Coming Back (The Sarah Kinsely Story - Book #2)

by Berry, C. J.

  I had made it.

  I was home.

  I changed from my work outfit into a comfortable pair of my favorite pajama pants from college. I slipped on my favorite T-shirt from an Arcade Fire concert I attended with my girlfriends back in New York, and I snuggled myself deep into my couch with my favorite quilted blanket that I had just unpacked. With a gallon of ice cream tucked snuggly under my arm and a fresh baked pizza lying on my coffee table, I flipped open my laptop and lost myself in the world of unending Netflix series.

  It must have been nearly midnight when I heard a loud knock coming from the front door. Since I had spent the past few years living in apartment buildings in New York, it came as a double shock to have somebody actually knocking on my door. The fact that it was nearly midnight made it even more absurd and unusual.

  I waited.

  Nothing.

  Must have been the phonebook delivery guy.

  I turned my Netflix back on and was just about to put my headphones back in my ears when the knock came again. It was much louder this time and I heard some rustling behind the door. The New Yorker in me raised its head for a split second and I started for the door to tell whoever it was to beat it.

  Then I remembered I was alone.

  I don’t mean it like that. I knew I was the only person inside the house, but it hadn’t occurred to me until that very moment how lonely it can be living in a house all by yourself. There were no nosy neighbors who could hear through the paper thin walls all of my going-ons like back in my apartment in New York. There were no loud and ruckus parties going on in the hallways to prevent creepers from hanging around my front door.

  Worst of all, there wasn’t really anyone in this entire city who I could call except the cops.

  I was truly alone.

  I told my New Yorker self to relax and instead of throwing open the door and spewing expletives, I crept slowly towards the door hoping to get a view of the person through the peephole.

  Before I made it to the door however, the knocking started again, even louder this time. Fear slipped quietly into my heart taking me by surprise and I suddenly felt a rush of adrenaline as news reel footage of murder victims flashed in my head.

  Dammit, I need to stop watching those crime shows.

  My body froze just feet from the door and I looked around for a possible escape if whatever was behind the door made its way through to the other side.

  As I was standing there contemplating what objects I could use for weapons, I heard a voice yell my name.

  “Sarah, open up, I know you're in there.”

  Oh shit.

  It was Aiden.

  My toes curled and almost pulled up the hardwood floor in reaction to hearing his voice. My whole body was on edge like a cat before they pounce. I was now more than afraid, I was disgusted, I wanted him to leave and I wanted him to leave now. Not caring if he heard me or not I ran into the kitchen where I had stashed my recently unpacked cutlery set. I grabbed the butcher knife and the meat prongs, and settled back into the corner nook near the sink. Like an idiot, I had left my cell phone in the front room. It wouldn’t normally have been a problem, but I had also left the front room window partially open.

  I cursed myself.

  The banging started again.

  “Sarah, listen, I know you're in there and I know you can hear me. For God's sake, I can hear you rustling around in there..”

  Dammit. I should have been more careful.

  “Listen," Aiden said, "I've been trying to call you for the last week. Why aren't you getting back to me?"

  You know exactly why I'm not getting back to you, you bastard.

  "I really want to see you again Sarah, I'm not sure what happened, but I'd like to at least have the chance to make it right."

  I bet you do.

  Every word that came out of his mouth seemed to stain my ears and cause my body to reject the vile meaning hidden behind them. I cringed when I heard my name coming from his lips. He was like a disease that I desperately needed to eradicate, but one for which I didn’t have a vaccine.

  I begin to make plans. I imagined how quickly I could grab my phone, call 911 and defend myself from him as he would surely see me through the cracked open window in my living room. As I become lost thought I stopped.

  The silence had returned.

  Had he gone? Or was he just coming around the back to see if the doors were unlocked?

  I tried to remember if they were or not.

  I couldn’t remember.

  Without warning my computer came to life. The intro song to one of my favorite TV shows, NCIS, started playing. I closed my eyes hoping the noise didn’t give me away.

  The silence from outside my door continued.

  He must have left.

  Nearly an hour passed before I finally made my way out of the kitchen to turn off my computer.

  It had been comforting hearing the familiar voice of Mark Harmon competently solving crimes and keeping his team out of trouble. I admit, it had lulled me into a false sense of safety as I sat leaned up against the wall of my kitchen, butcher knife in hand.

  I threw the gallon of melted chocolate ice cream in the trash, half-mourning the loss, and took a bite of now cold pizza.

  My appetite was nowhere to be found.

  I went through the house and turned on every light I could find. I put my charger and my phone next to my bed and I tried to go to sleep.

  It was useless.

  I tossed and turned imagining Aiden breaking into my house.

  The truth was that I was 25, a woman, and alone in a big city.

  I knew that I had to change that starting tomorrow.

  Chapter 4

  I couldn't sleep.

