“And who do you think they’re going to believe?”
My back brushed against the door. “Oh, you want to stick around and see for yourself?” Still facing him, I reached around and fumbled for the lock.
He retreated to the sidewalk. “Kit, why do you insist on making this so difficult? You know we’re meant to be together.”
Shaking. I couldn’t get my key to fit. “David, for God’s sake, will you just go?” I coughed out.
He continued to stand there, a dark shadowy figure on the sidewalk. “Our history, Kit. Nobody will ever understand what you’ve been through. Not like me. You belong with me, Kit. One day you’re going to figure that out, but I may not be so willing to take you back when you do.”
“If I could be so lucky,” I muttered. Why couldn’t my damn key work?!
“What did you say?”
“I said I’ll take my chances,” I yelled. What was going on with this key? If I could only turn around and see what I was doing, but I didn’t dare do that with him mere feet away.
“What’s going on here?”
Brandi. I almost collapsed with relief. She stood at the corner of the yard, elegant in her long green wool coat and leather gloves. My fashionably dressed savior.
“Brandi. Why hello! It’s so nice to see you.” David shifted toward her and held his arms out, as if to hug her. I took advantage of the diversion to focus more on unlocking the door.
Brandi stepped toward him. “What are you doing here?”
“Why, I’m here to see Kit.” He waved an arm in my direction.
Brandi moved closer. “You have a restraining order against her. Why would you want to see her?”
David backed away. “She asked me to.”
“I did not,” I yelled before I could stop myself. I was ready to explode with frustration, rage and terror.
“So what if she did?” Brandi continued to advance, her voice heavy with sarcasm. “Is that what you’re going to tell the judge, that even though you were so frightened of Kit you had to get restraining order? That you still came over to her apartment when she asked?”
David teetered backward. The light from a streetlamp fell across his face and for the first time I saw uncertainty reflected there. Ha! Maybe this wouldn’t go his way after all.
“You don’t understand,” he floundered.
“You know, I think you’re finally right about something,” Brandi said. “I don’t understand. Maybe it’s because the facts in this case don’t fit the bullshit story you’re spitting out.”
I gave up on the key and went to help Brandi. David now had a stricken look on his face. “But that’s not true. Kit and I love each other. This is just a misunderstanding.”
“Oh right. Big misunderstanding,” Brandi said, her voice filled with disgust. “Game’s over, David. You lose. There’s a witness now. So why don’t you get the hell out of here before you have to give that pathetic explanation to the police.”
David looked at each of us, his features melting into anger. “This isn’t over,” he spat and strode into the darkness.
“Unfortunate but true,” Brandi sighed, turning toward me. “Why didn’t you go inside and call the police?”
“Because I couldn’t get the stupid door open. My key doesn’t fit.”
“That’s odd. Here, try mine while I keep a lookout.” Brandi dug through her purse.
“You were absolutely incredible. I can’t believe you were able to chase him off.”
Brandi handed me her keys. “All talk and no backup. He’s a bully at heart. His particular brand of torture comes from twisting the truth around. When you’re the only witness, he can do that. But when other people step into the picture, poof.”
“I gotta get Martha to talk to the police.” I headed back to the door. Brandi’s key didn’t turn either.
“What’s taking so long?” Brandi yelled from the sidewalk.
I jiggled the key. “I can’t get yours to work either.”
“Christ Kit. Now you can’t work a door anymore.” Brandi sauntered over. “Here, let me try. You keep an eye out for Hannibal Lecter.”
“I only wish it was Hannibal Lecter. At least he was polite. And funny.” I stepped away so Brandi could try.
She fiddled with the key. Same results. “What is going on around here? Maybe Martha’s home.” She banged on the door. “Martha. Get your butt over here and open up!”
“I have my trusty noisemaker if you think that would get her here faster,” I offered.
Brandi rolled her eyes. “We’ll try that if she’s at the library or something. Martha!” She pounded on the door a second time.
“I’m here, I’m here,” Martha muttered, her voice muffled. “No need to make such a fuss.”
I heard the click of the lock, then the door swung open. Martha’s red plaid shirt was rumpled, her hair tucked in big hunks behind her ears, black circles stained the skin beneath her eyes. “See, door’s open. Everything’s all right.”
Brandi pushed her way past her. “Everything is not all right. My key doesn’t work.”
“Neither does mine,” I stepped in as well.
“That’s because I changed the locks,” Martha said.
Brandi, who had started up the stairs, stopped in mid-stride. “What did you say?” she asked, her voice deceptively quiet as she turned to face Martha.
“Changed the locks,” Martha answered almost cheerfully, as she shut the door and bolted it.
Brandi leaned a hip against the banister and folded her arms across her chest. “And why, pray tell, did you do that?”
“Because she needs to move out.” Martha pointed at me.
My mouth fell open. “You have got to be kidding,” I stuttered, flooded by so many emotions I was almost speechless.
Brandi stepped back down the stairs. “But, I was locked out too.”
“Oh, well, I was going to give you a key,” Martha said.
