Dark of Night

by T. F. Walsh

  She sighed, rounding a landing for another flight of stairs. Perhaps her nervousness stemmed from the fact that most of the dates she went on rarely ended at his place. Subsequently, most of those men never asked her out again.

  She liked her privacy, and she liked her routine. Whenever someone came into her life, it upset the order of things. She ended up off balance and irritable. One old boyfriend actually accused her of having obsessive-compulsive disorder. What an idiot.

  She reminded herself that this was not a date. He simply offered friendship. Without the experience of a real friend, she hesitated, and that disturbed her most of all.

  At Ryan’s apartment, she paused while he unlocked the door. Pulled from her thoughts, she scanned the hallway. The brown walls and green doors seemed like most of the other apartment buildings in the city. A baby cried in an apartment down the hall. A car drove by on the street below, blaring its radio so she could feel the bass.

  Inside, his apartment held nothing particularly remarkable. No satanic artwork. It didn’t reek of pot or filth. So she turned her attention to her guide, who walked to a short hall and opened a door.

  “The bathroom is here. Clean towels are in the closet.” He set her pack inside the bathroom, leaning it against the sink. “What do you like on your pizza?”

  “We’re eating?” she asked. Then when he nodded, “Anything’s fine. Thank you.” She appreciated his approach to an awkward situation.

  “You like soda?”

  “Anything diet.” She really wanted a sweet vodka martini, but she only drank at home. In another venue, it could make her too vulnerable to those who would take advantage.

  “Cool.” He picked up his keys and went to the door. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  After he left, she turned and took in the apartment. Surprisingly clean and welcoming, it did not appear at all as she’d expected.

  More than anything, she wanted to curl up on the couch and sleep away the stress of her day. After running a hand through filthy hair, she thought the shower a better idea.

  The bathroom sparkled as if Ryan bleached it regularly. Or had it done. In her experience, most men didn’t spend time scrubbing. She dug through her pack for the clean clothes she kept in there, somewhere. Then she reached for a towel and washcloth and found them stacked neatly in the closet. She revised her idea of a maid. This guy’s a real neat freak.

  As soon as the water came to temperature, she stepped in, sighing as the warmth penetrated her hair and massaged her head. After scrubbing everything, she stood, letting the warm water run down her back, and thought about how all evidence available pointed to the fact that Ryan Williams was not a normal man.

  Most men she knew did not take this much pride in their homes. She suspected most men would stay while she washed, in the hopes of getting a look as she got out of the shower.

  She toweled off and enjoyed being clean again. She studied her naked reflection in the full-length mirror on the back of the bathroom door. The area that had sported bandages that morning appeared clear. No redness. Not even the light pink of a healing scar. She pushed on her neck, just above her collarbone, and felt no pain. Her body did not seem hurt at all, even though she clearly remembered sustaining the injuries.

  She pulled on a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, and then moved her pack to a space by the front door. The long fibers of shag carpet cushioned her bare feet as she walked across the living room.

  She needed to find a place to stay. Sitting on the couch, she reached for the phonebook on an end table. Then she made a mistake. Relaxing into the overstuffed softness, phonebook resting on her lap, the exhaustion that plagued her caught up with her, and she promptly fell asleep.

  • • •

  Ryan climbed the stairs, carrying a large supreme pizza with a six-pack of diet cola balanced on top of the box. Ordering the pizza had turned into a chore. He could not stop thinking about how the woman he wanted more than anyone stood naked in his shower.

  The idea preoccupied him as he fumbled with his keys in the lock. He entered the apartment and breathed the smell of soap and shampoo. Placing his burden on a kitchen counter, and not hearing the shower, he glanced around for Lydia.

  He found her in a fitful sleep on the sofa. She’d dozed off with her head tilted to the side and his phonebook on her lap. Her legs twitched slightly. The soft lips he’d fanaticized kissing curled back, exposing her teeth. An odd growling noise escaped.

  He sighed, and reached out to wake her, gently shaking her shoulder.

