Chapter 9 #3
"There was a sound," she says. "Outside the window. Alex, it was really loud and I don't — I don't know what it was. Lily and the others heard it too, everyone’s freaking out, and her parents aren't home yet and I—"
"I'm coming," I say. "Right now. Stay on the phone with me, I’m on my way out the door."
"Okay," she says, very small.
"I’m here," I say, and look at Victor. “I’m coming.”
He is already at my door, flipping the locks open, his phone flashlight back in hand, holding my jacket up for me.
I didn’t see him grab it, but he could have been performing magic right now, and I wouldn’t care.
I take it without speaking and shrug it on one hand, phone still at my ear, he steps aside just enough for me to pass, following close behind as I lead the way out the door.
"It's probably the transformer," I tell Evie, moving down the hall, "the whole block is out, there would have been a loud sound when it blew." I hit the stairwell, moving fast. "You're okay. You're safe. I'm one building away."
"I know," she says. "I know I'm being—"
"You're not being anything," I cut her off. "You were scared, you called me. That's exactly what you’re supposed to do."
Victor is behind me on the stairs, close enough that I can hear him, far enough that he's giving me the space not to trip. I don't look back. When we reach the bottom floor, I hit the lobby door at a near sprint, bursting out into the November night with him still hot on my heels.
I don’t count buildings, or turns, running on autopilot to Lily’s building, lungs burning from the effort, and the cold of the night.
Once inside her building, I take the stairs to the second floor in a hurry.
Evie's voice is in my ear telling me she can see me through the peephole now, and the relief in it is everything, is the whole world, is the only thing that has ever mattered.
I don't say goodbye to Victor at the bottom.
I don't need to. I know he's there, behind me, watching me go in.
I know he'll be there when I come out, or across the hall when I get home, or somewhere in the general architecture of my life that he has apparently decided to make himself part of without asking.
When I reach the door of Lily's apartment, I barely knock, and Evie opens the door, a glint of unshed tears in her eyes. She is fine, she is completely fine, I tell myself as I put my arms around her.
"It was probably just a transformer," I say against her hair.
"I figured," she says, into my shoulder.
"You okay?"
"I am now," she says.
I hold on for an extra second. Then I let go, because she needs me to let go, because she is twelve and she is brave and she called me and I came and that is the whole of the contract between us, the one we've been honoring for three years.
"Lily's parents?" I ask.
"They're supposed to be back in an hour. Her older brother is home," she says. "I'm okay, Alex. Really."
"I know you are." I smooth her hair back. "Do you want to stay or come home?”
I see the struggle to make a decision play out on her face. She looks back at Lily and the other girls sitting on the living room floor with a plethora of blankets, pillows, flashlights, and board games. Then looks back at me with hopeful eyes.
“Is it alright if I stay?” she asks quietly.
It takes every ounce of my rational side to convince myself not to drag her home with me, knowing how important this moment is to her.
“Call me if you get scared again. And when the lights come on."
"Both locks," she says with a smile and a nod. Then softer: “Thank you Alex. For always being there when I need you.”
"Both locks," I repeat with a smile of my own. I listen to her close the door and slide the door lock into place before I turn and head back to the stairs.
Victor is leaning against the wall at the bottom of the stairwell, one booted foot propped against the wall, arms crossed, phone flashlight still in hand.
Of course he is.
He looks at me when I come downstairs, following my lead around the corner with that particular quality of attention that I have stopped pretending doesn't affect me. And an electric heat instantly prickles across my skin as his eyes lock onto me.
"She's fine," I offer.
"I know," he says. "I could hear her voice."
We walk in silence back to our apartment building, jackets pulled tight against the cold. Close but never touching. Once we are back inside the warmth of the lobby, we stop and stand there for a moment in the dark with the whole block without power.
"I would feel better if you removed the surveillance," I say. “You live here now anyway.
He doesn’t answer immediately, even in the low light, I can see his jaw working. Contemplating.
"I will," he finally agrees.
"Tonight."
"In due time," he counters. "Tonight I'd like to finish the discussion we started."
I look at him for a long moment. The anger is still there beneath the surface, coexisting with curiosity.
I don’t say anything to that, just start back up the stairs.
Thinking with every step. I feel him follow close behind me.
Despite the proximity, he doesn’t push. When we reach our floor, I turn toward my door, taking a deep breath, and hoping against hope that he will respect my decision.
“I don’t think I can handle anymore of your company tonight.” I say, stopping at my door, looking back where he waits at the banister, mouth pulled in a tight line. “Goodnight, Victor.”
I don’t give him an opportunity to protest, quickly going back inside. Locking it before turning to lean on it, sliding to the floor with a sigh, my heart racing in an uneasy flutter. I do not know if he's still out there or if he's gone back to his own apartment.
The candles are still burning on my counter, and I watch them flicker in the dark apartment, and I think about his hand on my jaw, his voice, and the way he stepped back the moment my phone rang and my body reacted, without hesitating, without making any of it complicated.
And I wonder, who is he really? Beneath the surface?
Eventually, when enough time passes that I am sure he isn’t going to come knocking on the door, I get up and move to the couch. Curling up with my blanket, pick up my book and read the same pages I read before the power went out. Despite my best efforts, I still don’t retain them.
At ten-fourteen, the lights turn back on, and Evie calls, just like she promised.
"Lights are on," she says. "I'm good. Get some sleep.”
"Good night, Evie.”
"Good night, Alex." Instead of hanging up like I expect, she pauses, then asks: "Was someone with you earlier? When you came out of the building I thought I saw—"
"No. It was just me, must have been the shadows playing tricks. Good night, Evie," I say again.
She laughs, “that makes sense. Goodnight,” and hangs up.
Exhaustion hits me as soon as we disconnect, and I blow out the candles and go to bed. Letting the dark envelope my bedroom, I lie there and think about nothing in particular for a long time, which means I think about everything, all at once.
I think about one thing in particular, over and over again.
The way he said I'm done pretending I haven't liked it cost him something to admit it, like it was the truest thing he'd said since he walked through my door.Like it meant something to him, like maybe, just maybe, the burning emotion I kept seeing creep into his eyes beneath the mask is real.