Something inside me snapped when she said that. Stress, anger, frustration, panic and terror collided and exploded.
“Martha, you bitch!” I yelled, trying to ignore images of David looming over me with a knife, helpless in front of my locked front door. “I could’ve been killed out there! David was threatening me with a knife. And I couldn’t even open the door to my own apartment.”
Martha looked unfazed. “Told you he was dangerous.”
“He had a knife?” Brandi asked, a hint of fear in her voice.
I ignored Brandi. “I know he’s dangerous, you stupid cow. What, you think I’m an idiot or something?”
“You haven’t done anything about it,” Martha said.
God, did I want to slap her. “I’ve made formal complaints about him, to the police and the university.”
“Oh, yeah, I know about those. They called me.” Martha said, almost indifferently.
There was that feeling again – that feeling that I had wandered back onto some illogical world without knowing it. How could I be having this conversation? “You talked to them? And you still changed the locks?”
“I told them I didn’t know anything.” Martha brushed past Brandi and clomped up the stairs.
“You did what?” I didn’t believe what I just heard. “You told the police you didn’t know anything?”
Martha continued clumping up the stairs, her back to me. “Yep.”
Unbelievable. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. I could only stand there, gaping at a large wrinkle on the back of Martha’s red plaid shirt. Brandi’s eyes met mine, her expression as shocked as I was. I clapped my hands to the top of my head, as if to keep it from flying off.
“Martha, what the hell were you thinking?” Brandi asked.
I heard a buzzing noise in my head – the sound of my credibility flying away no doubt. Sucking in my breath,
I struggled to keep from screaming. “Why did you do that?”
Martha leaned over the mud brown banister, hair hanging down, the circles under her eyes even more pronounced. “Because that’s not going to make the problem go away.”
I felt like I might burst. I bounded up the stairs, bringing up a few coughs in the process. “What do you mean it’s not going to make the problem go away?” I said, between coughs. “How else is the problem going to go away?”
Martha planted her hands on her hips. “You leaving will make the problem go away. Going through the law will take too long.”
“For you, maybe. It’s not going to make the problem go away for me.”
Martha shrugged. “You should have thought of that before you dated him.”
A veil of red descended before my eyes and I lunged at her, slapping her across the face.
“Kit, stop it,” Brandi yelled, yanking me back.
Martha put a hand to her cheek, now as red as her shirt, her eyes as round as pebbles. “I can’t believe you did that.”
“And I can’t believe you,” I screamed, thrashing in Brandi’s arms. “You’re standing in judgment of me? You bitch! You have no rights here, none. I can have you thrown out tomorrow!” I exploded into a coughing fit, wrenching away from Brandi.
Martha rubbed her cheek. “No, you can’t.”
“Yes, we can,” Brandi said. “We’ve been through this. Your name isn’t on the lease. Our names are. We can throw you out. You can’t throw us out.”
Martha turned to Brandi, a hurt expression on her face. “I thought you were on my side here.”
“I wasn’t on anyone’s side before, but after that stupid stunt you pulled changing the locks, I’m definitely not on your side.”
“But you’re an innocent victim here, too.”
“So is Kit,” Brandi said, as I struggled to get my coughing under control. “Do you really think she asked for this, even if she did date the guy a couple of times? She’s trying to do something about it, and then you screw it all up by lying about it.”
Martha began to look uncertain. “But, I thought … ”
“No, you didn’t think, that’s the problem,” Brandi interrupted. “Yes, going through the system will take longer than if she moves out, but her moving out is not an option here. My God, Martha, have you no compassion?”
Martha’s eyes grew rounder at same time as her mouth flattened. “Don’t you see? Every time I come home, I see him hanging around outside. What if he attacks me? I can’t stand it anymore. I just want the problem to go away.”
“Newsflash, Martha. I want it to go away too, probably more than you do,” I said, finally getting my coughing under control. “Do you have any idea how it feels to be the one he’s waiting for?”
Martha collapsed, landing on the couch, legs folding under her like a rag doll. “I can’t concentrate like I used to. My grades are slipping. This is ruining my life.” Her body slumped over, arms draped over her knees, hair trailing over her face.
“It’s ruining all our lives,” Brandi said quietly. “Especially Kit’s.”
Martha didn’t answer, burrowing further into herself. As pissed as I was, I still couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for her.
“Give me a key.” I held my hand out. “How the hell did you get the landlord to agree to this anyway?”
Martha paused, straightened, her hair falling away from her face. I could see the creases under eyes, the folds sharper and deeper than I remembered. “Said I was Brandi. Told him we were being stalked.” She folded her arms across her chest.
“I want a key now, and if you ever do anything like this again, I will have you evicted.” I closed in on her.
“No,” Brandi said flatly. “That’s not good enough. Tomorrow, you’re going to call the police and tell them the truth. And, if you don’t, we will have you evicted.”
Martha’s eyes darted up at us. “Just wanted the problem to go away,” she muttered.
