I’m in bed. It’s about 11:00 PM. Suddenly, I hear someone banging on my front door, fist banging. Loudly. I get out of bed and walk to my door to look out of the peep hole. There’s a guy standing there, banging on my door and yelling at me to open up. I don’t say anything. I just stand there quietly, watching him. He continues to yell, then gives up and walks to the hallway door and goes outside. I text Kevin. “There’s a man that was banging on my door and yelling at me…oh crap, he’s back again.”

As I stand there at the door watching him hit it, Kevin calls me. He is worried out of his mind, of course, because he’s my boyfriend and because he always worries about me. I hear my neighbor open her door and ask the man who he’s yelling for. He says, “I’m waiting for her to open it up. I’m waiting for Emily Miller.” That, obviously, sends me into a panic. Who is this guy who knows my name?

I call 911. The operator is surprisingly monotonous. I give him my information and the description of the guy at my door. Before the police arrive, the man has gone back outside. The police look around my apartment and say they will patrol the area throughout the night.

I hear nothing else. No banging, no sirens. I go to sleep.

In Iowa, Kevin doesn’t get a wink of sleep.