57. Sage #2
My apartment was now compromised. My deadbolts and sliding glass doors meant nothing to whoever was doing this, obviously. I needed security cameras. I needed a 24-hour concierge, keycard-restricted elevators, and solid, heavy reinforced doors.
I jammed the key into the ignition with shaking, uncoordinated hands, the engine sputtering to life. I threw the car into reverse, my tires loudly screeching against the damp asphalt as I backed out of the parking space.
I wasn’t going home. I was going to drive straight to the biggest, most heavily secured hotel downtown, check in, and lock myself inside for the next few days until my head cleared and I could figure out what to do next.
The satisfying clunk of the hotel room’s brass deadbolt sliding into place was the best sound I had heard all week. I engaged the chain lock, flipped the secondary latch, and even shoved a heavy armchair in front of the door for good measure.
For the first time in days, the suffocating, crushing weight on my chest had finally lifted.
I was sitting cross-legged in the middle of a massive, pristine king-sized bed, wearing a plush white hotel robe.
The large flat-screen TV was quietly playing a classic movie, casting a warm, flickering light that danced across the room.
The silence was deafening until a sharp knock at the door made me jump, my heart near beating out of my chest from the fright.
“Room service,” a muffled voice called out from the hallway.
The tension melted as quickly as it had arrived. I moved to the door and peered through the peephole, but the hallway was void of life. All that remained was the silver tray of food sitting on the carpeted floor directly in front of my door, its polished dome reflecting the dim hallway light.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realised I was holding, convinced that the staff had simply dropped it and moved on to the next room. I didn’t see a reason to be afraid.
I locked the door back up, pushed the chair into place, and carried the tray to the bed, picking my phone back up from the mattress.
“Everything okay?” Julian’s calming voice vibrated through the speaker, instantly wrapping around me like a warm, protective blanket.
“Perfect,” I sighed happily, picking up a fry. “Room service is here. The door is barricaded. I am officially not moving for the rest of the night.”
I heard a heavy exhale on the other end of the line. He sounded exhausted, and the faint, chaotic background noise of the base had returned.
“I still don’t like this, Sage,” he grumbled, the dark, territorial edge in his voice unapologetic.
“Two days is not enough time. The hotel is secure for tonight, but you cannot go back to that apartment on Tuesday. I want you to go to my house. I have a private estate outside the city. It has a gated perimeter, security systems, and it’s empty. You can stay there until I get home.”
I chewed my fry thoughtfully, staring at the television screen. The offer was incredibly tempting. A fortress belonging to a lethal, fiercely protective man? It sounded like heaven.
“Julian, I can’t,” I said softly, tracing the edge of the silver tray.
“I have my advanced seminars this week. My final ceramics glaze has to go into the kiln tomorrow, and I have that massive art history paper due. If I drop off the face of the earth and hide in a fortress, I’m going to fail my semester. ”
“Your safety is more important than a grade,” he countered instantly, his tone leaving no room for debate.
“I know,” I sighed, pulling my knees up to my chest. “But… Julian, I’m really starting to think I’m just losing my mind. Or letting my stress dictate my reality.”
“Sage, do not do this. Stop gaslighting yourself.”
“Think about it rationally,” I argued, the peace of the hotel room making the events of the last few days feel like a blurry, dramatic fever dream.
“The black SUV? I live in a major city. Thousands of people drive black SUVs. The power outage? There was a massive thunderstorm. And the stuff in my car…”
I paused, swallowing hard as my mind frantically tried to build a logical bridge over the terrifying truth.
“I was a mess this morning,” I continued, my voice dropping to a quiet, embarrassed whisper.
“I overslept. I was rushing. I probably just shoved that lace set into my tote bag by accident when I was trying to find my sketchbook, and it fell out onto the seat. I’m just so sleep deprived and stressed out that my brain connected a bunch of random, coincidental dots and created a stalker out of thin air. ”
Julian went dead silent.
“I’m going to sleep for twelve hours straight in this giant bed, go to my classes tomorrow, and by the time my two days here are up, I’ll be back to normal. And you’ll be closer to coming home.”
“Lock the deadbolt Sage, please. Don’t open it for anyone.”
“I won’t,” I smiled, reassuring him as I leaned back against the fluffy pillows.
We stayed on the phone for a little longer, the steady rumble of Julian’s voice acting as an anchor while I ate and watched the movie.
The terrifying phantom of the stalker began to fade eventually, replaced by the warm, domestic hum of our conversation.
I felt untouchable up here on the twelfth floor, barricaded behind steel and glass.
Eventually, the exhaustion won. My eyelids grew heavy, the movie blurring into a kaleidoscope of light and shadow until I finally slipped off into a deep, heavy sleep, the phone still warm against my pillow.