Chapter Two - The Text Message

Olivia

I'm abruptly awakened by the blaring sound of my alarm. I groggily reach for my phone on the bed to check the time. 9 o'clock? How is that even possible? It's then that my eyes land on the empty bottle of red wine lying on the floor. I must have indulged in drinking last night after Nathaniel's unexpected visit. Damn it, I seriously need to address my alcohol addiction. As I sit there, a wave of concern washes over me.

Suddenly, a realization hits me like a lightning bolt, and I jump out of bed, rushing towards the bathroom. Today is the start of my college journey, and I've completely forgotten about it. I hastily clean up and manage to tie my hair into a messy bun. I grab the first outfit I lay my hands on from my suitcase and hastily get dressed. Without wasting another moment, I dash to my car and follow the GPS directions to New York Law University.

Upon arriving, I'm taken aback by the sheer beauty of the campus. It's surreal to think that I'll be studying here. I take a quick five minutes to apply some makeup in the car before finally making my way towards the building. Lost in the moment, I wander around for a bit before finally finding my way to my first class. Thankfully, I manage to enter just a few minutes before the professor arrives, saving myself from any unnecessary embarrassment.

The professor captivates the room with his expertise as he delves into the intricate world of laws and court proceedings. Observing how skillfully that seasoned old lawyer handled his files, a surge of determination courses through me. I aspire to become a lawyer who can wield such power, restoring orderliness to the chaos of New York's legal landscape.

Just as I'm about to raise my hand to ask a question, my phone buzzes incessantly, causing me to sigh in frustration. I reluctantly check the notifications and discover an anonymous message waiting for me on Instagram. Curiosity piqued; I open the message from a user named "Brahms 2023." This account lacks followers and any posts. My initial thought is that this might be one of Eleanor's pranks; we're known for playing tricks on each other.

As I watch the five-minute video attached to the message, my heart races. It's a video of me, right in the present moment. I scan the faces around me, searching for any familiar expressions or telltale signs. But the sea of strangers offers no recognition. I'm convinced this must be Eleanor's doing. She loves elaborate pranks, and this would certainly be her style.

While I'm still processing the content of the video, another message arrives from the same user: "I can see you, Olivia." I read the words with a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. This prank is lame and ridiculous. Deciding not to give it any more attention, I power off my phone, determined to focus on the lecture and put this strange occurrence out of my mind.

After the classes are over, I decide it's time to head back home. Upon reaching my apartment, I'm taken aback by an unfamiliar sight: a peculiar bouquet of flowers positioned right in front of my door. I park my car and quickly approach the bouquet, my curiosity piqued. It's an arrangement of red roses, my absolute favorite. My mind races, wondering who could have possibly left this here.

With a mix of caution and intrigue, I pick up the bouquet, spotting a note attached to it. "Olivia, I'm really sorry," the note reads. The handwriting is all too familiar. Damn it. Nathaniel. I unlock the door and step inside, my heart pounding with a blend of annoyance and unease. I power on my phone, which I had turned off earlier, and head towards the kitchen. On the table, I find a lighter and an empty trashcan.

Determined not to let his intrusion affect me any further, I position my phone to record and proceed to burn the bouquet. As the flames consume the roses, I feel a sense of catharsis washing over me. The act of letting go becomes both symbolic and empowering. Once the roses are reduced to ashes, I make sure to send the video to Nathaniel and subsequently block him on all fronts.

I've had enough of his toxicity in my life, and I refuse to let his attempts at reconciliation disrupt my newfound sense of strength and independence.

After the emotional rollercoaster, I treat myself to a well-deserved bath – one that soothes my muscles and calms my soul. The warm water embraces me, washing away the stress and anxiety of the day. Emerging from the bath, I feel rejuvenated. I decide to continue my relaxation by watching a Netflix show in my bedroom. It's still hard to believe that my parents left me this apartment despite everything we've been through. I offer a silent prayer for their souls to rest in peace.

With a bag of chips in hand, I settle onto my bed, ready to immerse myself in the world of entertainment. I switch my focus from the CCTV camera feed to Netflix, picking a horror movie – "Army of the Dead." Horror films have always been my passion; I've watched so many that I've lost the ability to feel fear. It's a quirky fact about me, but it's true.

As the movie unfolds, my phone buzzes again, drawing my attention. The first thing that catches my eye is the username: Brahms 2023. This person again? They've shared the location of my home this time. I roll my eyes at the foolishness of it all and dismiss the message. However, my annoyance is short-lived, as I receive a call from an unknown number just five minutes later. Curious, I answer the call, already anticipating that it's Eleanor playing another prank on me.

