Chapter 1

"You have to be kidding me," I muttered as I stabbed repeatedly at the call button for the lift. Nothing happened—not even a distant clank could be heard to indicate it might be working. "Piece of crap." I turned to the door leading to the stairwell and pushed through it.

I hurried down the first flight of stairs, turned the corner, and started down the next set. The lift failed at least a couple of times a month, and often didn't get fixed for days. I doubted it would be in use when I got home later, carrying my groceries.

As I trotted down the third flight of stairs, a door above me creaked open and a moment later, banged shut. Some other poor sucker having to use the stairs, no doubt. Soft footsteps began to descend, and I assumed the person was wearing running shoes or some other rubber-soled footwear. I glanced up as I turned the next corner, and glimpsed a hand gripping the bannister two flights above me.

I descended the last few steps and pushed out of the fire door into the damp and gloomy morning. A few minutes later I began the long trudge down the steps to the lower street level which led to the underground. Halfway down, the feeling of being watched made the back of my neck tingle. I paused to glance over my shoulder and spotted a tall figure at the top of the steps, about to start down. A tan jacket with the hood up hid the person's face in shadows and his hands were buried in the pockets. I assumed it was a "he" due to the incredibly long legs clad in dark trousers. Probably another commuter on his way to work, hood up against the weather, just like me. I turned away, tucking my scarf more securely around my neck, and continued down.

Ten minutes later I was on the train, travelling into the centre of the city. Commuters filled every seat and I stood amongst the overflow, gripping one of the overhead rails in an effort to stay on my feet as the train lurched and swayed, causing fellow passengers to stagger and bump against each other, and me. When I climbed down to the platform and made my way into one of the rougher streets of Gotham, the sensation of being watched made me look behind me again. A crowd of hurrying people parted to pass by me as I hovered. Shrugging, I continued on my way to the homeless shelter. My imagination was working overtime. I probably shouldn't have watched that creepy movie on Saturday night with my friend Sophie.

"Hey, Audra! How's it going?" Jason, one of my colleagues, greeted me as I shed my coat and scarf and hung them up.

"Same old, same old. Good weekend?" I asked.

"Yeah, right. I was here yesterday."

"Of course, I forgot you had Sunday's shift."

"What about you? Enjoy the break?" Jason passed me a bag of potatoes to start peeling in preparation for the lunch service we provided.

"It was okay. I watched a stupid scary movie on Saturday. Gave me the creeps and now I keep looking over my shoulder." I laughed at my foolishness.

Jason laughed too. "That'll teach ya. Wait until you have to go home in the dark later. You'll be convinced there are monsters lurking in every shadow."

"Thanks for that." I made a face and pulled out a paring knife to start on the potatoes.

The lunchtime rush started at eleven thirty. I served plates of mashed potatoes with chicken and vegetable stew—veggie stew for those who didn't eat meat, although most weren't fussy so long as they got to eat something. Tammy, another colleague, handed out portions of apple pie, and Jason made endless cups of tea and coffee. At two thirty, when the last person finished eating, Tammy and I started on the washing up while Jason cleaned the tables. This was what I did five days a week, days off rotating so the shelter could stay open every day.

We spent the rest of the afternoon taking bookings for the forty beds on the upper floor. They were offered on a first-come-first-served basis, but towards the end of the day there was often trouble when several people tried to get the last bed. All of us were trained in self-defence, should the need ever arise. Only once had I needed to call on mine so far, but there was always the chance something would go wrong. I kept alert until the final person was signed in and Tammy and I swapped shift with Mark and Toby, who would take over for the night shift. Jason would leave too, an hour later.

I made my way to the grocery store and bought food items for the next few days, then made my way to the station to get the train home. I'd forgotten about that strange feeling of being watched in the morning, but as I made my way up the endless steps to the street where the cheap apartment blocks stood, I felt that prickle on my neck again. I turned my head and shot a quick look behind me but didn't see anyone. Still, darkness had fallen and half the lights at the side of the steps were out, leaving plenty of shadows for a person to lurk unseen.

Hurrying now, I climbed the last dozen steps and marched along the street to the block. The sound of rapid footsteps made my heart pound and my quick breaths leave curls of steam in the cold air above me. Reaching the apartments, I turned completely to look behind me and again, saw no one. I yanked open the door to the building and began trotting up the stairs, pausing at each turn to check again, but no one followed me. I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head at the ease at which I'd been spooked. Moments later I was in my apartment with the door locked and the chain on. Safe. Damned horror movies. Never again. Next time, Sophie could watch something I liked—science fiction, or action thriller.

I took the groceries into the kitchen, took off my coat and scarf again, and began making a meal for one.

