All was quiet as I made my way up to my apartment building. Lights were out in all of the apartment units except for a few that had the eerie blue glow of TV lights flickering here and there against darkened windows. I made as little noise as I could coming through the security gate, making sure it closed softly. I went upstairs to my apartment and thought about Ryder living next door. I wondered if he was already asleep.
I realized as I went upstairs that I was coming home to an empty apartment for the first time in over a year. Cynthia was always home, and she always left a light on for me on nights I had to work so late. Tonight, the apartment was dark, which gave me a moment of pause. I should have left a light on. Oh, well. I’d have to remember that for next time.
I touched key to lock, but the door just pushed open a crack, as though I’d never closed it. I stilled.
The hair rose on the back of my neck. A chill chased down my spine. You know that feeling when something really bad either could happen or did happen, but you aren’t sure which yet?
I knew I hadn’t forgotten to close my apartment door, so I wasn’t imagining things. I was sure it was locked when I left.
Goose bumps rose on my arms.
I backed away slowly, trying not to make a sound, and turned to hurry away, almost stumbling over my own feet in my quiet panic to find help. I quickly snuck along the outer corridor, ducking under Cynthia’s windowsill. Continuing around the corner, I knocked gently on Ryder’s door, not wanting to alert my possible intruder that I was around.
No answer.
My heart pounded. I knocked again.
C’mon, please!
Still no response.
I broke into a sweat as I thought frantically about what to do. Should I call the police?
Footsteps echoed along the outer corridor, just out of sight. I spun around, looking in the direction I’d just come. My breath turned ragged with mounting anxiety. Someone was coming from my apartment. Where I’d just been standing. Had someone been behind me? Following me through the security gate?
Loud. Heavy. Deliberate footsteps had my heart jumping into my throat. I raised my keys, ready to stab someone with them.
“Who’s there?” Ryder’s cold, menacing voice made me think of the Dirty Harry movies, when Clint Eastwood was just about to shoot someone, and he’d taunt them in his raspy voice. Relief poured through me. I was so glad to hear his voice. “It’s me,” I squeaked.
Ryder loomed out of the shadows. He looked dark and dangerous, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he tried to see who was standing in the dark outside his door. Confirming who I was, he took a visibly deep breath, sticking something into the back waistband of his pants.
“Shit.” He tilted his head up to the sky, his eyes closed as though in silent prayer, then frowned at me and said, “Are you okay? It’s late. I wasn’t expecting you.”
My breath came out in a whoosh. I hadn’t even realized I was holding it in. “Ryder, I need help.”
“You’re shaking.” With growing concern, he reached out and rubbed the sides of my arms gently. “What’s wrong?”
In a low voice, I said, “I think someone’s in my apartment! I tried to unlock the door, but it was already open, and I tried to come get you, and I thought maybe I should call the police or something.” I said all this in a rush of relief that I wasn’t dealing with this alone.