From Yesterday

by Miriam Epstein

  Then I think, evidence of what? I washed the lipstick off of the mirror that very day and threw out that tube of it. The envelope from the necklace is tossed as well. Brady threw it out at the restaurant last night at my insistence. If I went to the cops, they would either laugh at me or start asking questions about who the necklace belonged to and that would lead back to my parents.

  No.

  Not an option.

  I'm a big girl, and I can take care of myself.

  Finally, around two o' clock, I make myself get up and I go to campus to get some studying done. I stop in the food court area and grab a coffee and a veggie wrap, stuff it into my bag so I can get into the library, and go find a nice secluded spot on the third floor. For some reason, no one ever comes up here, it's as quiet as can be. The hours fly by as I study for a Calculus exam that is being so thoughtfully administered on the first day of the second week of school. Calculus is just so much fun and so very easy. Or not, but it does manage to distract me for a while until I look at my watch and notice it is 5:15 and I am missing the cycling workout. I feel a tiny twinge of regret; I do enjoy seeing Brady in workout gear with sweat gleaming all over that body, but it's probably for the best. I don't need him thinking I'm so obsessed with him that I'll show up everywhere he is at anytime. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that.

  I really have to stop thinking about Brady in any kind of capacity that could include something other than casual friendship.

  It is still light outside by the time I walk back from the library. I try not to walk alone at night, because it is a long stretch of dark road that could prevent a driver from seeing me or conceal an axe murderer in all the shrubbery and trees. Also, I'm not that stupid. When the time changes, though, I'll ahve to come back earlier because it will be dark by 6, which is the time now.

  "Good evening," I call out to the front desk guard as I walk through the lobby.

  "Evening, Miss Kerimov."

  He nods and smiles at me and I give a small smile in return before stepping on to the elevator.

  My phone goes off, signaling that I have a new text message as I'm riding up to my floor, but I ignore it for the moment. I kind of feel like ordering Thai takeout, despite the fact that I ate it last night and that particular meal didn't have such great memories for me. Or, it kind of did, but it didn't end quite as well as it began.

  When I step off of the elevator, I see Elyse's red mane disappearing into her apartment. I wait a minute before getting completely out of the car; the doors try to close twice, and then I breathe a sigh of relief that I missed her. I am going to dinner at her place next week, but that doesn't mean I have to chat with her all the time. It would be too much.

  I turn the key in the lock and that feeling of unease starts to prick it's way back into my skin. First my arms develop gooseflesh, and then the chill starts to caress the back of my neck. There is something not right here. A sane person would not go inside, I think, but this is just me being ridiculous. No one has a key to my place other than the landlord, who spends the entire summer in Italy, so he's not even in the country right now. Nor has he ever violated my privacy by dropping in unannounced. There's no one here.

  Just to double check, I go through the apartment to each room and glance in to make sure.

  Not a soul.

  I walk my paranoid ass into my office and start looking for the takeout menu to the Thai place. I've almost located it when I hear a creaking noise, and then the distinct sound of a door handle being turned. The only place in this condo that makes a sound like that is the guest bathroom right across from this spare room. Chills breaking out across my body again, I very quietly walk to the door of this room, grabbing the three foot tall pillar candle off of it's base as I go. I think better of it and take the base instead; it is much heavier.

  Then the front door closes and I know for sure that is the sound I heard because that door is very heavy and it slams if you let go of it, but if you don't it has a loud clicking noise as it sets in place. I hear the click. I rush out of the spare bedroom and no longer terrified, I run to the entrance and out into the hall.

  There is no one there.

  Impossible, I know I heard someone. Both elevators are resting on the first floor and there is no way they had time to get that far, nor could they have reached the stairwell without me seeing them first.

  No. No. No.

  I won't start questioning my sanity, not this time. I'm sure my ears didn't deceive me. I am not crazy.

  I am not crazy.

  I run back to my apartment and slam the door shut behind me. I feel frantic; sweat pours down over my forehead and into my eyes making them sting. A feeling of complete helplessness shudders through me and I cave; giving in to the doubt and shame of the people who were supposed to love me. The things they said I did, the things they told me I made up; I let myself believe it. It crushes me with the memory of a locked door and a room with white walls and no windows.

  A knock on the door brings me back to myself and as quickly as I lost control, I regain it. A look through the peep hole and I breathe a sigh of releif so big the air could last me for an entire month. I open the door and fling myself into the arms of a very surprised Brady.

  "Paige, what's going on? Are you okay?"

  Not trusting my voice, I simply nod against his chest and I practically wilt like a tattered doll as he hugs me a little tighter and walks us both into the foyer.

  I breathe in his scent once more before I pull away and step back.

  "Not that I mind, Paige, but what just happened? And don't say nothing because you are the most resistant of any girl I have ever met and you're flushed and sweaty. You look like you saw a ghost."

  I shake my head. "Can we please just not talk about it? I just, I'm having a bad day is all."

  I turn and head to the living room without waiting for a reply, knowing he will just follow me without an invitation inside.

  And I am right, because he's practically at my heels. "No way, Paige. You have to tell me something. I promise I will not judge you. If you need help, you can ask me. You know that right?"

