The Strange Man

(Sofia)

I stared at my phone long after the call ended.

The screen had already gone dark, but I couldn’t stop looking at it.

Maybe it was nothing.

Maybe it was a scam call.

Maybe some bored teenager had gotten the wrong number and decided to be weird about it.

That was the logical explanation.

Unfortunately, logic wasn’t winning right now.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach.

Not fear exactly.

Just unease.

The kind that made the back of your neck tingle.

The kind that made you check your locks twice before going to bed.

I shook my head and tossed the phone onto my mattress.

“You’re being ridiculous, Sofia,” I muttered.

The apartment remained silent.

Maya was asleep.

The refrigerator hummed softly from the kitchen.

Outside, the wind rattled the old windows.

Everything was normal.

Completely normal.

So why couldn’t I shake the feeling that something wasn’t?

I eventually climbed into bed, but sleep refused to come.

Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about the call.

Is this Sofia Rossi?

Just six words.

Six harmless words.

Yet they followed me around for the rest of the night.

Eventually exhaustion won.

When I woke up the next morning, sunlight was streaming through the blinds.

For a moment I felt peaceful.

Then I sat up too quickly.

My stomach immediately disagreed with that decision.

“Oh no.”

I threw the blanket aside and sprinted toward the bathroom.

A few minutes later I was kneeling in front of the toilet once again.

At this point, I felt like I should start paying rent in there.

When I finally emerged, Maya was standing in the kitchen making coffee.

She glanced at me.

“You look awful.”

“Good morning to you too.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know.”

She handed me a glass of water.

I accepted it gratefully.

“How many times?” she asked.

“Three.”

“It’s eight in the morning.”

“I know.”

Maya winced.

“That baby is already causing problems.”

I instinctively rested a hand on my stomach.

The movement surprised both of us.

For a second neither of us said anything.

Then I quickly lowered my hand.

Maya smiled.

I pretended not to notice.

After breakfast, which consisted of half a piece of toast and several complaints from me, I headed to the diner.

The streets of Millhaven were already busy.

People waved as they walked past.

Mrs. Thompson from the flower shop waved.

I waved back.

The elderly man who ran the bookstore nodded at me.

I nodded back.

Three months ago, this town had felt suffocating.

Now it felt familiar.

I wasn’t sure when that happened.

The diner bell chimed as I stepped inside.

The smell of coffee and pancakes immediately hit me.

Surprisingly, I didn’t feel sick.

Progress.

“Sofia!” Maya shouted from behind the counter.

“We literally left together.”

“I know. I just wanted to be dramatic.”

I laughed despite myself.

The morning rush started almost immediately.

Orders piled up.

Coffee flowed endlessly.

Customers complained about things beyond anyone’s control.

A completely normal day.

At least it was normal until lunchtime.

I was carrying two plates toward table seven when the diner door opened.

The man who walked in wasn’t from Millhaven.

I knew it instantly.

People in Millhaven dressed casually.

Jeans.

Boots.

Flannel shirts.

This man looked like he belonged in Manhattan.

Expensive coat.

Perfect haircut.

Polished shoes.

He looked out of place.

The entire diner seemed to notice him.

He scanned the room once.

Then twice.

His gaze landed on me.

Something tightened inside my chest.

Not because I knew him.

I didn’t.

But because it felt like he was looking for someone.

Looking for me.

I quickly looked away.

Don’t be ridiculous.

The man chose a booth near the back.

I tried to focus on work.

Unfortunately, my brain had other plans.

By the time Maya cornered me near the coffee machine, I had looked over there four times.

“Okay,” she said.

I nearly dropped the coffee pot.

“What?”

“You’ve been staring at that guy for ten minutes.”

“I have not.”

“You absolutely have.”

I rolled my eyes.

“I wasn’t staring.”

“You were.”

“I wasn’t.”

“You were.”

I sighed.

“He doesn’t look local.”

“Neither do you.”

I hated when she made good points.

Before I could reply, Henderson appeared.

Both of us immediately scattered.

Fear of management was universal.

An hour later the stranger was still there.

He had ordered coffee.

Nothing else.

Just coffee.

And he barely touched it.

Instead, he seemed more interested in watching people come and go.

A strange feeling settled in my stomach.

The same feeling I’d had after the phone call.

I didn’t like it.

Not one bit.

Around three o’clock, the man finally stood.

Relief washed through me.

Good.

Leave.

Please leave.

Instead of heading directly for the door, he walked toward the register.

Toward me.

Wonderful.

My pulse immediately sped up.

The closer he got, the more obvious it became that he wasn’t from around here.

He looked wealthy.

Confident.

Dangerous.

Not dangerous in an obvious way.

Dangerous in the way people who were used to getting what they wanted often were.

He stopped in front of me.

I forced a smile.

“Can I help you?”

His eyes met mine.

For one brief second, something flashed across his face.

Recognition.

Then it disappeared.

“Actually,” he said calmly, “I was hoping you could help me.”

My stomach tightened.

“With what?”

He reached into his coat pocket.

Every instinct in my body immediately screamed.

The man pulled out a photograph.

Then he placed it on the counter between us.

My breath caught.

The world seemed to stop.

Because I knew the woman in the picture.

Dark hair.

Warm smile.

Brown eyes.

My mother.

My dead mother.

The photograph looked old.

Years old.

But it was definitely her.

I stared at it.

Unable to speak.

Unable to breathe.

Unable to think.

The stranger watched me carefully.

“You know her?” he asked quietly.

My hands started shaking.

“Where did you get this?” I whispered.

The question seemed to surprise him.

Like he hadn’t expected me to recognize her.

Before he could answer, the bell above the diner door chimed.

A sheriff’s deputy walked inside.

The stranger immediately picked up the photograph.

His entire expression changed.

The warmth vanished.

The curiosity vanished.

Everything vanished.

As though a mask had dropped into place.

“I’m sorry,” he said politely.

I stared at him.

“What?”

He slipped the photograph back into his pocket.

“I made a mistake.”

“No.”

My voice came out sharper than intended.

“You didn’t.”

For the first time, something dangerous flickered in his eyes.

Not anger.

Calculation.

Like he was reassessing something.

Or someone.

Then he smiled.

The smile never reached his eyes.

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Miss Rossi.”

My blood turned cold.

I never told him my name.

Before I could react, he turned and walked away.

The diner bell chimed once.

Then silence followed.

I stood frozen behind the register.

My heart hammering.

My hands trembling.

Because suddenly the phone call from last night didn’t feel like a coincidence anymore.

And for the first time since arriving in Millhaven…

I wondered if somebody had finally found me.