The Night Nurse: Escaping My Stalker

I was scrolling on my FYP and stumbled across a livestream. A total freak asking for advice. "The coworker I have a crush on got sick. I picked her lock to take care of her.

Is that illegal? I've already been inside six times. To keep her from waking up, I inject her with sleeping pills. But I dropped the syringe this time.

What happens if she calls the cops?" The live chat exploded, with trolls unironically hyping him up as some kind of absolute legend.

Even Grant, the livestreaming lawyer handling the call, looked completely derailed. "Breaking and entering. Six times. And you drugged her? Bro, tell me you’re making this up.

Where did you leave the syringe?" The caller sounded deadserious. Icecold. "It’s real. I need to go back for it, but I don't want her to catch me.

I left it right on her nightstand." My blood stopped pumping. I snapped my head toward my own nightstand. A syringe rested exactly on the edge.

The needle gleamed under the lamplight. Chapter 1 No way. A massive coincidence. I just clocked in and clocked out. I didn't make enemies.

What are the odds I scroll onto a stalker's livestream, and he's talking about me? I grabbed a tissue, wrapping it around the plastic barrel. Empty.

If he really broke in six times like he said… my stomach churned at the implication. I yanked up my sleeve. My breath hitched. Six tiny, bruised puncture marks lined my inner arm.

It made sense now. The unnatural exhaustion. Sleeping fourteen hours straight, dragging myself through the office like a zombie.

All because some sick fuck decided to play my personal night nurse. I was always pretty healthy. I rarely got sick.

The most that happened was I sneezed once near the breakroom three days ago. The creep claimed we worked together. But my department housed at least fifteen guys.

The voice changer scrambled his pitch. Anonymous. Unrecognizable. And he wanted his syringe back. He planned to return. Bile rose in my throat. I needed to move. He knew my address.

He tracked my minor sniffle. He hovered close enough to monitor my life. The physical evidence sat right in my hand. I had to stall him.

Keep him locked in that stream while I bagged the needle for fingerprinting. I’d nail this bastard.

I forced myself to snap out of it and tapped back into the live feed to monitor the situation. Grant leaned into his microphone, practically begging the guy to turn himself in.

Breaking and entering plus drugging someone guaranteed a solid prison stint. The freak scoffed. He called in for validation, not a guilt trip. "Turn myself in?

I didn't cross any lines. Why would I do that? I sneaked in to care for her. Pure intentions. I barely touched her. She looked so fragile.

I gave her the meds so she wouldn't suffer through a restless night. Why doesn't anyone appreciate my effort?" I dug my nails into my palms until the skin nearly broke.

Delusional psycho. Thanks a lot, psycho. I had been operating at peak health before he intervened. His sick little nightly visits actively drained the life out of me.

The live chat rapidly devolved into a toxic cesspool. Trolls smelled blood and swarmed. [Bro, skip the cops.

Just take her!] [Trade three years behind bars to leave a lifetime mark on her. It's a badge of honor, bro.] [For real. Six trips and zero action?

Major incel energy.] [Stream it tonight! Take us with you when you grab the needle.] My chest constricted. The mob mentality worked. The creep hesitated. "Take her?

That feels wrong. I don’t exploit vulnerable women.

I'm a nice guy." The chat practically laughed in his face, desperate for the chaos. [If you don't claim her, some other dude will.] [You want someone else's leftovers?] [A goddess fast asleep in front of you and you freeze?

Bro is definitely impotent.] The insult shattered his fragile ego. His breathing turned ragged through the mic. "Who says I can't get it up!

I'm heading over there right now to get my property back. Nobody leave this stream! I'll prove it to every single one of you!" Chapter 2 Rustling filtered through the audio.

The guy started grabbing his keys. My jaw locked so hard my teeth ached. Icecold sweat slicked my spine. Panic spiked.

My fingers flew across the keyboard, spamming the live chat. [Dude, chill out. Don't listen to these trolls.] [Seriously, think about it.

Wait until tomorrow to see how your coworker reacts.] [If she actually found the syringe, going back tonight means literally walking into a trap.] I copied and pasted the lines.

Over and over. The rustling stopped. Heavy silence stretched over the stream. The caller hesitated. Finally, he cleared his throat. [You know what? It's too risky right now.

I'll test her tomorrow at work. Too many people in this stream anyway. What if someone recognizes me? I'm out.] The feed cut to black. My lungs finally dragged in a ragged breath.

Safe. For tonight, at least. The next morning, I sat under the harsh fluorescent lights of the precinct. I told the police everything—the breakins, the needle, the forced sedation.

But a single syringe and some bruised veins proved nothing. Forensics dusted the plastic barrel. They found exactly one set of fingerprints. Mine.

Without hard evidence, the police refused to file formal charges. The officer told me to go home, lock my doors, and stay hypervigilant. Come back when I secured solid proof.

I slumped on my couch, staring deadeyed at the plastic evidence bag. No prints. Which meant the freak wore gloves while he played my personal night nurse.

This screamed calculated obsession. A cold dread settled deep in my stomach. He intended to come back. I spent the entire night scrubbing through true crime forums. Then it hit me.

