Chapter 1: Through the Glass, Darkly
The air in Kate’s apartment always held onto smells. Lavender from the plug-in diffuser by the door, the sweet-decay of old roses in a vase on the kitchen counter, and underneath it all, a metallic tang—like old pennies left too long in a drawer. It was the scent of the building, maybe, or something she cooked. Jeffrey didn’t know. He only knew it filled his lungs when he slipped inside, and it felt more like home than his own empty place ever did.
He wasn’t inside now.
Now, he was across the alley, in the shadowed gap between a dumpster and a brick wall. The October chill bit through his jacket, but he barely felt it. His entire world was the third-floor window, a bright rectangle in the dark façade of the apartment complex.
The blinds were cracked, just like always. She never closed them all the way.
He saw a slice of her ceiling, the ugly light fixture, and then, movement.
Kate.
She walked into the frame, tossing her work bag onto a chair. Her blond hair was up in a messy knot. She shrugged out of her cardigan, stretching her arms above her head with a tired sigh he could almost hear. The streetlamp outside her window cast a jaundiced glow, cutting her body into stripes of light and shadow.
Jeffrey’s breath caught. He leaned forward, his forehead almost touching the cold brick. His breath fogged the glass of his own world, the little pocket of cold where he stood.
Inside, she pulled her phone from her back pocket, put it to her ear. A smile broke across her face, wide and real. She was talking to someone. A friend. Her sister, maybe. She wandered out of frame, and he felt a sudden, violent loss. A hollow opened up in his chest.
But she came back, laughing at something, holding the phone between her shoulder and her ear as her fingers went to the buttons of her blouse.
His fingers, curled at his sides, twitched.
One button. Two. The fabric fell open. She was wearing a pale blue lace bra underneath. He knew the specific shade. He’d seen it hanging on her shower rod once, damp and delicate. His throat tightened.
She shimmied out of her jeans, talking all the while, now in just her bra and a pair of simple cotton panties. She folded the jeans neatly over the back of the chair—such a careful, good habit—and then her hands went behind her back.
The bra clasp released.
Jeffrey stopped breathing. The world shrank to the line of her spine, the shift of her shoulders as she slid the straps down. She turned slightly, one hand holding the phone, the other arm crossing over her breasts. A flash of skin, a curve. Then she was turning, walking towards what he knew was her bedroom, out of sight.
The hollow in his chest roared. She was gone. The performance was over.
A deep, shuddering need gripped him. It was a physical ache, a compression in his gut. It wasn't just looking. It was the wanting. The need to cross that alley, to let himself into the comforting, lavender-and-penny scent of her space, to stand where she had just stood. To touch the fabric of the blouse, still warm from her skin.
His hand moved, unbidden, to the fly of his jeans. He unzipped them, his movements hurried, rough. He kept his eyes locked on the empty window, on the slice of her living room now devoid of her.
He pictured her in the bedroom. Sitting on the edge of her bed, maybe. Still talking. Unaware.
His breath came in short, sharp clouds against the brick. His hand worked, the friction a poor substitute, a desperate ritual. He wasn't here, in the cold stink of the alley. He was there. In her warmth. His other hand pressed flat against the brick wall as if he could push himself through it. His forehead followed, the rough surface grounding him as his mind swam with the images: the line of her throat, the slope of her shoulder, the secret place where her neck met her collarbone. His. It should all be his.
A low sound escaped him, part groan, part whimper, swallowed by the city’s distant hum. He came, a violent, shivering release that left him weak-kneed and hollowed out. He rested his sweating forehead against the brick, spent.
The shame came then, cold and familiar. It slithered in behind the pleasure. He fumbled with his zipper, wiping his hand on his jeans. He was disgusting. A Peeping Tom. A sick freak. She was pure, and he was… this.
But then the other voice, the calm, rational one, rose to meet it. This was just love. A deep, overwhelming love she didn’t understand yet. She was careless. Leaving her blinds open. Smiling at men at the bus stop. Wearing that perfume that trailed behind her in the supermarket aisle, leading him on. She needed protection. From the world. From men who wouldn’t cherish her, who wouldn’t save every piece of her.
From men who weren’t him.
He saw them sometimes. The guy at the grocery store who bagged her apples too hard. The neighbor whose laughter was too loud through the walls. They didn’t see the treasure she was. They dirtied her just by looking.
He’d taken care of one of them already. The one who’d cat-called her from a passing car. Jeffrey had followed him for three blocks. The metallic smell in his apartment—it wasn’t pennies. It was the old, dried stain on the floorboards he tried to hide with lavender plug-ins. A different, more permanent scent.