“Yeah, you said that,” I said, exhaustion creeping through my veins like a dark, liquidy drug. I flopped on the chair and blew my nose. God, I felt awful. Both my head and chest ached. I could even taste my sickness, it coated the back of my throat like a wooly blanket.
Brandi turned to me. “Now, what’s all this about a knife?”
Chapter 26
After debriefing Brandi on the entire David encounter, which she handled very well, considering … I decided to take a very long, very hot shower. I was dizzy with exhaustion and every part of my body hurt.
The shower loosened the mucus in my lungs and eased my aching head. Hot raspberry tea with lemon and honey soothed my sore throat. I followed that with an array of cold remedies and went to bed. I refused to allow myself to think.
As tired as I was, I couldn’t fall into a deep, restful sleep. I instead remained on the shallow edges, tossing and turning. Disconcerting images danced through my subconscious – floating knives, David grinning under a streetlight with eyes as black as a freshly dug grave, Cat flying away with the fairies. When I dragged myself out of bed at eight o’clock, I swore I felt more tired than I had the night before.
Brandi sauntered in while I played with my bagel, trying to decide if I had the nerve to attend the one class in which I hadn’t received an extension. There was no question I ought to go, but that didn’t stop David’s grin from leering up at me every time I made a move to get ready.
Brandi seated herself across from me. “Don’t worry about going to the police. I’m filing a report today.”
She looked pale and drawn, eyes drooping. Her appearance shocked me. “I should, too. After I go to class.”
Brandi shook her head. “Just call it in. I’ll tell you after I’ve filed, then you can call and add to it. If they ask why you didn’t do it earlier, tell them you have CF and you were too sick to do it before now.”
I smiled slightly. Not too far from the truth.
“Besides,” she continued. “It’s probably better if a formal complaint came from someone other than you right now. I’m getting Martha down there as well.”
I poked at my bagel. “I get the feeling you think I should stay here today.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you think that’d be a good idea?”
I know you like knives.
I stared at my bagel, now crumbled into something barely recognizable on the hideous sunflower plate. Brandi was right, but the idea of spending the day cooped up in my apartment because of David twisted my insides. And then I would have nothing to distract me from seeing his distorted face grinning, the madness within shining through …
I stood. Time to get my mind off this before I made myself crazy. I boiled water for tea, took more cold medicine and stretched out on the couch. I’m not hiding from David, I thought. I’m just taking another sick day.
I spent the better part of the afternoon dozing in front of daytime television, feeling like I had hit the epitome of laziness. Eventually I decided I’d had enough, so I turned off the television and checked my email.
I hadn’t done it for several days, mostly because I thought if I saw some smug message from David there, I would throw my computer out the window. As expected, he had sent me several messages. I decided to pretend I hadn’t seen them, and didn’t open them.
Equally disturbing though were the two emails from the university. The first appeared to be routine, requesting me to make an appointment with the dean regarding my complaint. The second, sent yesterday afternoon, was more menacing.
“We have recently received information regarding your complaint against David Terry. Please call our office immediately to schedule an appointment with Dean Barnow.”
They had to be referring to the restraining order. Lovely. Well, I knew I’d have to deal with this sooner or later, I just had hoped it would be later.
It amazed me how David, the attacker, had managed to get the wheels of justice furiously turning for him, whereas I, the victim, could barely get a courtesy call. What did that say about our justice system?
No, I wouldn’t go there. It would only make me angry, and I had enough things standing in line to make me angry. Today was a day about resting and healing. God knows I would need all my strength and then some in the coming weeks.
Speaking of strength, I picked up the phone to call the police department. I wanted the cops on my side before I saw the dean. Then maybe I could finally get this mess straightened out.
The police, however, had a different interpretation of the facts. Detective Jenkins explained that he had spoken to David, seen the videotape, and discovered I had received extensions on all but one class. His tone left no doubt as to which one of us he believed. I hung up, seething, amazed at how fast I was becoming the stalker and David the victim.
I took a quick shower, dressed and blow-dried my hair so it wouldn’t freeze in the cold. I had to get out of the apartment. And why shouldn’t I? It was the middle of the afternoon – the sun was shining, people were shuffling to and from class, work and studying. Nothing to be afraid of. Nothing at all.
I put on my coat and walked to the door. David wasn’t out there. He couldn’t be. He had classes to attend, a life to live. He couldn’t be out there, hiding in the next building or behind the garbage dumps, waiting for me to leave so he could pounce …
I know you like knives.
I rubbed my face, then went back upstairs to call a cab. This was an insane way to live. I shouldn’t let him control me like this. He was in the wrong. I shouldn’t have to change my life. None of those thoughts stopped me from dialing.
I told the driver to take me across campus to Franklin Street. David wouldn’t be able to follow a cab across town on foot. Besides, there was a café there, The Wagon, which served breakfast all the time. Breakfast sounded good to me right now. It also happened to be across the street from the stadium, and Tommy would be finishing practice in an hour or so. Not that I was going to see him or anything. I just liked the food at The Wagon.
The Stolen Twin Page 22