Chapter 8
Laurie
The lock clicked into place with a quiet snick, but I stood staring at the door for a few seconds longer. Just in case.
I kept my arms folded, my jaw clenched. I’d double-checked all the windows already. The front door was bolted. Still, paranoia clawed at my spine, a jittery hum I couldn’t shake. They could find me.
River and her crew might not be part of the organization, but that didn’t mean I was safe. They hadn’t hurt me, sure. But that didn’t mean they didn’t have their own tricks up their sleeves. I checked the lock again. What if they tracked me down? What if—
Behind me, Arlon cleared his throat.
He’d shown up a few minutes earlier, waited patiently while I mustered up the courage to open the door, and now he was standing with the cautious kind of quiet that made my skin itch. I hauled my eyes away from the door and glanced back at him.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just… looked.
His gaze skimmed over the mess—the garbage and the dirty dishes and the clothes strewn about—the aftermath of a one-woman war. I braced for a comment. A sigh. Maybe the usual: “Jesus, Laurie.” But he stayed quiet, didn’t have to say a word. His face said it all.
I felt my stomach twist. Shame flared hot in my chest, and I turned away from him, retreating toward the cluttered coffee table like I could fix it just by standing near it. “It’s… not usually this bad. I’ve been busy.”
When I glanced back at him again, Arlon nodded slowly, clearly not believing a word of it.
“I didn’t come here to judge,” he said finally, voice soft but strained.
I dropped my gaze and kicked aside an empty can. “Didn’t say you were.”
Arlon sighed. “I just… wanted to see how you were doing.”
I scoffed quietly, sweeping a stack of takeout boxes aside so I could sit down on the single, sagging sofa. “You mean besides the chronic insomnia and the growing wall of red string?” I gestured vaguely to the not-so-metaphorical conspiracy board tacked above my bed. “Doing great.”
Arlon didn’t laugh. He rubbed the back of his neck and hovered on the spot, his eyes tracking through the space with building concern. “You know I worry.”
I didn’t answer. Because I did know. He worried too much. He always had.
Even when I was still living in his spare bedroom—when I couldn’t breathe through the night without jerking awake in a cold sweat. Before I stopped flinching every time he passed me by. He’d tiptoe around like I was made of glass. But I couldn’t heal shit while he was hovering.
“I’m fine,” I muttered, more defensive than I meant to be.
“You don’t have to be,” he said gently, settling down on the edge of the wobbly excuse for a coffee table. “You’ve been through hell, Laurie. You’ve lost… so much.”
Something sharp and cold twisted in my gut.
Images flashed behind my eyes: sterile white walls. Metal tables. Rubber gloves and the scent of bleach. My own scream echoing back at me from the tiled floors. And then… fire.
Fire, sirens, and a billowing wall of smoke—blinding and suffocating and all-consuming. It scratched down my throat, acrid and choking. It made my eyes sting. My ears rang with the sound of alarms, an unceasing shriek that merged with the frantic pounding of my heart.
And then Arlon showed up, emerging through the haze like some miracle I hadn’t believed in. I remembered the shape of him more than the details of his face. Bulky, gun in hand, the smoky light catching on the badge glinting at his belt.
He had called over his shoulder to someone but I didn’t hear what he said. I was crumpled over at that point, fading fast from smoke inhalation—still holding that small bundle to my chest.
Arlon did it. Arlon got me out.
But he was just seconds too late to save what truly mattered to me.
I blinked, and pressed my fists to my eyes, unwilling to relive the nightmare on a quiet Sunday morning. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Arlon nodded and didn’t push. Silence stretched between us for a long while, then he said, “You eating okay?”
I rolled my eyes. “Arlon.”
“I’m serious.”
I gestured to the fridge. “Half a soda and a wilting bag of lettuce. Living the dream.”
He sighed again, spearing a hand through his sandy hair. “I’ll stop by tomorrow with groceries.”
“I didn’t ask you to—”
“I know.”
I didn’t argue further, there wasn’t any point. He would do it anyway.
And so I sat there, with my hands in my lap, smiling through his polite interrogations and telling him what he wanted to hear.
That I was doing better, that the nightmares had ceased, that my apartment might be a mess, but my head was clearer these days.
