"Okay. I'm recording this because — I need there to be a record of this that exists outside of my phone. It is 4:17am. I woke up twenty minutes ago. I don't know why I woke up. I just — opened my eyes and I was awake the way you're awake when something has already happened before you knew to be aware of it. I checked the apartment. Every room. Every lock. All locked. Chain on the front door. Window latches. All of them. Exactly as I left them. I don't know why I checked my drafts. I never check my drafts. I haven't had an unsent draft in this account since 2019. But I checked them. And there was one. I'm going to read it now. Word for word. Exactly as it appears. ... 'His name is Edmund Reyes. He lives at —'" "I'm not going to say the address out loud. I'm going to write it down. On paper. And I'm going to keep that paper somewhere that isn't here. The message has no subject line. It was composed — according to the timestamp — at 3:47am. I was asleep at 3:47am. My sleep app confirms six hours and twelve minutes of uninterrupted sleep beginning at 11:23pm. I was asleep. Something composed this message while I was asleep. In this apartment. With every lock locked. Using my phone. From my account. In my drafts folder. And left it there for me to find. It knew I would find it. It didn't send it. It left it in drafts because it was meant for me. Not for anyone else. Just for me. ... The last line of the message — after the name, after the address — the last line is two words. 'Before Tuesday.' ... I don't know what Tuesday is. I don't know what happens on Tuesday. I don't know if Tuesday is a deadline or a warning or an invitation or something else entirely that I don't have a word for yet. I just know that whatever left this message got into my apartment tonight. Stood here. Or existed here. Or was here in whatever way they are anywhere. And instead of — instead of doing anything else — it left me a name. And an address. And two words. Before Tuesday. It's currently Friday. 4:19am. I have four days. ... Edmund Reyes. I'm going to find you, Edmund. I'm going to find you before whatever Tuesday is finds me first." underneath the silence, just at the edge of hearing — the frequency like it was always there
