A soft knock jerked me out of my thoughts. I strained to listen, unsure whether it had been my imagination, when the key turned in the lock. A well of release rose inside me.
Sylvie was back.
It was about time.
I couldn’t wait to pour out my heart and soul, and bitch about Jett. If anyone could help me—if only by listening and being overly annoying—it was Sylvie. She was the only one who knew how to distract me.
The doorknob jiggled before there was another frustrated thud, followed by a knock.
“I’m coming!” I shouted, figuring the door was stuck again. It happened often, particularly when Sylvie was so drunk that it took her a while to turn the key at just the right angle. Not her fault though. We had an old lock; the kind that had to be jiggled a few times. Sometimes, when it was really stuck, we had to kick the door hard, until the bolt released. We had been meaning to get it fixed for ages, but money was always tight and Sylvie too busy with more pressing issues than calling a locksmith.
As I hurried down the hall, I already felt better in the knowledge that I’d soon be able to share my misery with someone who cared.
“Just leave it. I got it,” I said and pulled the door open.
No one there.
My breath caught in my throat, and my smile froze in place. As my glance swept over the empty hall, a sense of dread traveled down my spine. There were only two other doors in the corridor, and both were closed, but I knew someone had been there, because I was sure I had heard a key turning in the lock. The fact that the lights were switched on was proof that I hadn’t just imagined it.
“Sylvie?” I asked quietly as I stepped into the narrow hall. Had she forgotten something in her car and headed back downstairs to get it?
Frowning, I bent over the railing and scanned the illuminated levels below, but there was no sign of her.
No sign of anyone.
“Sylvie?” I whispered again, unable to stop the trembling in my voice even though I knew it had to be her.
Why wouldn’t she reply when I called her name? My mind began to make up logical explanations. Maybe she was entrenched in her thoughts. Maybe she was making out with her date that instant, completely filled with lust and oblivious to everything around her. Still, why would she head back downstairs and not bring him up to the apartment like she had done with previous dates?
What if...?
No. I pressed my hands against my chest in fear and scanned the staircase again, suddenly aware of the faint sound of footsteps, then breathing. My head snapped in that direction. Without a doubt, the sounds carried up from somewhere below, near the stairs on the first floor.
My heart pounded hard against my ribs as the scene from earlier that day flashed through my mind: the strange movement, accompanied by the unsettling feeling of being watched. What if someone had followed me inside the building? But how was that possible, unless they had a key? Maybe I was being paranoid or, worse yet, developing a severe case of schizophrenia that was making me imagine things.
It’d certainly make sense.
Really?
God. Self-denial was bliss.
Then I heard it again—breathing and more shuffling. Listening intently, I held my breath. There was no mistaking he fact that someone was there that very instant, in the corridor below, listening to me, maybe even watching me, knowing I was scared out of my mind. A voice inside my brain urged me to move, but my legs wouldn’t budge from the spot as my eyes scanned frantically for any signs, waiting for the predator to show himself.
Suddenly, the lights switched off, and everything went dark. I remained rooted to the spot, a pang of panic shooting through my body, crippling me. I turned my head sharply toward the weak light coming from the kitchen of our apartment. My heart pounded harder as my mind began to conjure up images of someone creeping up the stairs, ready to kill me. What if it was Jett’s crazy brother? Out of all the people who had ever meant to hurt me, he was the most obvious choice, given the circumstances.
Getting inside and locking up was the only coherent thought I could form. As fast as my legs could carry me, I sprinted back to our apartment and slammed the door. My legs were trembling with so much force that I had to lean against the wall to stop them from giving out on me. My breathing was labored and as loud as a whistling train, and my mind kept obsessing over the identity of the person outside.
Could it have been Jett?
It had to be. I wouldn’t have been surprised. He had always been sort of dominant, never taking “no” for an answer. The last time I had failed to answer his calls or texts, he tracked me down. I settled on him as the most obvious explanation; any other possibility would scare me too much.
Taking another sip, I leaned back against the cushions and pressed the cold glass of water against my throbbing temple. My eyelids felt heavily and I let them fall, the disturbing images of Jett with another woman drifting at the back of my mind and cruelly dancing there as I fell asleep.