The following morning was more of the same. Same routine, same descent down the stairs while the lift sat, broken, in the basement, awaiting an engineer, same trudge down the steps to the street where the station was. Same—I glanced over my shoulder. Same creepy feeling of being watched.

I turned around completely and scanned the damp streets behind me, but all I saw was a man running with a dog on a lead; two women hurrying, arm in arm; an elderly man with a walking stick. None of them were paying any attention to me, simply going about their business.

It wasn't like me to feel nervous. I considered myself to be a strong, confident person. I knew I could take care of myself if I needed to. Nothing had ever happened to me to make me wary, and despite having lived in this cheap, rough area for over a year, I'd never had any trouble.

I continued my journey to the station and waited on the platform. Checking my watch, I realised I was a few minutes early. The back of my neck continued to tingle, and I looked around me at the other waiting passengers—a young man tapping one foot and nodding his head as he listened to music through headphones; a woman with a small child in one arm and a folded pushchair in the other hand; a couple holding hands; a businessman in a suit, reading a newspaper. All of them normal, innocuous-looking people. Then I caught a slight movement from the corner of my eye—a figure lurking almost out of sight behind a pillar.

Rather than turn in that direction and make it obvious I'd noticed, I lowered my head and rolled my eyes sideways. Tall, tan jacket with the hood up, dark trousers. I saw all this in a split second as he shifted from one foot to the other, then ducked completely out of sight. The same man from yesterday, whom I'd seen at the top of the steps. Perhaps the same man who'd descended the apartment stairs behind me.

Frowning, I thought about the other people I knew who lived in that block, and then I realised. At the end of the corridor on Sophie's floor, lived an elderly woman, sick or disabled, and her son who cared for her. I'd seen the son once when we shared the lift. He got out on Sophie's floor and I carried on up to the next one where I lived. Sophie said his name was Arthur. He was a little crazy and could be heard howling with laughter sometimes, she said. On that day I'd seen him, he'd been wearing a tan jacket, although the hood had been down, and dark trousers. He was probably six foot but hadn't seem that tall because I'd been wearing high heels, making me around five ten at the time.

I tried to remember those few moments in the lift. Had we spoken?

"Hold it, please!" I called out as I ran for the lift. The doors were closing and if I didn't stop it, I'd have to wait at least five minutes for it to lumber up and come down again, or I'd have to climb the stairs. I'd been to an interview, and in my three-inch heels, I didn't feel like climbing the stairs.

A foot emerged from the lift and stopped the door. Relieved, I pushed the door wider, stepped inside, and punched the button for my floor. "Thanks so much." I looked at the other occupant of the lift—a man, probably mid-thirties, wearing a tan jacket, unfastened, over a dark red sweater and white shirt. His longish brown hair, damp from the rain, curled around his collar, and deep green eyes met mine. His lips twitched in a poor imitation of a smile.

"No problem."

The lift rumbled upwards, passing two floors before it jerked to a halt. The doors didn't open, so it wasn't someone on the second floor calling it. It had got stuck, again.

"This building is so awful, isn't it?" I said, just to make conversation. I felt uneasy, alone in the small car with this man. There was no reason to. He didn't appear threatening in anyway, but I'd turned my gaze away from him and I knew from the way I felt that he'd continued to stare at me.

"Yes. They should pull it down," he said softly.

I risked another glance and met his eyes. I gave him a brief smile, praying I wouldn't be trapped in here with him for hours, but just then, the lift groaned and began to rise again. I lowered my eyes and stared at the dirty floor, my hair standing on end as the man breathed in, long and slow, as if he were smelling me. Jesus Christ.

The lift stopped again, and the doors slid open. He stepped out. Thank God. "Good-bye."

The doors slid closed in his face and I was alone.

I'd told Sophie about the strange experience when I next saw her, and she told me the little she knew about him. She'd met him a couple of times, and didn't find him threatening, only strange and perhaps mentally disturbed in some way. She knew his mother had been in Arkham for a long time years before.

The train pulled into the station, dragging me out of my thoughts. I climbed on, squeezing into the mostly full carriage, then turned back to help the woman struggling with the folded pushchair. I took it from her so she could better manage the child.

"Thank you so much." She beamed at me from a pale face with too much lipstick.

"No problem." I propped the pushchair in a corner against the side of a seat and looked around me. There was no sign of that strange man—Arthur. Was he still lurking behind the pillar, or was he in another carriage?

Today when the train reached my stop, I climbed down and stood still on the platform, watching the people who joined me. Three cars down, I saw him, hood up, hands in his pockets, scurrying across the platform with several others. He disappeared, not once having looked my way, or so it appeared.

As I walked the rest of the way to the shelter, I couldn't shake the feeling of his presence. That same feeling of being watched that I'd had yesterday, only now I was certain it was him and that he was following me. I paused and surreptitiously glanced behind me several times, then once spun around completely, but I never saw him, except for one small glimpse of movement in a shop doorway that I couldn't say for sure was him.

