Chapter 74
I guess the old adage is true. Be careful what you wish for. Because this place almost seemed too good to be true when we first heard about it, and now I realize that it was.
If only I could turn back the clock and walk away from this place before we ever moved in.
Or better yet, dissuade our real estate agent, Jinny, from ever submitting that application for us.
But I can’t, so I’m left facing yet another dark and lonely night trapped in these four walls along with the ghosts of the past. Except that isn’t true.
I don’t have to spend another moment in this place if I don’t want to .
. . And I really don’t want to. I can pack a bag, throw some clothes into a suitcase, and be out of here within the hour.
Which is exactly what I plan on doing. But before I can wrench my eyes away from that dreadful stain, my phone chirps.
At first, I assume it must be Addison. That she thought of something else about what happened to her and Mark in this apartment. But it isn’t Addison. It’s a text from a number that I don’t recognize.
I stare at the message, and for a moment it makes no sense because I’m still thinking about that bloodstain under the rug and packing a bag.
Getting out of here. Then, after I read it a second time, the words snap into place.
I’ve been desperate to peek inside that apartment for weeks.
And now someone wants me to see it, and they want me to see it tonight.
But who sent it? Almost out of instinct, I reply to the text.
Who is this?
Three pulsing dots appear under my message, as if someone is typing a reply.
I wait.
The dots vanish, but no response comes through.
This time I call the number.
It doesn’t even ring before a generic voicemail message tells me that the person I’m calling isn’t available right now. Please leave a message.
I almost leave a message, but something stops me. I end the call instead. Because the sender obviously has no intention of engaging further, and I can’t help feeling that it would not be in my best interest to draw attention to myself like that. Call it a gut feeling. Intuition.
But that doesn’t stop me from being curious. Angelo finished work at eleven and won’t be back again until tomorrow morning. That leaves plenty of time to sneak down into his office, access the safe, and take the keys. Then I can finally find out what secrets lie behind its door.
My curiosity has gotten the better of me.
All thoughts of packing a bag and fleeing are forgotten.
If this were a horror movie, I’d be screaming at the clueless heroine on the screen right about now, telling her not to follow the instructions of some anonymous text.
But this isn’t a horror movie, and I’ve already made up my mind.
I need to know what other secrets the Glendale is hiding.
I’m going to do this.