He wanted his property back. I just needed to set the bait. I paid for sameday delivery on a micro hidden camera.

I wedged the tiny lens deep into the fake flowers on my nightstand, pointing dead center at the bed.

Despite my anxious heart pounding in my chest, exhaustion finally dragged me under. I swiped my badge at the office the next morning, pretending everything was completely normal.

Underneath, my pulse hammered. I scanned every guy in the bullpen. Until I caught the bastard, everyone remained a suspect. "Finley, those dark circles look rough.

Rough night?" Old man Orson, the building security guard, blocked my path. "I've got some medicine in here.

You should take some." He shoved his hand deep into his front pocket, digging around his crotch. His eyes, though, dropped straight to my bare legs. Staring. My stomach plummeted.

I stumbled back three steps. "No! No, I feel fine. I slept great." I dodged around him and practically sprinted to my cubicle. I wasn't looking.

I slammed hard into Lucien by the water cooler. He let out a sharp squeal, batting the air with manicured fingers. "Ugh, watch it!

You totally crushed my shirt." I stared at his dramatic pout. Nope. Definitely not him. My eyes kept darting around the floor.

Neil, the lead developer, hammered away at his mechanical keyboard, lost in his code. Cody from sales loudly planned his anniversary dinner on the phone.

Then there was Mitchell, the operations manager. Single. But I performed the worst on his absolute worst team. He barely registered I existed. The clock ticked down to 5 PM.

I found zero red flags. The only one acting incredibly paranoid today was me. Chapter 3 A shadow fell over my desk. I jerked my head up. Roman.

My department manager leaned against my cubicle wall, offering a caring smile. "Finley, you look wrecked. Burning the candle at both ends?

Go home early if you're crashing." Staring into his objectively gorgeous face, I couldn't help but swoon a little. "No! No, I'm totally fine." He didn't push it.

He just tapped my desk, told me not to overwork myself, and strolled away. A faint, familiar cologne drifted in his wake.

I wrapped both hands around my warm latte, marveling internally. Roman was the ultimate green flag. Dropdead gorgeous, fiercely protective, and totally out of my league.

But the clock hit 4:45 PM, and my stalker remained a ghost. Time to cast the bait.

I cleared my throat and practically shouted over my cubicle wall, making sure my voice carried straight to Haley. "Ugh, I literally can't keep my eyes open today.

The second I get home, I'm blacking out in bed. If you guys need anything, don't even bother trying to wake me.

I am dead to the world." I stretched, forcing out a massive, theatrical yawn. If that creep hovered anywhere near my desk, I just handed him an engraved invitation.

Now, I just had to wait for the rat to snap the trap. 9:00 PM. The livestream clicked on.

The screen stayed pitchblack—he wasn't risking a face reveal—but his voice vibrated with manic energy. [Boys, she didn't find the needle. The coast is totally clear.

Tonight is the night. I'm taking her Vcard.] The audio picked up the dry, raspy sound of him vigorously rubbing his hands together.

The chat exploded into a toxic hype machine, spamming him to get out the door. I watched the dark screen, feeling more puzzled than afraid. How did he know I was a virgin?

I had never mentioned my nonexistent dating life to anyone at the office. Except… maybe on my initial HR paperwork during my interview.

Before I could spiral, the audio shifted as heavy footsteps hit the pavement. He narrated his entire stalker POV. [Just hit her complex gates. Walking up to her building now.

Can't show you guys a lockpick tutorial tonight. I copied her apartment key on my third trip. I just walk right in.] I let out a harsh, bitter laugh. No wonder the cops blew me off.

Zero forced entry. He practically owned my front door. The psycho actually hummed a pop song under his breath. Metal scraped against metal. The deadbolt clicked.

The door creaked open. His voice dropped to a harsh, wet whisper. [Got the syringe, boys. Gotta keep it down so she doesn't wake up. Pitch black in here. Let me hit a switch.

I'm killing the stream before the main event. I'm gonna enjoy every second of this offline.] The audio feed abruptly cut out. Dead silence.

The chat aggressively scrolled, furious at the cliffhanger. [Bro wtf? Is he in?] [Gatekeeping trash. At least let us hear her scream.] [Hold the line.

He'll definitely flip the camera on to flex when he's done.] But a split second later, the audio violently crackled back to life. [Wait. Something's wrong.

She's not in the room!] Chapter 4 Only an absolute idiot would stay home knowing he was coming. I had booked a cheap motel room.

I had planned to wait him out, grab the hidden footage, and go straight to the cops. But the freak didn’t get what he wanted tonight. He wasn't giving up.

He actually told the stream he was crashing at my place. He planned to ambush me the second I walked in. I paced the motel room until the sun came up.

There was no way he'd skip work just to play boogeyman. Sure enough, by daybreak, his patience snapped. He muttered to the chat about finding another chance and finally left.

I waited an extra hour, making absolutely sure the coast was clear before sneaking back into my apartment. I wasn't giving the cops another excuse to dismiss me.

I needed his face in highdefinition before I dialed 911. But the cheap microcamera didn't have cloud backup. I had to manually pull the SD card.