  Every bump-in-the-night caused my heart to stop beating and my hands to turn into frigid icicles. After ten minutes of hiding under my covers, I would peak my eyes over the edge of my comforter to check if Aiden was in my house.

  By 2 a.m., 911 had made its way all the way to the top of my speed dial.

  At around 3:30 a.m. I lugged my exhausted body into the kitchen. All the lights in my house were still on so it was no trouble getting to where I needed to go. On any other night I would have bungled my way down my hall so bad my legs would have been black and blue the next morning. In the dark I was completely useless.

  They say that eating sugar right before you go to bed makes it harder to sleep. I don't know if I am some sort of freak-of-nature or something, but the opposite effect is true for me. Somehow my body takes sugar and turns it into micro sleeping pills. A handful of Gummy Bears and I am in dreamland before I even realize it.

  Maybe I should donate my body to science.

  Whatever the science behind it, I grabbed a gallon of chocolate ice cream, my biggest spoon, and started eating my way to sleep.

  My stomach began growling and my eyelids began to sag before too long. I used my last reserves of energy to put the lid back on the now half eaten gallon of chocolate ice cream and shoved it mindlessly back into the freezer. I tossed the spoon into the sink and bungled my way back into my room.

  I slipped under my covers, and before I could reach for my phone; I was out.

  It must have been around 4:30 a.m. when I heard the crashing of the glass. It might have been earlier, but I can't be sure.

  My eyes opened immediately, but my body refused to respond to my brain screaming at it to move. I eyed the hallway. There was broken glass everywhere, but I couldn't make out any other details. It was like the edges of the walls had melted away, like ice cream does if you leave it on the counter too long.

  I tried to crane my neck around, hoping to see my phone sitting on the desk next to my bed, but my body still refused to move. What I could see though frightened me.

  I was no longer in my house, but his.

  I was still in my bed, but it wasn't my room anymore.

  No wonder I couldn't make out the details of the hallway, I didn't recognize any of them.


  Suddenly, I heard voices coming from the end of the hallway.

  A man and a woman.

  I couldn't tell if they were arguing or if they were —

  Their moans of pleasure turned to silence almost as soon as I recognized what was happening. I struggled to move my body, but still no response. I couldn't escape, my mind had gone into some kind of paralysis that I had never experienced before. I wanted to scream, but even my voice was restrained by this mysterious hold.

  Suddenly, I saw them both standing in the hallway. They were naked; that much I could tell from the silhouettes they cast in the darkness.

  They were staring at me.

  The woman leaning against the man, her hand rubbing up and down on his chest.

  They were standing barefooted on the glass.

  They took a step towards me, the broken shards crunching under their feet. I tried to scream, to move, to do something, but I was still held down, unable to move an inch. I tried kicking my feet with every ounce of energy that I could muster, but only my big toe wiggled in response.

  They stepped closer again. A light shone down on their faces from somewhere in the hallway.

  Oh my God.

  My breathing almost stopped completely, then went into overdrive.

  "Hello Sarah," Lizzy said, now standing near the end of my bed. Her naked body was nearly covered entirely in tattoos. She was wet, probably from sweat, and her body glistened in the low light of the room where I was. She saw me looking and struck a pose, trying to bait me into her temptation.

  I tried to answer back, to tell them that I was going to go to the police, that they would be spending the rest of their lives in prison once I got out of here, but nothing came out, and it didn't matter because Aiden would have interrupted me anyways.

  His voice was booming, it didn't sound like it came from a man.

  It sounded like it came from the whole house.

  "Why didn't you let me in?"

  He too was wet, the edges of his body flashing under the dull glow of light in the hallway. The muscles along his stomach seemed to point downward, pulling my eyes towards the part of his body that I now feared. He smiled and looked down, somehow guiding my eyes where he wanted them. His cock was erect, larger than I had remembered — and something else — it was tattooed. I hadn't noticed it when we had spent the night together, I wondered if I had really missed it.

  It didn't really matter now, whatever was going to happen was going to happen.

  There was nothing that I could do.

  "Why didn't you let him in?" Lizzy chimed in.

  She stepped over to Aiden and straddled her leg over his manhood. He picked her up, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands so that her breasts were smashed up against his chest. She seemed to float in the air as he held her, toes dangling, off the ground.

  They both looked at me and asked, "Why didn't you let us in?"

  I felt like I was losing my mind. It felt like my mind was beginning to shut itself down in preparation for whatever event was about to happen.

  Then he lifted her up into the air above his head and slowly lowered her onto his shaft. They both moaned so loud that I thought my ears would burst.

  I could do nothing but watch as they fucked each other over, and over, and over, again.

  Just when I thought I could endure no more, the sound of breaking glass crashed through my ears and into the deepest parts of my brain. It was such a shock to my system that — I woke up again.

