Countdown to Moving Out

The day I signed the lease, my landlord was shirtless, fixing a water pipe.

The terrifying scar on his arm caught my eye, and I was so scared I packed my things that very night.

"You creep!" I screamed at the stalker I'd cornered by the elevator. "So what if you're retired from the military? Stay away from me!"

Until one day, the company brought in a new president for an inspection.

In the top-floor conference room, I looked up and met those familiar, icy eyes.

He calmly unfastened his military-style coat, revealing the scar I knew so well.

"I heard," he murmured, leaning close to my ear, "you've been going around telling people I'm dead?"