Chapter 11
JACE
Letting out a soft sigh, I roll onto my other side and shuffle back on the mattress until I can feel the steady rise and fall of Charlie’s chest. I smile, forcing my eyes to stay closed when he immediately wraps an arm around my body, pulling me closer in his sleep.
Since we started sleeping in the same bed, I’ve found the feel of his chest moving as he breaths, sleeping soundly, can be enough to lull me into my own sleep, but it seems that’s not going to happen this morning. No matter how hard I try, my mind just won’t stop.
I have no idea what time it is, or how long I’ve been lying here trying to follow Charlie into sleep thanks to the black out curtains, but with every passing minute, my mind seems to just get louder and louder, and a rising energy starts to build until it’s an incessant itch under my skin.
Sighing, I extract myself from Charlie’s arm and climb out of bed, giving up the pretence of trying to sleep despite how exhausted I am. Once I’m on my feet, I just stand there a moment looking down at Charlie where he continues to sleep unencumbered.
It's actually one of the things I envy most about him; his uncanny ability to fall asleep within seconds and to sleep like the dead. Seriously, he’s the type of person who sets nine alarms in the morning and will sleep through every single one of them until I literally kick him out of the bed.
His hand reaches out and a small furrow forms between his brows. For a second, I consider crawling back under the covers and wrapping myself around him, but I know it will be a fruitless effort. Sleeping is not in the cards for me.
Giving up, I head out of the room aiming for the kitchen, only to stop in the entry way, my eyes glued to the table we were sitting at earlier. My skin starts to crawl as my mind gets even louder, one particular thought repeating over and over in my head.
Biting down on my thumbnail, my eyes scan over every inch of the room, from the clock on the microwave reading the time as a few minutes past midday, to the coffee mugs we left by the sink earlier.
We hear everything. It’s not real. I run my trembling hands through my hair, tugging on the strands until I wince in pain. But it’s not enough to shatter the illusion, to quiet the voice.
Everything.
I dig the base of my palms into my eyes and shake my head. They laugh; we laugh. It’s a joke. Something that’s said to get a laugh.
But…they always seem to call when we’re talking about them.
No. There’s been many times we’ve been talking about them, and they haven’t called. It’s just a coincidence.
Or so they want you to believe.
“We hear everything.” I crouch down, my back against the wall and scrunch my eyes shut, throwing my hands over my ears as I try to block the voice out.
The voice repeats again, and my head snaps up, my eyes scanning the kitchen as my breathing picks up and my heart beats in my ears.
What if it’s not a coincidence?
What if it isn’t a joke?
What if they really do hear everything?
But…how?
“Alexa, play music. Volume 100%,” the command slips out of my mouth and my breathing slows, a sense of calm washing over me. They probably had a good laugh about it, didn’t think we’d figure it out, but I did.
It’s not a joke. It’s not a coincidence. It’s real. And I know how they did it.
The little speaker above the microwave lights up before the notes of Turn the Music Up by NF flood the kitchen, and I roll my eyes at the irony before I get to work.
Standing up, my eyes stay fixed on the microwave, and I decide that’s as good as any place to start. Pulling the microwave away from the wall, I look behind then under it, running my hands across the surface and ignoring the items that fall off.
Nothing.
It’s okay. It’s fine. I’ll find it.
I move onto the fruit bowl next, tipping its contents out onto the bench, not caring when a few apples roll off onto the floor, and sift through the fruit to no avail.
Letting out a frustrated growl, I repeat the process with the air fryer, jug and everything else I can find.
Nothing.
FUCK.
“Where is it?” I mutter, my eyes connecting with the table.
I don’t think, I just move. I don’t even feel as my knees connect with the hard tiles and I crawl under the table.
I don’t see anything, but maybe I'm sure that was their intent.
Not trusting my eyes, I run my fingers across every inch of the wood, feeling for anything out of place.
“God fucking dammit! Where is it?” I shout, my heart pounding in time with the chorus and sweat beading down my forehead.
I have to find it.
The fridge.
Crawling out from under the table, I don’t bother getting up as I cross the kitchen. Pressing my cheek against the cold tiles, I try to peer under the fridge, but it’s pitch black. I can’t see a thing, making it the perfect hiding spot.
Think.
I need a light.
My phone has a light.
The thought has barely finished before I’m racing out of the kitchen, catching my shoulder on the wall as I throw myself around the corner, nearly tripping in my wake. Shoving the bedroom door open, I head straight for the nightstand on my side of the bed only to find it empty.
It's not there.
It should be there. I always put my phone there. Is this their doing too? Are they fucking with me?
Maybe I had it with me when we went to sleep, and it ended up under the covers? Frantically, I throw my pillows on the floor, patting down the mattress on my side of the bed.
Under the bed? Maybe it fell on the floor, and I kicked it under there?
Kneeling, I reach under the bed, ignoring the dust build up that collects on my palm, and let out a panicked groan when I come up empty.
Where the fuck is it?
Wiping my hand on the sheet, I spot Charlie’s phone on his nightstand and cross to the other side of the bed, snatching it up.
They thought they had me, but they didn’t. I can use Charlie’s.
Heading back to the kitchen, I turn the flashlight on on his phone and look under the fridge. Squinting, I can’t make out anything but dust, a bread clip, and an old carrot.
Gross. I should pull the fridge out and vacuum under there.
No. Focus. There’s no time.
Placing the phone on the counter, a thought occurs to me. What if it’s not in the kitchen? What if it’s in the loungeroom? Or bedroom? What if there’s more than one?
Fuck, I hadn’t considered that. That would make sense, why stop at one?
Determination fills me. I won’t give up. I will find them.