By the time I reached the shelter, I was stiff and tense, trying to convince myself he hadn't followed me and failing. But if he had, why? Was he a danger to me?

"What's wrong with you?" Jason asked, as I hung up my coat and scarf.

"Nothing, why?"

"You look tense."

"You're too perceptive." I smiled briefly. "It's nothing, really. I thought someone was following me, but it's probably my overactive imagination."

"Still creeped out by that movie?" Jason teased.

"Yeah, that must be it." I got to work with some cleaning, then food preparation. While I was doing so, I made a decision. If I saw him again and thought he was following me, I'd confront him.

As the doors opened at eleven thirty, I took up my position behind the food counter and began serving up portions of gently flavoured chilli with rice. Many of the takers spoke to me—familiar faces, smiling gratefully as they took their food after a night on the streets. Some had found a warm bed the night before, upstairs, but most hadn't. Half an hour later, I switched between serving chilli to the newcomers, as Tammy had called in sick, and peach cobbler to those who were back for the second course.

"Oh, what a shame, I don't like peaches," an elderly woman said with a sigh. "They upset my stomach," she added in a whisper.

"Would you like some of the plain cobbler with sauce?" I offered.

A smile lit up her face. "Is that all right? You're such a dear."

I gave her a plate of cobbler and custard, then turned to the next person—Arthur—and almost dropped my ladle.

"Hello," he said softly. "May I have some chilli, please?"

So polite, and yet a shiver ran down my spine. Why was he here? He wasn't homeless. Had he been lurking outside all morning, waiting to come in? Had he followed me from the station after all?

"Audra?" Jason nudged me, as he passed a mug of tea to someone.

"Yeah. Um, chilli. Of course." I picked up a clean plate, swapped the dessert ladle for the rice one, and scooped a portion onto the plate. "You, um, I haven't seen you here before," I said, as I added chilli to the plate.

"I, um, I, um—" he stuttered. Surprised, I looked up at his face, scarlet, with wide eyes. "My, um, my money ran out. I h-haven't, um, I haven't eaten since Sunday. I'm s-sorry." He put his hands into his pockets and took a step back.

Shit. Perhaps I'd got it wrong. My soft heart got the better of me. "Arthur? Your name is Arthur, right?"

"Yes. How do you know?"

"I live on the floor above you." As if he didn't know that.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course." His red face flushed more.

"I'm Audra." I held out the plate to him. "Please, take the food. There's dessert, too, if you want some after. What about your mother?"

"She, um, she has, um, frozen dinners. We have those left."

"You don't eat them?" I queried.

"If I have some, there won't be enough for her until I get my pay-check."

"Okay. Go and find a seat somewhere." I noticed the next customer behind him getting impatient.

"Thank you. Thank you, Audra."

I watched him as much as I could, while continuing to serve the meals. He ate slowly and deliberately, examining each forkful of food before putting it in his mouth, then poking the remainder around his plate. He ate it all, but it took him a long time. By the time he finished, we were packing away the empty food containers and starting on the washing up. Most of the other diners had left.

Arthur came to the counter with his empty plate. Up to the elbows in washing up water, I left Jason to deal with him.

"Thank you," Arthur's soft voice said.

"I'm sorry, there's no dessert left," Jason told him.

"That's okay. I didn't want any."

I glanced over my shoulder, and met green eyes, fixed on me. Arthur flushed and looked away.

"We have to close up now so we can clean," Jason said.

"Sure. Of course. Thank you." He lifted his voice. "Thank you, Audra."

I nodded and carried on washing up. Jason followed Arthur to the door and closed it behind him. "He's new," he commented, as he joined me and started drying the dishes.

"He lives on the floor below me. I think it was him following me this morning. I didn't imagine it after all."

"Seriously?" Jason frowned. "You said you felt creeped out yesterday, too. Was he following you then?"

"I don't know. Maybe. He actually seems pretty harmless. He cares for his sick mother. They ran out of food; that's why he was here for lunch."

"He barely took his eyes off you the whole time he was here. I'd watch your back if I were you. You want me to make sure you get home okay tonight?"

"No. Thanks. You live in the other direction. I'll be fine."

"You sure? He looks like a real freak to me."

"I have my mace in my pocket," I reminded him. "And a knife."

"Yeah, okay, tough girl. Just call if you get any trouble though."

"I will. Thanks."

The rest of the day passed without incident, and when I left to go home, I didn't get the feeling of being followed. I made it to my apartment without that creepy feeling, and the next morning I didn't get it again all day. He didn't come to the shelter for lunch, and I didn't see him of feel him watching me. Perhaps it had just been an isolated incident.