  • • •

  Lydia ran though a park. Despite the warm humidity of the night, the breeze whisked away her perspiration as she ran. A woman ahead of her staggered while trying to tuck a twenty-dollar bill into a blaze orange bra barely concealed by a dingy green tank top. The heel of the woman’s black leather knee-high boot caught in a crack in the sidewalk and she fell, ripping her fishnet stockings, and cutting her knee.

  Lydia approached. The woman smelled like sex, now mingled with the scent of blood, and it fueled Lydia’s hunger. She closed in. Pounced, mouth open. Ready to bite waiting flesh.

  A hand on her shoulder held her back. Furious at the restraint, Lydia spun to confront the cause.

  • • •

  Lydia startled awake. Her eyes wide, she rolled off the couch, gripping Ryan’s wrist.

  “Hi. Sorry, but I thought you would like to eat,” he said, withdrawing his hand from her grip.

  “No, I’m sorry.” She stood and tried to orient herself. “I was just having the most vivid dream.”

  “Oh, what about?” He sounded interested as he turned to the kitchen cabinets and pulled down glasses. “Ice?”

  Still shaking off the fog from the dream, she replied, “What? No, it was odd.” When he dropped two cubes into a glass and rattled it, she stammered, “Oh, sure.” She sat on the edge of the couch, wide-awake now. She took her glass from his outstretched hand and took a sip, then a gulp.

  They ate for a time in silence. She gazed out the window to the street below, watching but not seeing the activities of the patrons of the neighborhood bar next to the coffee shop.

  “He had to pass so many people to get into my apartment,” she said, playing with a piece of crust.

  “So you do think it was him?”

  “Who else could it be?” she asked. “Over the years, I’ve made plenty of enemies. Most of them would prefer to wait and kill me in my apartment rather than trash it and piss everywhere.” Her shoulders tensed in annoyance. “Whoever did that,” she said, jabbing the pizza crust toward the window, “wanted to leave a message.”

  “Well, that would explain the bedroom,” Ryan said.

  “Mmm.” She bit into another slice of pizza. Swallowing, she asked, “Can I use your phone? I have to get an update on what’s happening with the break-in investigation.”

  “Sure,” he said, reaching for his bottle of water.

  She dialed and left a message for Henson to call her with an update. When she hung up, she tapped the receiver thoughtfully. “Sergeant Henson came with Adams to pick me up from the campsite this morning.”

  “Word has it that he’s new. Trying to make his career,” Ryan said, grinning. “It’s possible that he realized where you were and asked to tag along with Adams when he went to get you.”

  “Why didn’t he say anything to me this morning?” she asked, wishing again for some vodka.

  Ryan shrugged and reached for another slice. “Who knows? Maybe, he thought the guy that trashed your place would try to track you down. Maybe he just wanted to take a look at his competition.”

  She stared into her glass. “Jesus, I hate office politics. We’re all on the same side. You’d figure we’d be above this bullshit.” She paused, gritting her teeth to bite back a sudden flash of temper. “Well, I got attacked by something last night.” />
  “Some-thing?” Ryan leaned forward now.

  “Yup.” Seeing his extreme interest, she held up a hand. “This is off the record, all right?”

  He seemed about to drool all over himself. Perhaps she shouldn’t tell him.

  “Off the record.” He nodded.

  “I just need to talk about this to someone.” Something in her gut told her he was trustworthy.

  “Understood.” He looked at her shaking hands. “Would you like something stronger than diet soda?”

  Oh yeah, she did. Something to take the edge off. “Vodka?”

  He didn’t seem threatening. If he intended to rape her, he would have tried when she was naked in the shower.

  Minutes later, she sipped vodka and diet cola, and then slowly told Ryan what happened the night before. “It seems like a dream now. I have no evidence of the attack, no marks, so I can’t prove anything.” She expected to see disbelief on his face. She only found concern. “What?” she asked.

  “Nothing.” Setting down his drink, he looked her in the eye. “You must realize how this sounds.”