Kate’s light clicked off. Her bedroom window, further down, remained dark.
Jeffrey pushed himself off the wall. His legs were stiff. The compulsion was sated, for now. The ritual was complete. He had watched. He had connected. He had, in his way, been with her.
He melted back into the deeper shadows, his boots making no sound on the gravel. He was her secret. Her guardian. And soon, she wouldn’t be across the alley. She’d be right beside him, where she belonged. He just had to make her see.
He’d be a wonderful husband. He really would.
He really would.
The thought calmed him as he walked the three blocks to his own building, a squat, grim structure that smelled of boiled cabbage and damp concrete. Inside his apartment, the silence was absolute. He flicked on a single lamp, its weak light failing to reach the corners of the single room. It was neat, sterile. A military cot. A small table. A clean sink. And the large, locked freezer humming softly in the kitchenette.
He washed his hands meticulously, the ritual almost religious. The water was scalding. He stared at his reflection in the small mirror, at the pale, unremarkable face that looked back. You’re calm, he told it. You’re in control. She needs you to be in control.
An hour later, the compulsion to be near her, to smell her air, returned. It wasn’t a want. It was a magnetic pull in his bones. A check-in. Just a quick check-in.
He had a key. He’d made a copy months ago when he’d offered to water her plants while she was visiting her sister. She’d been so grateful. He kept it on his own keyring, a smooth silver key that felt heavier than all the others.
The walk back was automatic. His boots were quiet on the street. He saw no one. The world was empty, meant only for him and her.
At her door, he listened. No television. Maybe she was reading in bed. He slid the key into the lock, turned it slowly until he felt the satisfying click. He pushed the door open just enough to slip inside, and closed it behind him without a sound.
Her scent enveloped him instantly—lavender, sleep, her. The metallic note was there too, faint beneath the flowers. He stood for a long moment in the dark foyer, just breathing her in. The apartment was warm. He could hear the low hum of her refrigerator.
A soft light spilled from the crack under her bedroom door.
His pulse was a steady, certain drum in his ears. He walked forward, his steps silent on the carpet. He didn’t knock. He turned the handle and pushed the door open.
She was sitting up in bed, a book fallen to her side, her eyes wide with startled sleepiness. She wore lacy pajamas—a short ivory camisole and matching shorts. The streetlight through her window painted her legs in silver.
“Jeffrey?” Her voice was thick with sleep, confusion. “What… how did you get in?”
“I was worried,” he said, his own voice softer than he expected. He took a step into the room. “I saw a guy hanging around outside earlier. Looked sketchy. I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He offered a small, concerned smile. “Your door was unlocked, Kate. You have to be more careful.”
“Unlocked?” She blinked, pushing her hair back from her face. The movement tightened the lace across her chest. “I could have sworn I locked it…”
“You’re safe now,” he said, and took another step. He was at the foot of the bed now. He could see the delicate chain of her necklace resting in the hollow of her throat.
She pulled the duvet up a little higher, a reflexive gesture that sent a dark thrill through him. “That’s… really sweet of you. But you shouldn’t just come in. You scared me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. He hated that she was scared. He sat on the edge of the mattress, the springs groaning faintly under his weight. “I just… I care about you so much, Kate. It makes me crazy thinking of anything happening to you.”
He reached out, his fingers brushing her ankle above the sheet. She flinched, but didn’t pull away. Her skin was so warm.
“Jeffrey…”
“Shhh.” He moved up the bed, his movements slow, deliberate. He was beside her now, one hand cradling her face. She was frozen, her eyes searching his in the dim light. He saw the conflict there—gratitude for his concern, unease at his presence, the fog of sleep still clinging to her. He leaned in and kissed her.
For a second, she was rigid. Then she softened, a small sigh escaping her nose. Her lips parted. He tasted toothpaste and sleep. His other hand slid from her face, down her neck, over the lace of her camisole. He felt her heart hammering beneath his palm.
“It’s okay,” he whispered against her mouth. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”
His touch was patient, practiced. He mapped her body through the thin lace, learning the shivers he elicited. When his fingers slipped under the hem of her camisole, she made a small sound—a gasp—and her hands came up to his shoulders, not pushing away, but holding on. He took that as consent. As surrender. As her finally understanding.
He undressed her carefully, folding the lacy pajamas and placing them on her nightstand. He treated her like something precious, which she was. He was tender. He whispered how beautiful she was, how special. He told her he loved her. He meant it more than anyone had ever meant anything.
