Chapter 43 Jordan
Jordan
Now
I dream about shadowy figures hiding behind locked doors and endless dark and gloomy rooms with peeling, mottled wallpaper, rotten floorboards, and plaster flaking off the ceiling like snow.
When I wake up, the nightmare refuses to dissipate, and for a second, the world of sleep overlaps the landscape of reality.
I’m convinced the walls are stained with mold and that dark shadows are pressing in around me until the illusion evaporates to reveal my bright and airy bedroom, and a rapid beeping that I soon realize is my phone alarm.
I reach out and swat at the screen to silence the alarm.
Sam stirs and rolls over, even as he rubs the sleep from his eyes. “Good morning, sleepyhead,” he says with a grin.
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty. You should remember that, since you set the alarm.”
My head hurts, a lingering gift courtesy of the previous evening. I might not remember setting the alarm, but I do remember that we’re meeting Dawn and Jamie for brunch. I’m not ready to move yet, though. I nudge Sam. “You can shower first.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Little bit.” I watch him climb from the bed and head for the en suite.
A moment later I hear the sound of running water.
I close my eyes and sink back down under the covers and start to drift back off.
Until I hear something else that jolts me back awake.
A wailing that cuts through the sound of the shower—the unmistakable cry of a baby.
I throw the covers back, jump out of bed, and race into the bathroom.
“Do you hear that?” I say, pulling the glass shower door open.
“Hear what?” Sam rinses shampoo from his hair.
“The baby. There’s a baby crying somewhere in the building.”
“So?”
“I’ve heard it before, but when I asked Kalina, she said there were no children living at the Glendale.”
Sam turns the shower off and listens. “I don’t hear anything.”
Neither do I anymore. “There was a baby crying just now. I heard it.”
“Jordan.” Sam gives me a look. The worried look.
I know immediately where he’s going with this. “This has nothing to do with what happened to me. I’m better now.”
He says nothing in response. Just reaches for a towel.
The tense silence is as good as words. “I’m better,” I say again, more forcefully this time.
Sam rubs his hair. “Are you? Because after what happened with the basement . . . you claimed a toy was moving on its own.”
I glare at him, the man I love, drying himself in the stall because I’m blocking the shower door. Then I spin around and stomp back into the bedroom.
The next hour is uncomfortable. I wait for Sam to leave the en suite before pushing past him and turning the shower back on. By the time I’m done, he’s dressed and waiting in the living room, sitting on the sofa and reading on his phone.
“Sorry about just now,” he says, looking up. “I’m worried about you, that’s all.”
“Sure.” I want to reiterate that there is a baby, but it’s not worth getting into it with him again right now, when we have to meet Dawn and Jamie. “You ready to go?”
“Yep.” He jumps up.
Ten minutes later, we’re in the lobby and heading for the door. We’re barely halfway there when a familiar voice rings out through the lobby.
“Jordan, my dear. I’ve been meaning to stop by and see you.
” I turn to see Catherine hurrying toward us from the direction of the main staircase.
“There’s a meeting of the Glendale’s executive board on Thursday afternoon, and I’m hoping that you can come along.
We’re all so excited to hear your ideas for the coffee shop. ”
“Oh. Sure. I can be there.”
“Fantastic. One p.m. in the library?”
I nod. “Sounds good.”
“Wonderful.” She starts past us in the direction of the mailboxes.
I see an opportunity. “Catherine, can I ask you something?”
“Of course.” She turns back toward us.
“Does anyone in the building have a young child?”
“Jordan—” Sam rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious. I keep hearing a baby crying, but Kalina said there aren’t any children living at the Glendale.”
“And she would be right,” Catherine replies. “I can’t remember the last time anyone with a baby lived here, but it was before the renovation.”
“Oh.” I can feel Sam’s eyes heavy on me like a pair of lead weights, and I know what he’s thinking.
I don’t give him time to voice his concerns.
When Catherine continues on her way, I do the same and head for the door, changing the subject and telling him that we’ll be late if we don’t get a move on.
But it’s a temporary reprieve, because I know that sooner or later, Sam is going to say something. At least it won’t be this morning.