  “Like I’m crazy.” She downed what remained in her glass and slumped against the back of the couch. “Am I going crazy?” she half whispered.

  “No,” he said, smiling. “Crazy people don’t ask that question.”

  That actually was a comforting observation. “Then what else could be wrong with me?”

  He didn’t answer.

  Lydia didn’t have an answer, either. She walked to the kitchen counter and mixed another drink. Clouds of soda billowed around ice and vodka like smoke around a fire.

  “The fire!” she declared, raising her glass as if in a toast. “He was cooking meth. Those fumes are toxic. I’ll bet I got a lung full, and now I’m hallucinating.” She couldn’t think of a more logical explanation. Proud of herself, she took a long drink.

  “Wouldn’t you have been high at the press conference, and yesterday when you first got to the campground, too?” He didn’t look at her. Instead, he intently pulled apart a pizza crust and dropped the crumbs in the box lid.

  Her elation evaporated as she realized he was right. Frustrated, she paced the length of the room.

  Ryan watched her for a couple circuits, then, in a gentle voice, said, “Hey. You need some rest. Why don’t you crash here for the night? I’ll take the couch.”

  Lydia stopped, focused so much on the mystery of her experience at the campground and the unsettling dream, she’d forgotten about the need to find a hotel room. Another lapse. Her brain was turning to mush.

  A glance at the digital clock on the microwave in the kitchen told her it was nearing ten. By the time she found a vacancy, got there and checked in, it would be close to midnight. Not that she could drive after the numerous cocktails, anyway.

  “All right, thanks.” She sat. The room spun a little as she landed. “Tomorrow I’ll get a hotel room.” Although she would not drive anywhere, the time had come to cut back on the drinks. She set the glass on the coffee table and glanced at Ryan.

  He continued to crumble pizza crust into the box. Why was he so quiet? Her instinct said he was preoccupied with something. He knows more than he’s offering. She wanted to question him, but with the alcohol and exhaustion clouding her brain, any attempt would appear obvious.

  He still seemed lost in thought, so she took the opportunity to study him. Everything in the way he held himself showed confidence and sincerity. Nothing at all in his body language suggested anything but a perfect gentleman.

  His hair fell forward a bit as he leaned over the coffee table. The shadow of a beard softened his somewhat angular features. His long fingers ended in perfectly manicured and clean fingernails that betrayed his job behind a desk.

  She remembered the way his muscles flexed underneath his clothes as he moved about the apartment. They had to be well defined to announce themselves so prominently. He must go to a gym. The thought prompted a vision of him working out, doing shoulder presses. Warmth bloomed in her abdomen and spread throughout her body.

  Suddenly, he lifted his head. The movement made her gasp for breath, unaware she held it. He smiled, revealing slight dimples she’d never noticed before. The warmth radiated into her face. Was she glowing? She frantically searched for something to say, but could not come up with anything better than, “Uh, we should be getting to bed.”

  Grinning now, he said, “Sure.”

  Realizing what she’d said, she fought the urge to cover her face in her hands. “I mean me.” She took a deep breath. “I should be getting to bed. That your bedroom?” She pointed to the only door in the apartment she’d not used.

  “Just let me get a fresh pillow and blankets for you.” He rose and entered the bedroom. She followed and would have offered to help, but fatigue and the drink had her head spinning. He stripped and remade the bed and tossed a pillow from the closet onto it. As he worked, he explained, “Sometimes my brother comes over when his wife kicks him out. I keep this stuff ready just in case.”

  “That’s good of you.” She crossed from the doorway to sit on the bed. “Does it happen often?”

  “Depends on the time of year.” He picked up the pillow and comforter he’d removed. “Around the holidays, it gets bad.” He winked at her. “I don’t think he’ll show up tonight.”

  She smiled. “Well, good night.”

  “Night.” He closed the door behind him.