And my card reader sat squarely in the middle of my office cubicle. I held my breath. My empty bed last night definitely spooked him.

If I walked into the office now, who knew what that psycho would try. I shook the paranoia out of my head. It was broad daylight. If I moved fast, he couldn't touch me.

I grabbed my purse. I had to go back. At first, everything went exactly according to plan.

I faked a convincing sickday cough, brushed off the generic small talk from a few coworkers, snatched the card reader from my drawer, and practically sprinted for the exit.

Just as my hand hit the glass lobby door, Orson yelled out. "Finley! Hold up. Let me talk to you." He limped toward me. A weird smile hung on his face.

The office rumor mill always targeted the security guard. A total creep. Too cheap to date, yet he somehow adopted Mabel, a specialneeds teenager.

People caught him jerking off to porn in his security booth more than once. Panic seized my chest. I scrambled backward, completely missing the top lobby step.

My ankle twisted with a sickening pop as I hit the tile floor.

Orson kept advancing, his grubby hand reaching out for me. "Finley, what happened to you?" That familiar, crisp cedarwood cologne washed over me. I snapped my head up. Roman.

He looked like an absolute lifeline. I grabbed his outstretched hand without a second thought. He pulled me up, his eyes dropping to my rapidly swelling ankle.

He let out a soft, sympathetic sigh. "Look at you. You need to be more careful. Morgan in HR said you took a sick day.

Let me drive you home." I clamped my mouth shut, ready to refuse. But I caught Orson lingering just behind Roman's shoulder, his eyes tracking my every move.

I swallowed hard and nodded. Roman practically radiated green flags the entire ride. He respectfully opened the back door of his SUV for me, keeping strict professional boundaries.

The ambient heat and that intoxicating cologne flooded my senses. My eyelids turned to lead. I involuntarily drifted off to sleep. My eyes shot open.

I lay flat on my own living room sofa. Roman stood near the kitchen island, playfully jingling my keychain. "Don't freak out. You were dead to the world in the backseat.

I didn't have the heart to wake you. Your keys were hanging off your bag. I just let us in. But seriously, living alone—you need to be careful.

There are a lot of creeps out there." Heat rushed straight to my cheeks. I waved my hands in frantic embarrassment. "No, it's fine!

I never sleep that heavy, I swear." Then his warning clicked in my brain. Security. My head whipped toward the bedroom door, locking onto the fake flowers on the nightstand. Shit.

I had lost so much time. I still needed to pull that SD card.

Chapter 5 I guided Roman to the living room and handed him a glass of ice water. "Sorry, make yourself at home for a second," I said, backing toward the hallway. "Things have been sketchy around here lately, so I set up a nanny cam.

I just need to pull the footage." I ducked into my bedroom and firmly shut the door. I jammed the SD card reader into my phone. The video files populated instantly.

I scrubbed the timeline, matching the timestamps to last night's livestream. Frame by agonizing frame. A figure stepped into the night vision shot.

He turned his head toward the lens. A face flashed across the screen. A cold sweat broke out on my back.

Three sharp knocks rapped against my bedroom door. "Finley?" Roman's velvet voice bled through the wood. "How's that footage looking?" The phone slipped from my numb fingers.

It hit the hardwood with a loud, hollow crack. The face frozen on the paused video was Roman's. A sickening wave of terror washed over me.

All the puzzle pieces suddenly clicked into place. The crisp cedarwood cologne. The hyperspecific knowledge of my schedule. He had personally handled my hiring interview.

My home address, my emergency contacts, my entire background check—he possessed all of it. But why me?

Out of everyone, why did he fixate on the lowestperforming girl in his department? Silence stretched.

My vocal cords were completely paralyzed. "Finley?" The warmth vanished from his tone. "What was that noise? Did you see something?" Metal rattled. He twisted the doorknob. Hard.

He shoved his weight against the wood. The doorframe groaned under the pressure. Thank god I slammed the deadbolt out of pure habit.

I dropped to my knees and snatched the phone off the floor. I forced air into my burning lungs, pitching my voice up to mimic a casual, annoyed groan. "Nothing!

I just dropped my phone!" I yelled through the door. "This cheap camera is totally busted. Files are corrupted or something. I'm so mad I could smash it!

Give me a sec to troubleshoot!" The violent rattling stopped. But the shadow blocking the light under the door gap didn't move. He just stood there. Listening.

Seconds bled into an agonizing minute. "Is that so?" His voice dropped an octave, devoid of any emotion. "Alright. I'll just finish my water.

Yell if you need me." The heavy shadow slowly slid away from the door. My knees buckled. I slumped against the wall, dryheaving.

Before I could even formulate an escape plan, my screen lit up. A push notification suddenly flashed across my screen: the anonymous account I had been tracking was officially live.

My stomach plummeted as I tapped the alert, loading the stream with trembling fingers. How could he still be in the mood to livestream at a time like this? Pitch black screen.

A low, wet breath crackled through the phone speaker. [Boys,] Roman whispered. A sick, amused smirk laced his tone. [I think she saw my face. She locked herself in the bedroom.

What's the next move?] The chat log instantly exploded with deranged hype