  I whirl around to face him and angrily hold my right hand up in the air. "I don't need any help, Brady. I just need you to be my friend and not ask so many questions, okay? Can you please just--"

  I don't finish my sentence when I see what's been left for me in front of the couch. I missed it before because you have to walk around the couch from the hall to sit down.

  There is a doll with features eerily similar to my own laying there, and a gun is positioned in her hand with what looks like blood extending out from the gun and covering a large area of the rug. Like the pool of blood you might find next to the body of someone who had been shot in the head.

  The gun is mine.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Between dodging Elyse and trying to dissuade Brady from asking more questions about the terrifying little doll and the gun in my apartment, Saturday feels like the best thing that ever happened to me. I sleep until ten thirty. When I am finally awake, I remain in bed and enjoy the quiet calm of my bedroom. When I go to sleep on Friday or Saturday night, I leave my phone in another room so that calls, texts, or anything else that may make my phone go off can't bother me. I don't think it's good to be available every moment of your life.

  Finally, around noon, I shower and get myself dressed. I've got plenty of studying to do today and I'd like to get it done in time to watch the Ohio State game at 7. One of the few good memories I have from back home is watching college football with my father and Nicole when we were little. My parents met at Ohio State, and although American football isn't big in Ukraine, my father loves it. I think he tried very hard to make himself fit in to American culture as much as possible, given that the conditions he grew up in were less than desirable. If it had not been for my grandmother meeting an American business man by chance about two years after she was widowed, my father would have stayed there and lived a very different l
ife. And, while not really in the same league, I can understand how difficult it is to move to a completely new place at the age of eighteen, where you don't know anyone. At least I know the language. He did not.

  Before heading to the library, I make a phone call that I desperately need to make.

  "This is Kelly Sullivan."

  I take a deep breath. "Dr. Sullivan, it's me."

  I hear some shuffling noises, and a muttered curse. "Hold on. Do not hang up. I just need to go somewhere a bit more private, okay?"

  "I'm not hanging up," I say.

  A few minutes of muffled noises and she returns. "I've been worried about you, Kid. I didn't expect you to just run off like that and not tell anyone where you went. Is everything okay?"

  "Honestly, I don't know. Some strange things have been happening lately."

  There is a pause, and I can practically hear her thinking. "Remember what I told you? You have to remove yourself from the situation before you get overwhelmed by the memory of someone that is no longer here. Your perception of Nicole is still skewed, Kid. I told you from the get go, you can't idealize people, no matter how much you love them. When you think of your sister, picture her as person with real flaws, just like everyone else. You still get too caught up in the way she was as a sister, and who she was to everyone else."

  I sigh. "I try. I really do. It's just that sometimes, I miss her so much that I want to pretend she's still here so it won't hurt so much."

  "I know it's hard, but you have to concentrate on your own well-being now. You have to have a life, and she can't be such a big part of it or you'll never really move on. And you haven't yet, have you?"

  "No, Dr. Sullivan. Sometimes I think I have, and I'll go days feeling normal, but then someone or something reminds me of her and it hurts all over again."

  "Can you tell me where you are, Kid? Do you need me to come to you?"

  Oh, god. A pain in my chest, an ache so deep that I didn't realize it was possible, begins to squeeze and throb. I want to see someone familiar, someone that cared about me back home, I want it badly, but I can't risk it.

  "No," I tell her. "Thank you, but I think it's best if I just try to take your advice and keep the past in the past."

  "Okay, Kid. I'm glad you called. Don't worry about a thing, it's still doctor-patient privilege regardless of the fact that you are no longer in this place. I can't say a word to your parents, but please, I want you to call me at any time if you need anything at all. I will always be available to you, you got that? That's why I gave you my personal cell phone number."

  "You don't know how much that means to me, Dr. Sullivan."

  Before I change my mind and take her up on her offer, I hang up.

  The phone call to Dr. Sullivan took a lot longer than I expected and now I have to hurry up if I want to make the one o' clock cycling class before the library. I called the gym to make sure the scheduled instructor was going to be there and there wasn't going to be a surprise substitute in the form of Brady. I just need to make it through the day in solitude. It will help get me back on track. '

  I throw a change of clothes into by gym bag, check to make sure my shower stuff is in there, pull my hair up into a bun and I'm out the door. Elyse is in the hall with a man that I presume to be the fiance.

  "Paige! Oh, great. You can finally meet Garrett."

  Damn. I thought this guy was out of town until Monday. So much for my quick escape. Garrett smiles and puts his hand out for me to shake.

  "Nice to meet you, Paige. Elyse hasn't stopped talking about you since I got back."

  Garrett is very tall, probably 6' 5" or so. It's a good thing Elyse is quite tall herself. They look good together. Elyse even looks happier than the few times I've seen her before. Probably because she's not alone in a strange city anymore.

  "Nice meeting you as well. I hate to run off so quickly, but I have a test coming up and hours of studying."

  Elyse smiles. "Of course, Paige. We'll see you Tuesday. Oh, and bring that completely hot guy I saw over here the other night."

  She winks at me and Garrett doesn't bat an eyelash when she mentions another man. That's always a good sign in a partner. I think.