  She slipped out of her pants and under the soft sheets, moaning softly as her head hit the pillow. All the muscles in her body started to relax. She sensed something safe about this apartment, but nothing she could readily put her finger on. She fell asleep struggling with the thought of finding another place to stay.

  Chapter 7

  A soft tapping on the door woke Lydia. “Yes?” she said with a lazy stretch, comfortable in the softness of the sheets. Waking in strange places was nothing new to her. While growing up, she changed homes often enough. However, in every one of her homes, she had never experienced such a sense of belonging as she did here.

  “It’s just after eight,” Ryan’s voice sounded from beyond the door. “I thought you might want to get moving.”

  The nightmares of the past couple days returned slowly, creeping up on her consciousness like a cat stalking a mouse. “Oh!” She flung her feet over the side of the bed and pulled on her clothes. “Thanks,” she called.

  Her hands twitched as she glanced at the unmade bed. If he wanted to change the sheets, making the bed would make it more difficult. With no real knowledge of how he liked things done, she settled for straightening the tousled fabric and left the room.

  The aroma of fresh muffins and coffee greeted her. “Oh, they’re warm,” she cooed, lifting a blueberry muffin to inhale the steamy aroma.

  “I just got back,” Ryan said, sipping his coffee. After watching her take a bite, he turned to the small television in the corner of the room. No sound emanated, and text scrolled along the bottom of the screen. She gave him a look and he explained, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

  She yawned and picked up a packet of sugar for her coffee, dismissing the bachelor’s lack of sugar bowl. Breakfast and the muted television showed thoughtfulness she hadn’t expected. “Thanks.” She rewarded him with a small smile that he returned.

  “Ah,” he motioned toward the TV. “There was an update a couple minutes ago on Officer Jacobs. They said he’d be released from the hospital this morning. I would have thought he would be off duty for more than a couple of days.”

  “Oh, yeah. I was told that he would be able to recuperate from home until he’s healed enough. They said it could take up to a month.”

  Ryan turned off the mute, and the weatherman started to describe a line of showers that might skirt the area. “I sure hope they don’t disrupt the tournament this
weekend, Bob.”

  The anchor returned the banter. “We can only wait and see. Thanks, Jason.”

  “The tournament.” She sank into the couch. “That damn golf tournament will have booked up the entire city.”

  An odd sense of despair settled over her. She’d been homeless before. Just after she turned sixteen and ran away from her foster family. At least this time, she had some savings. Perhaps she could rent a furnished studio for a while. But the two rents would break her. She straightened her shoulders. Hell, she’d sleep in her office if needed.

  Ryan cleared his throat. “I have to get to the paper, but you can stick around and make your calls if you want.” He rose and walked to the door. “Here’s a spare key, just in case you need to crash here again.”

  She took the key. Even with the clean background check, she wondered at his motives. “You wouldn’t mind?” she asked, still holding the key at arm’s length.

  “What man would mind having a beautiful detective stay the night in his bed?” He laughed. “All I ask is that we compare notes on the Butcher case.” When she directed a fiery look his way, he raised his hands. “I’ll only publish what you allow.” Something told her he’d keep his word.

  “If I’m here this evening, I accept your terms.” She smiled. “Thank you for last night. My sleep was blessedly dreamless.”

  “Well, that’s good,” he said, glancing around as if unsure of his next move. “Okay then, I’m off.” He moved swiftly to the door. “Just leave the key if you find somewhere else to stay.”

  Lydia closed the door behind him and breathed a sigh of relief. Grateful for a place to stay, she wondered why no residual awkwardness or unease remained between them. Even after he left abruptly. In fact, she felt quite at home. Even though nothing in the place reflected her style, she was more comfortable in the apartment of a man she barely knew than she had been in her own.

  This morning, everything seemed right. She decided not to call hotels after all, a decision that made her feel more relaxed than she’d felt for as long as she could remember. Getting ready for her day, she mentally ran down her to-do list. She had interviews to conduct, test results to read, the hospital to visit for the rabies vaccination, and dinner to pick up as reciprocation for Ryan’s hospitality.