I can feel it.

I thought I was being silly, paranoid, stupid. But now, I'm not so sure that's the case - actually, I'm sure that's not the case.

I'm being watched, followed.

Almost every time I go outside, goosebumps raise on my skin and a chill crawls down my spine. It's an intuitive reaction that I grew and honed in the years of my old life - a time when I was constantly vigilant, on alert and hyper-aware of my surroundings. Any little thing that seemed off would set alarm bells ringing in my head.

I've been hearing screeching sirens for nearly two weeks now.

I haven't told anyone about it, though. What would I tell them, anyway? I have a feeling? Yeah, no. They would ask questions, demand I elaborate, explain. And then what would I say? I've been doing all I could to push it to the back of my mind, trying to postpone the inevitable. I wished I was just being a basket-case. I wished that none of this was real and that, therefore, I wouldn't need to consider the consequences. But I know better.

And I'm afraid.

I'm terrified, actually, because there were only two people in the world who were able to make me feel this way - like an anxious, scared little girl.

One of them is dead.

That leaves him. And if I'm right, if he somehow found me and really is back... well, what would I do, then? Leave? Leave the job I've barely worked, the co-workers that might have become my friends?

Yes, that's exactly what I'd do.

"Ellie?"

"Yes?" I blink, seeking the voice that snapped me from my thoughts. It's Liv. I hope she didn't ask me a question.

Her deep, brown eyes meet mine as she leans against the side of my desk. Her face is crinkled with amusement but creased with concern. "It's late, you're exhausted. Go home." I shake my head to protest, but she's already walking away, speaking to me from over her shoulder. "Now."

I sigh, slinking into my chair. Sleeping just seems like a waste of time - precious time I could be using to catch more criminals. Besides, I'm too tired to even feel tired. With a few distracted taps of my pen, I make a decision, slowly coming to a stand. A few hours of rest won't hurt.

I don't bother glancing at the clock before I leave the building. It's dark when I make it outside, which tells me all I need to know: I've been awake for more than twenty four hours. Liv was right. I'll be more useful when I'm not just burning through caffeine. Beginning the walk home, I make an impromptu stop at a bar located a couple blocks away from the precinct.

There is a respectable amount of people inside, but not enough to crowd the room. Makes sense on a Monday - or is it Tuesday? I've lost track of the date, but I can't find it in me to care. The counter is mostly vacant, and I head straight for an empty stool near the corner.

"What can I get for you?" The bartender asks, polite but friendly.

"Something that tastes like alcohol." At his nod, I lower my head, resting my forehead against the cold wood. It feels like only seconds has passed when he serves me my drink. A scotch on the rocks. Good. "Thanks," I say, offering a small smile. He winks before leaving to serve another customer.

I go back and forth between sipping - gulping, really - the golden liquid and squishing my cheek against the counter. It's during the latter that I notice someone slipping into the seat beside me, though I don't bother looking to see who. I'm feeling just slightly lightheaded, and I get the feeling my current position is what's preventing me from falling on my ass. I'm lost in the motions of my finger tracing the rim of my empty glass, when a familiar voice interrupts my reverie.

"Rough day?"