perceptive

No, that's a pretty far-fetched story.  Maybe he's a victim of paranoia rather than actual threats.  He's a paranoid schizophrenic and he imagines people who don't exist are out to get him.  He feels himself surrounded by aliens, or agents of some secret organization, and keeps himself locked up tight, with the separate entrance, so they can't get into his head.  They're only active during the day, that's why he stays awake all night, so he can get his thinking done without any worries that they'll catch on to his thoughts, like tapping into a phone line or hacking into a transmission.  He used to work for some big prestigious business, like a bank, or maybe an advertising agency or law firm.  Maybe even a college.  Nah, that's just too typical, the crazy college professor.  The genius who's just over the line of sanity.  Better to make him a "regular" guy, not even in management.

So he's working like he should, processing loan applications let's say, and one day, all of a sudden, he looks up and sees three guys in suits in the middle of the lobby, three Men In Black, straight out of the script.  They're just twenty feet away from his desk and looking right at him, well probably, 'cause you can't tell what they're looking at behind those dark glasses.  Nobody is reacting to them, like nobody sees them, but the people in close proximity do look a little nervous.  Like they have the feeling something is off, but they can't quite identify what it is.  Well, he sits there for a couple of minutes, just staring at them, ignoring a customer on the other side of his desk.  And then he panics.  He doesn't just excuse himself and try to sneak out of the building while the customer thinks he's going to the bathroom, no, he jumps straight out of his chair, pointing at the MIBs and screaming, "You'll never take me alive!" and then he hurls a potted plant towards them.  Immediately, he runs out of the bank, hoping he's hit one of them or that at least the confusion and hysteria of the other bank customers would slow them down.  Then he races home, locks his doors, and starts pulling papers out of drawers.  He fills the bathtub with them and strikes a match.  When the papers are burning brightly, he throws some clothing into a gym bag and leaves his house, never to return.  He rents the attic and sits there all night, every night, telling himself they won't be able to track his thoughts if he only thinks when the sun is down.  The woman is his therapist, or case worker, or something.  Maybe he doesn't talk to her because she comes in the daytime.  Maybe he thinks she's an agent of THEIRS.  Or maybe they have really good conversations because she's convinced him she can block their radar.  His family has been searching for him, but he hid his trail so well, remarkably, that they haven't had any luck.  Or maybe they never looked.  Maybe they disowned him for causing such a scene at work and now he's all alone in the world, with his case worker.