, terrified the sound of my own frantic heartbeat would give me away.

I tiptoed back to the living room before I dared to take a deep breath, my whole body shaking uncontrollably.

I couldn't bear to think what would have happened if I'd recklessly thrown open the door moments ago.

When I was standing just inside, my hand on the doorknob, he was standing on the other side, weapon in hand, waiting for me to open the door.

Call the police!

Yes, I had to call the police immediately!

My hands shaking, I dialed Detective Donovan's number, my voice trembling with terror.

"Detective Donovan... come quickly! There's been another death in the building! The killer, he's... he's standing right outside my door right now. I saw those eyes again. I'm so scared..."

"Don't be afraid. Stay inside and don't move. Don't open the door for anyone. We'll be there right away!"

I didn't dare open the door until Detective Donovan knocked and personally identified himself.

He said the hallway was empty when he arrived. After surveying the scene, he would take me to review the surveillance footage.

Still shaken, I followed him downstairs.

It was the third floor.

When we arrived, the police had already cordoned off the area.

They wouldn't let me get close. I only managed to catch a glimpse through the crack of the door.

Mr. Finch was sprawled on the floor, his eyes glued shut with what looked like superglue.