She was quiet throughout, her eyes closed, her head turned to the side on the pillow. Her breathing hitched when he entered her, and her fingers dug into his back. He watched her face, every flinch, every subtle change. He kissed her eyelids. He committed every detail to memory—the flutter of a vein in her neck, the exact shape of her mouth as she bit her lip.
It was perfect. It was union. It was everything he knew it would be.
Afterward, he held her. She was stiff in his arms, but he nuzzled her hair, inhaling the scent of lavender and sex and her. “See?” he murmured. “This is how it should be. This is right.”
She didn’t answer.
After a few minutes, he kissed her forehead and got up. He dressed silently in the dark. She lay still, watching him from the bed, the sheet pulled up to her chin.
“Lock the door behind me,” he said softly, as he stood in her bedroom doorway. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you tomorrow.”
He let himself out, clicking the lock into place from the hallway. The apartment swallowed the sound. He stood there for a moment, listening. He heard nothing from inside. Just the hum of the refrigerator.
He walked home, the night air cool on his skin. He felt clean. Purified. She was his now, in the way that mattered most. The rest—the understanding, the shared life—would follow. He just had to be patient. To guide her.
Back in his own apartment, he unlocked the large freezer. The cold air billowed out, crisp and sanitizing. Inside, wrapped meticulously in clear plastic, were several parcels. He reached past them, his fingers finding the small, frost-rimed bottle of Chardonnay on the top shelf. He’d taken it from her recycling bin weeks ago. Her lips had touched it.
He opened it, poured a small amount into a spotless glass, and took a sip. The wine was bitter and cold. He closed his eyes, savoring it. Savoring the night.
In her apartment, Kate finally moved. She swung her legs out of bed, her body feeling strange, separate. She walked to the bathroom and turned on the shower, as hot as it would go. She stood under the scalding water until her skin was red.
She wrapped herself in a towel and went to the front door. She checked the deadbolt. It was locked. She turned the little knob in the center of the handle. It was unlocked.
She stared at it. She had definitely, definitely locked it before bed. She always did. A cold that had nothing to do with the shower crept up her spine. She turned the knob, locking it. Then she slid the chain into place, a sharp, definitive sound.
Back in her bedroom, the scent of him—a clean, soapy smell—still lingered on her sheets. She stripped the bed, her movements frantic. As she bundled the sheets into the hamper, something small and metallic clattered to the hardwood floor.
It was his key. It must have fallen from his pocket.
She stared at it, a sliver of silver gleaming in the lamplight. She didn’t pick it up. She just backed away, toward her phone on the nightstand, her eyes never leaving the key on the floor.
Her fingers closed around the cold plastic of her phone. The key on the floor seemed to pulse, a malevolent little piece of metal sucking all the light from the room. She thumbed the screen awake, the brightness harsh, her finger hovering over the emergency call button.
A soft knock sounded at the front door.
Three precise, gentle raps.
Kate froze, the phone slipping in her sweaty hand. Her blood turned to ice slurry in her veins.
“Kate?” Jeffrey’s voice filtered through the wood, muffled but unmistakably calm. “Hey, I’m sorry to bother you again. I think I lost my keys. You haven’t seen them, have you?”
She stood paralyzed in the middle of her bedroom, the towel still wrapped tightly around her. The shower was still running in the bathroom, a useless, roaring backdrop. He’d know she was awake. He’d hear it.
“Kate?” A note of concerned insistence now. “Are you okay? I’m really worried about you.”
Move. You have to move.
Her body unlocked. She scrambled forward, crouching low, and snatched the key from the floor. It was cold. She clutched it in her fist, the teeth biting into her palm. She couldn’t leave it for him. That was her only proof, a tiny, stupid piece of proof that he’d been here, that he had a key. She lurched to her feet and shoved it under the edge of her rug, then kicked the corner flat.
“Coming!” she called, her voice a strained chirp. She ran to the bathroom, shut off the shower. The sudden silence was deafening. She looked at herself in the steamy mirror—wild eyes, flushed skin, a woman unraveling. She had to look normal. She had to sound normal.
She pulled on sweatpants and a hoodie, her hands trembling so badly she could barely get them through the sleeves. She ran damp fingers through her hair and walked to the front door.
She peered through the peephole. He was there, head slightly tilted, his expression one of patient worry. Just a concerned neighbor. Just a friend.
She slid the chain off and opened the door a crack, the width of the security chain she re-engaged. “Jeffrey. Hi.”
