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Adrian locked his apartment door and pulled the blinds. He was close now. It was time to start setting up.

He started by pulling his mattress off the bed frame and leaning it against the wall, then he tilted the frame itself up. His other furniture was similarly shoved into corners. He needed to clear as much floor space as he could.

He had already made sure to pick the place up earlier; ordinarily, it was a mess. He'd wanted it to look at least a little presentable for Opal. He knew that it was a stupid idea, for several reasons, but Adrian wasn’t without some measure of pride.

With everything moved aside the apartment was still the size of a shoebox, but at least he had some space to work with. Adrian fetched a small spool of twine from the supplies he’d bought on his way home and cut himself a long length of rope. Then, he hammered a thin nail into the center of his floor. He tied one end of the string to the nail and measured how much of the length was left, clipping it off at exactly five feet. He used this setup to trace out a five-foot circle as he followed the string’s circumference with a stick of chalk. When he was done he stepped back to admire his work. It was as perfect a circle as he could make, and it fit just like he’d planned. It was a good start, but there was a lot more to do.

For the next hour, Adrian was on his hands and knees, carefully measuring angles, lines, and arcs as he sketched out the diagram he’d seen depicted in the book. He worked from a copy, hoping to avoid being exposed to the book for as long as possible. Slowly it started to come together. Elaborate swirls intersected with a dozen circles of different sizes. Lines criss-crossed maddeningly. Three dozen candles, twelve black, twelve red, and twelve white were arranged in regular intervals along the exterior. Some of the lines were overlayed with salt, others with talcum powder, and still more he as is. The finishing touch was a large, steel nail hammered home into the center of a particularly thorny knot of intersecting lines.

It looked right. But what was it perfect? Adrian had a strong suspicion that it needed to be perfect. He began to double-check his work. He went over each detail, thinking of new mistakes he might have made. The proportions of each line, the angles where they intersected, the curvature of the circles, he ensured that everything was precisely as the book had shown.

Adrian's phone blared with a cheerful chiptune alarm. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he reached over to turn it off. As he attempted to stand up after crawling around on the floor for quite a while, he initially mistook the sharp pain in his legs for a cramp. However, as he tried to rise, the discomfort only intensified. “No,” he spoke in desperation to the empty room. “Not now.” But there was nothing to be done.

Adrian’s legs gave out beneath him as his muscles began to spasm. His thighs and calves constricted in rictus agony. Adrian’s hands shot to the muscles squeezing them in a **** plea to relieve the pain. He shouted, loud enough to be heard through the complex’s thin walls. With what little awareness he could gather he managed to keep his thrashing away from the ritual circle. He couldn’t afford to ruin what he’d spent so long building.

There was another problem too. That alarm had been important. He didn’t have any time to waste. If he couldn’t get to the window everything would be ruined. Adrian pounded his fist into his knotted thigh muscles, but they didn’t respond. He’d have to make do without them. Gritting his teeth Adrian pushed through the pain and began to drag himself along the edge of his apartment. The progress was slow and as his muscles rippled violently beneath his skin he was tempted to give up. His prescription bottle was on the counter, the other way from where he was headed. He could turn around and grab them. They’d cut the attack’s length in half. But no. If he did that he'd miss his opportunity.

At last, Adrian made it. He leveraged himself into a sitting position. Using the window sill for support he peeked out through a narrow gap between his dirty curtains and the edge of the glass pane. He prayed he had made it in time.

Seconds ticked by and it was all Adrian could do to stay focused. Doubts began to gnaw at his mind. What if he had missed her? What if she was out of town? Anything could have gone wrong, he realized. A voice in the back of his head told Adrian that it was over. He could give up now, collapse, and ride out the spasm. He didn't need to do this. A wave of nausea boiled up in his stomach, but he kept his mind locked on the task at hand and his sight fixed on the door across the courtyard from his.

There she was. A wave of relief washed over him. His neighbor stepped out of her apartment, carrying a bag of trash to the dumpster, just as she did every night. Adrian eased his phone up to the crack he was looking out of, zoomed in, and took a picture.

With that done Adrian finally allowed himself to collapse onto the floor. He curled up, massaging his leg muscles. Exerting himself like that had made the attack even worse than usual. Tears welled in his eyes and little sounds of pain bubbled out of his throat. It would pass, he told himself over and over. It always ends.

The minutes passed slowly as Adrian lay in a pile beneath his window, but eventually, the attack began to subside. His legs were no longer as tense and the spasms came less frequently. Adrian blinked. His body felt warm as he was embraced by that strange euphoria that was the absence of pain.

As he regained the wherewithal to think he turned his attention back to his phone. He needed to make sure the picture had come out ok. He pulled it open. It was dark, but Faith’s image was still clear enough. She was older than him, probably in her early to mid-thirties, with bouncing brown curls and bright amber eyes. Beneath her modest blue dress, she had the soft figure and light skin of a woman who spent her days indoors, all of which he could make out on his phone screen. It would do.

Adrian gingerly picked himself up off the ground. He fought through his light-headedness, assessing the damage he’d done to his earlier work. He could see several places where he’d smudged the chalk lines, and he’d accidentally knocked over a candle, but all in all, he’d done a better job than could have been expected of leaving the ritual circle intact. It wouldn’t take long to fix.

A few minutes and an argument with his printer later Adrian had produced a grainy copy of his neighbor. He went around the circle, placing each of his offerings in the small chalk outlines that awaited them. Hair from Christine’s hairbrush, the last person to tell him a secret. Rhys’ shirt, an article of clothing from the last someone to give him a gift. The cop’s signature, torn away from his ticket, the last person to make him a promise. The vial of Opal’s blood, the last person he had slept with. The straw from Ivy’s drink, dried spit from the last person he had spoken with. And finally, his neighbor’s picture, the last person he had laid eyes on.

All six offerings were ready. Adrian checked the time. There were still a couple of hours to go until midnight. That was good. It left him plenty of time to triple-check his work.