"What do you want?" I say, my voice unamused. Yet, to my surprise, the voice on the other end is deep and male, completely unexpected. "Olivia!" he exclaims. My irritation flares up. "What the hell? What do you want?" I demand, my patience running thin. "I can see you," he claims. I can't help but burst into laughter at the absurdity of it all.

"Do you think you're in a 'Scream' movie or something?" I retort, my amusement evident. "Listen, I don't know who you are, but whoever you are, tell Elea that this time, I'm not falling for her pranks," I say before hanging up, confident that this is just another one of Eleanor's elaborate schemes.

I continue watching the movie, hoping for some uninterrupted time to enjoy it. However, my focus is once again disrupted by the incessant ringing of my phone. Annoyed, I pick it up, unable to hide my irritation. "What do you want? How dare you interrupt my movie?" I yell into the phone, my patience wearing thin.

"Do you think this is a joke? Do you think I'm joking when I tell you that I'm seeing you?" the voice on the other end retorts, a sense of urgency in their tone. "Are you Brahms 2023?" I ask, wanting to get to the bottom of this strange interaction. He chuckles before confirming, "Correct."

"Okay, Mr. Brahms 2023, leave me alone. I don't have time for your childish calls and messages. Don't you have better things to do than bother people late at night? Do you think I'll waste my precious time talking to someone as low and pathetic as you?" I assert, not mincing words. "I'm sorry if my language hurts you, but tell Eleanor that I have better things to do," I add, convinced that this is yet another elaborate prank of hers.

"Someone as low and pathetic. Do you even know who you're talking to?" he questions, his tone chilling. "How much is she paying you for all this?" I ask, still not convinced of the authenticity of this situation. "Do you really think your dear friend would go this far for a prank?" he challenges.

I pause for a moment, caught off guard by his words. My confidence wavers slightly, but I swiftly regain my stance. "I've watched way too many horror movies to know that this is definitely a prank," I retort, refusing to let fear consume me.

He proposes a challenge that catches me off guard. "If you think it's a prank, unlock your apartment door," he suggests. I hesitate, my heart pounding, before deciding to prove my point. Without further hesitation, I stand up and walk towards the door, unlocking it. "The door is unlocked," I declare, wanting to show that I'm unafraid.

"To prove that I'm not scared and that it will stay unlocked until morning," I assert before decisively hanging up the call, still holding onto my belief that this is just an elaborate ruse.

After the unsettling phone call, I return to my bed and resume the movie. Fortunately, no more calls interrupt my viewing, a fact I'm truly grateful for. After finishing the movie, I start another one, hoping to unwind further. The drowsiness eventually takes over, and I drift into sleep halfway through the film.

I'm awakened by a sudden noise, the sound of something falling in the kitchen. The surroundings are dim, and I can't recall turning off the lights before dozing off. With sleep still heavy in my eyes, I fumble to turn on the flashlight on my phone before cautiously making my way to the kitchen. The moonlight streaming through the window provides a faint glow, casting an eerie ambiance in the apartment.

As I navigate carefully to avoid whatever has fallen, I unexpectedly collide with someone. In my groggy state, the first thing that escapes my lips is a simple, "I'm sorry," as if bumping into someone in the middle of the night in my own home is an everyday occurrence. I hurriedly pick up my phone from the floor, and in that moment, it finally clicks – someone has broken into my house. My heart races as panic starts to set in; I've just bumped into the intruder.

My mind races as I slowly turn around, the beam of my phone's flashlight serving as my only source of light. I catch sight of a figure on their knees, their presence sending a chill down my spine. What I witness next is beyond terrifying, etching a traumatic image into my memory that will haunt me for a long time to come.

The figure before me, a man shrouded in darkness, is wearing a mask. But it's not just any mask; it's the eerie visage of the doll from my favorite horror movie, "The Boy." My blood runs cold as I recognize the distinct features of the mask, a stark reminder of the unsettling doll that haunted the screen. This intruder is deliberately invoking the chilling image that has long haunted my nightmares. Dressed in a black suit, he is the embodiment of fear itself.

Suddenly, everything begins to fall into place. The anonymous username, the knowledge of my location – it's all clear now. The realization strikes like a bolt of lightning: I inadvertently invited this intruder in. My heart pounds with terror as I come to grips with the gravity of the situation. If I don't act quickly, the consequences could be dire.

"Leave me alone!" I scream, my voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desperation. I instinctively step backward, creating some distance between us. In response, the figure rises, towering over me. The combination of the haunting mask and the tall, foreboding presence leaves me paralyzed, trapped in a nightmare that has become all too real.