On the train, I decide to put on some music. I scroll through my playlist and decide on Turn Around, Look At Me by The Vogues. I press play. As I relax, I see something in the reflection of a corner mirror above me, where I'm able to see the entire train behind me. It's a person sitting in the back of the train car in a long black coat. His face makes my heart skip a beat. It's Brendon. He's just sitting there, staring at me. I look down and pause the music, resisting the impulse to turn around.

The train stops and doors open as a few people get off, and I flip my aid frequencies to 4. I think I hear him get up and walk closer, then sit in another seat. Trying not to be conspicuous, I methodically look in the mirror, and the figure in the reflection confirms my hypothesis. He's seated about 5 chairs behind me now. I swallow hard and look above me to the electronic train map. Two more stops. I just need to stay alive for two more stops. But, he wouldn't kill me on a train, would he?

It stops again. I'm able to pick up the nuanced sounds of his footsteps, which stop right behind me and I hear him sit down. One more stop. There are some other people on the train, but they seem to be oblivious to the fact that a grown man is very selective about a 17 - year old girl.

The train comes to a smooth halt. The doors open, and like a reflex, I spring out of my seat, leaving the train. As I walk towards the station exit, I can hear the all too familiar nuances of Brendon's converse shoes, following me. I pick up the pace and so does he. I need to get out of here. The exit's in my sights. I've never been more grateful for daylight. But, I hear him getting closer. He's really fast. I run up the stairs and... curiosity gets the best of me.

I turn around. Nothing. Brendon's not there anymore. But, I'm sure that was him on the train. It was. I'm not just being paranoid. I shake the thoughts from my head and flip the switch back to 2, walking toward home.

As I walk, I notice I'm about to pass Brendon's house. Nonetheless, I keep going, wanting to be in mine as soon as possible. While thinking this, something grabs me and puts their hand over my mouth, picking me up and off the sidewalk. I know who it is. Brendon takes me behind the house and slams my back against the wall, holding a boxcutter knife to my neck.

"Tell me what you saw." He says in an angry whisper.

I'm at a loss for words. He presses it further on my throat.

"This morning, what did you see?"

"You were walking out of the shed with some black gloves. You put them in your pocket." I say quickly.

"What else?"

"That was it, I swear."

"Why were you at the Psychiatric Hospital?"

"Visiting someone."

"Who?"

"A friend."

"Gerard's your friend? What'd you talk about?"

"I just interviewed him for my psychology paper." My voice cracks.

Brendon brings the knife down to one of my wrists, applying pressure to the vein. He leans into my ear.

"You better not tell anyone about this, or I will slit your throat and wrists and make it look like a suicide." He whispers.

"I won't."

"Get out of here." He unstrattles me, and I run home.