Whatever would get him off my back and out of my door before I unraveled in front of him.
Eventually, when we’d wrung every last drop out of our stilted conversation, Arlon decided it was time to go. I breathed a small sigh of relief and followed him to the front door.
He hesitated there, watching me with the same mix of hope and helplessness that had shadowed him since the day he pried me out of that place. “You’ll call if you need anything?”
I nodded, even though I probably would not. “Yeah.”
Arlon lingered a second longer, eyes scanning the room again like there had to be something he could fix in those last few seconds. He found nothing.
With a resigned nod he slipped out, shutting the door behind him. I waited until I heard his car engine fade before flipping the deadbolt. Twice. Then I jiggled the handle a few times to be absolutely sure.
When at last I turned around, the apartment stretched before me in all its messy, suffocating glory.
Takeout containers collapsed on the coffee table, random scraps scattered across the floor, clothes wadded in the corner.
My kingdom. I set my jaw, determined to at least make it look like I was trying to get my life together.
Grabbing a trash bag from under the sink, I started pitching containers inside without really looking. Old Chinese, stale pizza, something that might have once been Thai food. The smell alone made me want to gag.
But I only got a few boxes deep before my arms started trembling, and not from the physical strain. Why bother? The thought snuck in, hollow and insidious. My chest felt tight, like my heart had already decided it was done working for the day. Why even bother?
My body felt suddenly heavy, weighed down by an invisible force. With an exhale that turned into a shaky, defeated sigh, I gave up.
Letting the trash bag drop to the floor, I trudged to the sofa and sank down, pressing my palms against my forehead, digging fingers through my hair. A few heartbeats passed, and I stared at the wall, fighting the old, familiar wave of fatigue.
Then my phone buzzed from somewhere between the couch cushions. Sucking in a breath, I snaked my hand around until I managed to fish it out. Unknown caller. My heart gave a nervous flutter.
I put the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
A hesitant pause. Then: “Laurie? Hi. It’s… River.”
My grip on the phone tightened. “River?” I echoed, as though I didn’t recall precisely who she was—or what she was. “How’d you get this number?”
“You called me first, remember?” she said, an edge of amusement beneath her caution. “When you found my bag?”
“Right.” Dumb question. Of course she’d saved my number. But why the hell was she calling me?
A beat of awkward silence. She cleared her throat. “I was wondering if you’d be willing to meet up somewhere, uh, open? Public? We could talk. About… everything.”
“You want to… talk,” I repeated, buying time while I hauled my racing thoughts in order. “Talk about what?”
“About what you said at the diner. About the organization.” She sounded surprisingly genuine. “Look, I get that you don’t trust me, but I think we can help each other—if you’re open to it.”
I swallowed. The last time I got near River I’d ended up in her arms, barely able to breathe. Not exactly an experience I wanted to repeat. I had escaped out that window for a reason. Because I didn’t trust her. Because it had to be a trick.
Still, maybe it would be smart to have a vampire on my side. Even if she might not be fully trustworthy, it was a risk I could weigh.
I blew out a shaky breath, pressing my nails into my palm. The safest option would be to say no. To block her number, and maybe lay low for a while so she couldn’t find me. But I had questions. Questions that could only be answered by someone who knew the supernatural world better than I did.
“Fine.” I spoke curtly, working the tremor out of my tone. “But somewhere public.” Somewhere with witnesses, should anything go wrong.
Before she could say more I rattled off a place—a park nearby, big and open, plenty of people milling around constantly. If this was a trick or a trap of some kind, she’d have a hard time covering it up there.
“Sounds good.” River’s voice crackled through the line and I pictured her smiling. I remembered the slight dimples in her cheeks—which was an odd thing to recall. “Meet you there in about an hour?”
“...Sure. See you then.” I hung up before she could speak again and dropped my phone in my lap.
This was a bad idea.
It was risky. Very risky. But then again, so was everything else in my life.
Glancing around the disaster of my living room, I decided it could wait. Again. The only thing that mattered was getting closer to the organization, maybe gleaning some real leads from River.
Or she’d confirm my worst fears.
That no matter where I turned, there was no one left to trust.