Plot hole

That evening, when I returned home, the feeling of alienness became unbearable. I lived in an old building on the top floor, and while it had its own special coziness, at that moment, the walls felt as though they were closing in. The windows, behind which the familiar houses and streets used to be, now seemed something else. Not reality, but an illusion. I tried to push this feeling away, but it wouldn't go. It was there, like an overpowering smell that wouldn't dissipate, no matter how hard I tried. I stood by the window, watching as the dark city swallowed the last rays of the setting sun. Outside, everything was familiar — wet streets, the lights in the windows of nearby houses. But inside me, that familiarity was gone. Everything felt strange, not as I knew it. Suddenly, I heard footsteps. They weren’t mine. I froze, holding my breath. Somewhere in the corridor, someone was moving, even though I was alone. I carefully opened the door and peeked out. Silence. No sign of life. Only the faint flicker of light from a dim lamp. "You're not alone." The words echoed in my head again. I couldn’t understand who had written them. Who could know that I would feel this way, as I do now? Who could be watching my every step? I couldn’t explain why it seemed like I was not the only one existing in this reality. The word “consumption” spun around in my head. It felt like pollen, settling on everything around me, penetrating every cell. I returned to my apartment, locked the doors, and sat down at the table. In front of me was the same photograph of the woman from the case. But now, I saw more than just her face. I saw traces — thin, almost invisible, but still present. Every time I looked at it, it became harder to separate my reality from that photograph. It felt like she was looking at me. I could feel her gaze penetrate me, as if she were there. And this feeling was... real. My phone flickered. It was strange. I wasn’t expecting a call. I picked it up, but instead of the usual screen, I saw a blank message. Just one word: "You." A shiver ran through me. Who could have sent this message? It wasn’t random. It was exactly the same as the note in the woman’s apartment. Exactly the same as the words I found on the computer screen. And now it had come to my phone. From whom? Who was watching me? And why did it feel like I couldn’t escape this nightmare? I set the phone down and stood up. The walls seemed to contract again. I realized that if I didn’t find an answer, if I didn’t figure out what was happening, I would drown in this strange world where even time itself became unstable. Minutes passed, and I felt that same gaze again. It wasn’t physical, but it was real. I could feel someone near me. Not literally — I knew no one had come. It was a sensation that seeped into me, as if someone was watching my every move. Everything around me grew heavier, and I could barely breathe. And then I understood — whatever was happening, I was not alone. I was part of something that couldn’t be explained. And maybe I was just a pawn in someone else’s game. I looked at my hands. They were cold, as if not my own. I saw them, but I couldn’t feel them. My brain tried to find an escape, but there was none. I looked at my phone again. No new messages. No calls. But something urged me to open the next file on my computer. And I knew it wouldn’t be just another page of evidence. It would be something more. I opened a new document, and my fingers froze. At the very top of the page was written: "You’re not alone. I am always with you." My heart stopped in my chest. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move. On the screen in front of me was my name, written by someone else’s hand. This wasn’t a system error. This was a message meant for me. Someone knew me. Someone knew everything about me. And this someone wasn’t alive. I felt everything around me disappear. Reality began to dissolve, and I realized I could no longer trust my eyes. Everything became unstable, like an illusion, like a dream. And I couldn’t understand where this dream ended and reality began. But one thing was crystal clear: I was not alone.

4o mini