“Hey.” He gave her a small, apologetic smile. His hair was neatly combed. He’d changed his shirt. “I am so sorry. I was getting into my car and my key ring felt light. I must have dropped my apartment key. I’ve retraced my steps and I just… I wondered if it fell out here. When I was checking on you.”
His eyes were so clear, so earnest. They scanned her face, looking for something.
“I haven’t seen it,” she said. Her voice sounded thin. She cleared her throat. “But I can look around tomorrow when it’s light out.”
“Would you mind if I just looked quickly? I feel so stupid.” He laughed a little, a soft, self-deprecating sound. “It’s a real schlub move, losing your keys.”
She didn’t want to let him in. Every cell in her body screamed against it. But saying no felt more dangerous. It was a key. A lost key. A normal problem. If she acted like it wasn’t normal, he’d know she knew.
“Sure. Yeah. Just… just a second.” She closed the door, her heart hammering against her ribs, and slid the chain back. She opened the door fully.
He stepped inside, bringing the cool night air in with him. He didn’t try to touch her. His eyes did a slow sweep of the living room, the careful, performative look of someone searching. He got down on one knee, checking under the small table by the door.
“It was so good to see you tonight, Kate,” he said, his back to her as he looked behind a potted plant. “Really talk. I feel like we connected on a deeper level.”
She didn’t answer. She watched the muscles in his shoulders move under his jacket. She watched his hands, pale and precise, patting the carpet.
“You know,” he said, standing up and turning to face her. He wasn’t smiling anymore. His gaze was intense, almost hungry. “I was thinking. That time at the community pool last summer. You remember?”
She blinked, thrown. The pool. A group of them had gone. It felt like a lifetime ago.
“You wore that red bikini,” he said, his voice dropping, taking on a confidential tone that made her skin crawl. “I never told you… I thought you were too beautiful to go out in something like that. I never liked the way your gorgeous body was on display for other men to see and admire. They were looking at you like you were a piece of meat. It made me sick.”
He took a step towards her. The lavender-and-penny smell of the apartment tightened around her throat.
“But you proved me wrong.” Another step. The chain was off the door. He was between her and the exit. “You proved you were still you. Still my Kate.”
Her back touched the wall. There was nowhere to go.
“You came over to where I was sitting,” he whispered, closing the final distance. He didn’t touch her, but his presence was a cage. “You put your hand on my shoulder. You leaned down, with all those people watching, and you kissed me on the spot. Right on the cheek. You claimed me. In front of everyone.”
He was right there. His eyes were wide, glistening with the memory. “You remember that, don’t you, Kate? You remember choosing me?”
Her mind was blank with terror. The kiss. It had been a casual, friendly peck. A ‘thanks-for-coming’ kiss. A nothing. He had spun it into a grand, public declaration in the twisted theater of his mind.
He was waiting for her answer. His fantasy needed her confirmation.
She saw it then, the alternative to playing along. The violence simmering just beneath his calm surface. The freezer in his sterile apartment. The certainty in his eyes that she belonged to him.
A survival instinct, cold and sharp, cut through the panic.
She looked up at him. She forced her lips to soften, her eyes to hold his. She let a small, shaky smile touch her mouth. “Of course I remember, Jeffrey.”
The relief that flooded his features was instant, transforming him. The tension in his shoulders melted.
“I’m glad,” he breathed.
She leaned in. She placed her hands on his chest, feeling the solid, terrifying reality of him underneath the cotton of his shirt. She rose onto her toes, the movement slow, deliberate. She pressed her lips to his cheek, just beside the corner of his mouth. She held them there for a three-count, inhaling the clean, soapy scent of him.
“See?” she whispered, her lips brushing his skin. “I’m still yours.”
He shuddered. A full-body tremor of gratification. His hand came up and covered hers, pinning it against his heart. His eyes closed. “I knew it,” he murmured. “I always knew it.”
He stood like that for a long moment, savoring it. Then he opened his eyes, the dreamy look solidifying back into that practical concern. “Well. I shouldn’t keep you. You need your rest.” He gave her hand a final squeeze and let go, walking back to the door. “Don’t worry about the key. It’ll turn up. And remember to lock this now. The world isn’t safe.”
He let himself out, pulling the door shut behind him with a quiet, final click.
She stood, staring at the closed door, the ghost of his cheek still cold on her lips. She listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway. Then she spun, lunged for the door, and slid the chain back into place with a force that rattled the frame.
She stood there, clutching her own arms, shaking uncontrollably. She had just kissed him. She had fed the monster. And the worst part, the part that made a silent scream build in her chest, was that it had worked. She had proven him right.
She was his.