35
The shock sets in as I’m in the elevator, going up to my floor and placingmy hands against the walls to stop myself from collapsing. The lifeblood seems to drain from my head, leaving me frail and giddy.
I’m sure it’ll get easier each time, but for now, I’m close to hyperventilating in this small space. I need fresh air. Now.
As the elevator doors slide open, I jog down the hall toward my apartment door. My mouth is gritty and dry, and a large lump has formed in my throat, so no matter how many times I swallow, I can’t seem to hydrate it.
I find my key with trembling hands, slide the key in, and turn the lock, pushing the door open. Before I even step inside, I sense something is off. The lock looks like it’s been tampered with, and a subtle soap scent greets my senses, indicating someone who may be inside or was recently here.
Stepping back from my door, instinctively, I have the urge to run, but they broke into my apartment, giving me the right to protect my property. I take Til from my bag, push the door open, and step inside as my heart pounds heavily against my ribcage, nerves squirming nauseatingly, skin prickling along the back of my neck.
I don’t see them at first, but the soap scent is fresh, so I glance to the bathroom, wondering if they’re in there.
Movement catches my eye, outside of the balcony, he sees me pointing the gun at him and steps boldly inside. Those eyes run all over my face and the gun, showing no fear, and then the corners of his mouth turn upwards.
“I see you’ve been busy, Rae,” he says, nodding toward the gun with an arched eyebrow.
I lick my lip to muster up the words, “What are you doing here?”
“The first is always the hardest, isn’t it?” he croons charmingly.
“Huh?” I play dumb, keeping my aim at his head.
“Michael Lyons, the swim coach.” He makes a gun gesture with two fingers and points them at his temple. “In the Olympic Pool car park.”
I shake my head in denial. This can’t be happening. I made sure no one saw. “No,” I assert as my finger twitches on the trigger, so close to squeezing.
Still, he doesn’t seem concerned that this crazy bitch is holding a gun at his head and narrows the space between us again, now only an arm’s length away. A shadow casts across his face, and dark eyes penetrate my skull, searching for my corrupt soul. “You and I need to have a little chat.”
To be continued…