Chapter 9
Ihear a door close.
Jolting awake, I’m instantly on alert. My room is dark, the air cool, yet sweat beads on my skin. My heart pounds so hard it’s all I can hear.
I sit up in bed, and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end, my breathing becoming sporadic. Anxiety coils in my stomach as I strain my ears, listening for any noise in my apartment.
The thump-thump-thump of my heart is deafening, blocking out any other noise around me. I take a few deep breaths and start my finger taps, urgently trying to get my body under control so I can focus. If someone is in here with me, I don’t have time to panic. I need to be able to think, to react.
I center myself quickly and sweep my eyes around my room. Everything is as I left it. Only a dim light shines in from the street.
I focus on listening again, and this time I’m able to actually hear something other than my own heart. There’s a car driving by outside, and the distant barking of a dog somewhere in our building. I tune that out, focusing my attention on my immediate surroundings.
I don’t hear anything in my apartment. It’s as silent as it was when I went to sleep. Laying back down, I resume my counting and doing my finger taps, lulling myself back into a place of calm.
Maybe I was dreaming. With everything that’s been on my mind lately, it seems I’m restless, even in sleep. First, dreaming about Trevor, and now this. It feels like the foundation of my newly found life has been shaken, crumbling in the corners while I scramble, trying to figure out how to patch it together before everything falls down around me yet again.
Creeeeak.
I freeze, my thumb and ring finger pressed together mid count. I’d know that sound anywhere. The creaky floorboard in my kitchen.
Tracy had scared the shit out of me one night when she crashed on my couch after a few too many glasses of wine. Hearing the creak, I had run out to the living room, baseball bat in hand, thinking someone was breaking in, but it was just Tracy, pantless in my kitchen, getting a glass of water.
The blood rushes in my ears and my heart accelerates again at the realization that someone is in my kitchen. My hands start to sweat as I listen, this time hearing faint footsteps in the hallway outside my room.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!
Panic sets in. I throw myself off my bed as quietly as I can while fighting down the terror rising in me. Reaching under my bed, I grab my baseball bat and creep toward the open bedroom door, hiding behind it.
My hands shake, and my sweaty palms make it hard to grip the bat. What the hell am I even supposed to do? Beat whoever is in here to a pulp?
Great thinking, Riley. Bringing a bat to what is probably going to be a gunfight.
I should have grabbed my phone and called the police. Not that they’ll be any help when someone is already in the apartment with me.
Shit, shit, shit!
My breaths come hard and fast.
I contemplate going back over to the nightstand to grab my phone when the footsteps approach my doorway. I look through the crack between the door and the frame, peering out into the small sliver of hallway it allows me to see.
It’s dark. I can’t see anyone out there, but I can sense that they’re close. Their presence looms like a dark cloud in my midst.
I hold the bat up over my shoulder, readying it to swing as soon as the person steps into my room.
The footsteps start again, this time growing fainter as they make their way back down the hallway. A moment later, I hear a quiet latching sound, like the front door being softly shut.
I don’t move. Fear roots me to my spot, and I listen for several more minutes, waiting for the footsteps to start again.
They never do.
Lowering the bat, I let out a long breath. Was I imaging the sounds or was someone really in my apartment? I tiptoe out from behind the door and grab my phone, unlocking it and typing 9-1-1 into the dial pad. Then, finger poised above the call button and baseball bat in tow, I make my way to my doorway again and peek around the frame, examining the hallway for any evidence of an intruder.
It’s empty.
My heart pounds unbearably fast in my chest, to the point that I feel my entire body vibrating. Tentatively, I step out into the hallway and check the bathroom. It’s also empty. Taking as light of steps as possible, I make my way down the hall to the living room.
It’s so quiet, my breathing and heartbeat sound unnaturally loud, filling the silence in my apartment with their fast rhythms.
When I get to the end of the hallway, I make a quick scan of the space in front of me. The kitchen and living room are empty, and a quick look at the remaining closets finds everything appears to be normal. I check both doors next, and they’re each locked. But when I turn away from the patio door, I notice something unusual.
There, wedged behind the door, is a piece of wood, perfectly snug between the door and the frame.
What the hell?
I definitely didn’t put that there, and it wasn’t there the last time I used this door. So how did it get there?
Maybe my landlord came by while I was at work and put it there? Seems odd, considering I’m moving out soon and he could wait until I was gone. Besides, he usually gives me notice before entering my apartment. Could that have been him who was here just now?
I glance down at my phone, finger still hovering over the dial pad. I close out of it, and see it’s a little after midnight.
Don’t be stupid, Riley. Your landlord isn’t sneaking into your apartment in the middle of the night.
So who was just here and when did that piece of wood get put there?
My mind must be playing tricks on me. It’s the only logical conclusion. My doors are locked. No one could have gotten in. And besides, who breaks into a place and then locks the doors again on their way out? It’s not like I even have anything valuable for them to take.
Clearly my landlord must have come by while I was gone and put that wooden brace there. He probably just didn’t notify me, since he knows I’m leaving soon.
Still, it doesn’t ease the anxiety coursing through me.
Heading back to my bedroom, I close the door once inside, then shove my dresser in front of it. At least this way, if someone actually was in my apartment and decides to come back, they aren”t getting into this room without a struggle.
Crawling back into bed, I hold my phone to my chest as I try to go back to sleep, but I”m still on edge.
It’s only once the sun starts peeking around my blinds that I finally drift off.