Stephie,

Good morning! I am writing this letter to let you know that I have found your ID on the bus. It seems that you're in a hurry. Let me know when you're available so I can give it back to you. Thank you!

N. Raymonds

Karen creased her forehead when she received a letter from her email. What's more suspicious is the name. She is not Stephie, but Karen. She shrugged her shoulders, not minding it.

“Must be a scammer,” she said nonchalantly.

She continued cooking. But later on, she received another email—it included a picture of an ID. She froze in her tracks, her face turning pale. She recognized the face on the ID. It was her best friend.

How did the sender know her?

She then received another message:

Stephie,

Good morning! I am in front of your house. I couldn’t wait long since I have to go to London. I’ll be waiting outside.

—N. Raymonds

She immediately looked at the door and ran toward it. She peeked through the peephole to check if there was a man outside. Her breathing grew ragged. She didn’t know what to do. She couldn’t even hear her own voice over the thunderous beat of her heart.

How could he know her? The question echoed in her mind.

It was impossible. Stephie’s belongings were supposed to be out of reach. Her mother had hidden them where no one could find them. Besides, Stephie…

Another message arrived:

Stephie,

When are you going to open the door? I saw you peeking. Take the ID. I'm in a hurry.

—N. Raymonds

She couldn’t take it anymore. She replied:

N. Raymonds,

I am not Stephie.

—Karen

She took another peek—only to be shocked. The gate was open, slightly ajar, as if someone had just gone through. Her eyes widened. No one had touched it.

Fear gripped her. She stepped away from the door. Then came a knock that made her knees go numb.

“Stephie, I’m here to give your ID back,” a man’s voice echoed.

“I AM NOT STEPHIE! PLEASE, GO AWAY!” she shouted at the top of her lungs.

“You’re Stephie. I can’t be wrong. This is the address from the ID,” the man replied.

“GO AWAY! Stephie is dead! GO AWAY!” she cried.

“You killed Stephie, remember? You buried her alive. You stole her identity. Why do you keep denying that you're not Stephie? Don’t be like that.” He laughed devilishly.

And then she realized—it was karma. She had always wanted to be like Stephie, her best friend. That desire led her to kill her.

The door creaked open.

Everything went blank.