"I know who it is!" John called back from inside as locks clicking, sliding, snapping into place sounded on the other side of the door. A moment later the door swung open and John, who was wearing a pair of comfortably fitting jeans, looked over at Charles. "I saw you getting out of the cab. I've been watching that car. You'll see, it's there." Even if John could already hear him saying Just because a car is sitting there doesn't mean that someone is following you, but that didn't matter to the the god, because he was absolutely certain of this fact. Some civilian was stalking him and it was unnerving.
He stepped out of the way to let Charles into the rather pleasantly sized apartment. It was a one-bedroom with a large, open living room. One wall had about six television and computer screens mounted on it above a desk, watching the hall, the parking garage, the front of the apartment complex, the front of the radio station where he did his show and the interior of the station where his studio was. The final computer screen was simply his personal computer, which right now showed a black screen with a white eye on it as the screensaver. The whole place was meticulously spotless, the vague smell of bleach and cleaning solution hanging in the air. There wasn't a speck of dirt, dust or a stray fingerprint in the whole place.
John closed and locked the door behind them. "Have a seat," he said, "Oh- not on the left end of the couch, I need to sit there, it's the only place aside from my desk where I can watch all the screens and avoid both the glare from the overhead lights and the streetlights out the window." The latter of which couldn't be seen at the moment due to the drawn heavy black curtains. He rushed around for a moment, gathering up and tucking away notes into a black file cabinet (in the third drawer under the letter R) and then turned back to Charles to stare at him a bit awkwardly. "No one followed you, did they?"