“I’m going over there,” I tell her, ignoring him and forcing her to make a choice. She can come with me or stay here and finish getting laid.
“I think we’re overreacting.” She half laughs, but there’s no humor in it. She’s punishing me for not opening up to her about my mom. Walking over to the front door, I slip on some boots and grab a jacket. “Liz, don’t go over there in the dark. Wait until morning.”
“What’s going on?” the guy asks.
“Just go back to my room and warm yourself up, okay?” Charlotte turns away from him and walks over to me. Grabbing my jacket from my hands, she holds it hostage. “Please?” she pleads.
“I’m going,” I state stubbornly.
Her eyes burn into mine, but I hold steady. “For fuck’s sake. I can’t let you go alone.” She throws my jacket around her shoulders, cussing me out the whole way down the stairs.
The air is frigid when we push out onto the street. “Hold the door,” I call out, catching someone entering the building next to ours.
Charlotte’s appearance earns her a raised brow as we ascend the stairs with the guy who held the door. “Can I help you?” she asks with more attitude than necessary. He continues to stare at her, half naked, coat gaping open, giving him a peep show. He doesn’t reply and stops on the floor before the one we need.
“Do you even know what number it will be?” Charlotte moans. We make it to the floor that is an exact replica of our building. I gather my bearings, imagining our own layout and window. “It’s that one.” I point.
“Fine,” she snaps, huddling the coat further around herself. She stands a few paces back from me at the door like she’s getting ready to bolt. I rap my knuckles on the door and wait. Nothing. “Come on. Let’s go,” Charlotte whisper-yells, bouncing from foot to foot. I need to know she’s okay—that this is just a coincidence. Reaching for the handle, I twist, then freeze when it gives beneath my palm and the door opens. “Oh my god, that’s breaking and entering.”
Charlotte groans, grabbing my arm. Pulling from her hold, I go back to the door. “It’s not breaking, the door was open.”
“Please, let’s just go back home and call the police,” she begs.
“I’m going inside. Wait there if you want to.”
“Lizzy,” she calls after me in a hushed shout.
The apartment is dark. The smell of rotten fruit clings to the air like her trashcan needs to be emptied. “Hello?” I call out. A ruffling noise sounds from deeper inside the apartment, causing me to turn sharply. Charlotte hasn’t followed me inside, so it’s not her. Oh god, what if our neighbor was robbed and is tied up in there? Grabbing a knife from the block on her counter, I make my way toward the sound. “Hello?” I call out again. My heart pounds in my ears. Thoughts of what I may find ravage my mind.
Blood. Blood. Blood.
I grip the door handle to one of the bedrooms. My palm is clammy, my knees shaking. “One, two, three,” I breathe before pushing it open, the knife stretched in front of me. It’s just a room—a bed in the center, a wardrobe against the back wall—no tied up neighbor, no villain waiting to jump out. I release a breath, almost giggling to myself over my paranoia. What the hell am I doing? This is crazy. I’m crazy.
I turn on my heel to leave when the rustling sounds again, loud from inside the room. My arm shakes as I thrust the knife out in front of me. What the hell? I pull out my cellphone and turn on the flashlight, igniting every corner. I step back inside and go to the wardrobe. Holding my breath, I whip the door open and step back. A little squeak catches in my throat as a couple hanging dresses move with the gust.
Crap.
It’s empty. I look to the bed and bite my lip, lowering myself to see beneath. My pulse rushes in my veins, making my heart hammer. Lifting the covers hanging over the edge, I flash the light under, wondering what it must have been like for the officer who had to coax me out from under a bed years ago. Two eyes peer back at me, making me squeal and drop the phone. It takes my brain a second to catch up with my eyes. The cat meows, hitting his paw against a crumpled water bottle, making a crunching sound. Exhaling a relieved breath, I reach out. “Come here…” It doesn’t move, so I scoot underneath the bed to grab him. It scratches me, hissing, and darts away. Little shit. “I’m trying to help you,” I groan, studying the stinging split skin. I freeze when I hear footfalls coming down the hall toward the room. “It’s just Charlotte,” I rationalize, but I can’t move.