  "I'm not sure he can make it, but I'll ask him," I lie.

  There is no way I'm asking Brady to come for dinner, I think to myself as I ride the elevator downstairs. It would seem too much like a double date. Yet, the idea of having someone else there so that I'm not on my own with two people that I don't really know, well, it is appealing. Not that I know Brady so much better; I met him a few days ago. Oddly, it feels like I do, though. He's become the only source of familiarity to me and I like it.

  I took too long getting my act together so I have to take my car instead of walking to the campus. Now that I've seen it, I notice the motorcycle Brady took me on only two rows and one stall away from my car. One of those stupid smiles is on my face before I even realize it. All from looking at a bike. I'm a smitten idiot.

  Nicole would be so proud.

  I pull in to the first spot I see near the student center and jog over to the gym. I manage to throw my stuff inside a locker and get to the cycling class just in time. It's a good class, but the instructor doesn't quite inspire me the way Brady did, which is no surprise since I don't have a crush on this girl.

  After a quick shower, I throw on some yoga pants and a t-shirt with Hello Kitty on the front. Childish, maybe, but I just don't think you are ever too old for Hello Kitty. Nicole used to love teasing me about my thing for Hello Kitty, even when I was young enough for it to be acceptable. She never did enjoy playing with dolls; perhaps my sister was far too grown up for her own good.

  The library is surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon and I have no trouble finding my quiet little corner on the third floor. I spread my books out on the table, open my laptop, and get my headphones out of my bag. Portishead pours out of the tiny speakers; Beth Gibbons' voice like liquid silk. I find my rhythm and lose myself to the intimidating equations from my trig class. An hour or more goes by without me noticing a single person come up here. I love the third floor.

  Another half hour passes when I feel the effect of the two water bottles I drank at the gym. I grab my purse, but leave my laptop and my books on the table. No one will take anything, not that anyone is here, and I will be gone for two minutes. The desk I'm sitting at is all the way in the back where there are no windows, so I'm a bit surprised to see that it is dark outside when I get to the restroom. I'm glad I took my car. I use the bathroom quickly and step back into the main room. Is it my imagination, or is something different? It just feels a bit off. It's like that feeling you get when a light goes out in a room with many bulbs, so it's not immediately obvious what changed, but you just know there is a difference.

  Cautiously, I approach the table that holds my belongings. Everything looks to be in its place as I left it, but I can't shake the eerie vibe I felt a moment ago. The quiet of the third floor is starting to lose its appeal. If things hadn't been so weird for me the past few days, I would tell myself to stop being such a baby and get back to work. The thing is, something has been going on. I can't pretend like it hasn't. Either way, I have to study for this test.

  Once my headphones are back in place, I calm down and forget all about the uneasiness I am experiencing. Something in my peripheral vision moves and it startles me. I look up, but I don't see anything or anyone.

  Now you're just making this stuff up, I tell myself.

  Then, just a moment later, I see something move again from the corner of my eye. Glancing slowly to my left, I see a pile of old reference books on the floor where I know they weren't there when I came in. The books are in a pile in front of the staircase; I would have had to have stepped over them when I arrived. I turn my music off. It must have been too loud, damn those noise-canceling ear buds, for me to hear the books fall.

  Those books didn't fall, though. Right there out in the open, there was no bookshelf for them to fall off
of. I'm done here. I start shoving my stuff into my bag as quickly as I can manage. I run towards the stairs, but the second I reach the tile, my feet go out from under me. I go down hard, catching my arm on something sharp on the way. I feel the skin rip and pain, so swift and intense, overloads my senses and, mercifully, I lose consciousness.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Turner moves with lightening-quick speed. Neither Nicole nor I see the blow coming, just a blur of movement and a cracking sound before Nicole is down. She becomes an unconscious mass of limp arms and legs with a purplish knot forming on the right side of her forehead. My brain stops firing synapses and my body glues itself to the floor as if welcoming Turner to make his next move. He turns his head away from my sister and his gaze falls on me. Where is my fight or flight instinct? Flight would be good right now. Run. Run to a neighbor and get help for Nicole, I tell myself.

  An unsettling snarl mars Turner's handsome face. "You wouldn't get far, Princess. Trust me."

  Truth, unlike any I have heard in the past, is what my ears pick up from his words. I can reason that my diminutive stature would give me an advantage speed wise, but that deadbolt is at least half a foot higher than I am and Turner's body is hard edges and solid muscle.

  Like a panther stalking his prey, Turner advances until the air I breathe is nothing but mouthwash and cologne. The coat closet door opens and I am urged forward into the dark, empty little cell by a hand to the back of my neck.

  "Sit," he commands.

  Inch by inch, my legs lower me down as I look upward and beg for leniency with the silent pleading of eye-contact. Above me, Turner reaches for an item on the top shelf and when I see his hand come back with several plastic zip ties, my blood becomes the temperature of Lake Michigan in a snow storm.

  "Hands behind your back, Princess. Now."

  Why? Why am I complying? Am I really this weak? Can't I at least try and put up a fight? I have watched my big sister stand up for herself for years. I could follow her example.