  This time, I was in my own house. I could see the details of my walls perfectly. I could move my neck, my head, and my whole body. There was no glass in the hallway. There were no moans of pleasure coming from the other room.

  There was no Lizzy.

  There was no Aiden.

  I started to cry uncontrollably.

  It must have been a dream.

  No, not a dream; a nightmare.

  Chapter 5

  It was nearly noon by the time I finally woke up that Saturday morning. I had spent the rest of that night tossing and turning, reliving the nightmare in my mind, checking and rechecking my doors, and making sure that my phone was plugged in just in case I had to call the cops. Even when I first moved to New York and had to live in an apartment directly above an Irish bar and strip club I wasn’t nearly as afraid as I had been that night in Portland.

  The first thing I did when I woke up that morning was take a long shower. I felt dirty. The images from the nightmare refused to leave my mind. They left a bad taste in my mouth.

  After my shower I got back on my computer and started my furious quest to find a roommate. I would rather live with a complete stranger who could serve as an eyewitness to my murder than live alone and have to go through what happened last night ever again.

  I jumped on Craigslist, and typed out the following ad:

  Roommate wanted

  No drama, no bullshit, no weirdos, no smoking.

  Rapists, criminals, scammers, druggies and other various nefarious types need not apply.

  Looking for a long-term roommate. Possibly more than one.

  Open house today at 5.

  I realized it was a little bit last-minute, and the show up might be sparse, but I wanted to get this process started and I had to squeeze it in between now and before I had dinner with Brandon later that night.

  The house was still in shambles from the move so I spent that afternoon cleaning it and trying to make it look nice. Yes, I had spent the previous week in near mental breakdown, but prospective roommates didn’t need to know that.

  In between filling the tub with bleach and stuffing everything into drawers, I ran down to the corner market and bought some prepackaged cookies. On my way back I wiggled the “For Sale” sign out of the ground and threw it over the fence into my backyard.

  Classy, I know.

  I had heard Portland was a hard city to find a place to live, but when five o’clock finally came around I found out just how hard it really was.

  The turnout was overwhelming.

  My house was instantly flooded with 20-somethings in thick framed glasses, ties and polka dot skirts. There were couples, both gay and straight, singles and an occasional group all vying for whatever living conditions I could offer. They asked questions, ate cookies, and told me that they loved my hair. I knew they were lying, but I didn’t mind getting buttered up by attractive people my age.

  At around 5:45 p.m. the crowd started to dissipate as the house search party began to wrap up. I collected information on a few potentials and was feeling really excited and, if I'm being honest, a little more safe just knowing that so many people had seen my face and new my name. If my picture showed up on the evening news that night maybe one of them would have recognized me.

  It was a comforting thought anyways.

  Just as I was about to put the few remaining cookies away and close my door I heard a loud and familiar voice. I couldn't quite place it until I saw the face — and the beard.

  "Marcus," I shouted.

  "You little bitch." Marcus ran over and gave me a tight squeeze.

  "How are you?" I asked.

  "I'm as fine as ever. Where the hell have you been?"

  Marcus turned to the crew he had drug along with him and ushered them over.

  "What do you mean?" I asked.

  "I mean, Aiden has been a complete and royal pain in the ass since last weekend when you girls stopped by at the place. All he does now at the restaurant is ask about you like we are supposed to know where the hell you are tramping around at.”

  I didn't know what say. I felt embarrassed that people I hardly knew were getting all the gory details of that weekend spent with Aiden. I imagined him sitting back there in his kitchen making rude jokes and comments and pretending to care about me and trying to make a big deal out of something that, in all reality, meant nothing.

  It made me feel sick.

  I invited Marcus and his friends into the living room. I waved goodbye to the last few peopl
e that had come for the open house and told them I would call. Marcus waved at them as well and said he would call too.

  It made me smile.

  "So girl," he said, "what have you been doing?"

  "Oh you know, just hanging out trying get roommates and stuff."

  I flashed a grin.

  "Well, can I live here or what?"

  The thought of having Marcus constantly by my side automatically made me start to feel better. I imagined the two of us snuggling on the couch together watching Netflix films, knitting and doing other offensively cliche things that girls can only do with their gay friends. The fact that he did work at Aiden’s restaurant did concern me, but I was willing to overlook it if it meant having a semi-familiar face around.

  "You got money?" I asked laughing.

  Marcus blurted out a loud laugh.

  "Bitch please, I ain’t got no money, but these bitches do. And they all owe me."

  He pointed to his posse and they all laughed.

  I told Marcus that I would definitely think about it, that he was on the top of my list, then I told him something I would later regret.

  "Well, you all are free to stay here for a few, but I need to go and get changed. I have a date with my boss tonight.”

  "Wait, what?” the laughing stopped, “You got a date with who?"

  Marcus looked like I had just mortally offended his pride.

  "Oh no it's not really a date. It's just something my boss does for all the new employees. They take them out to dinner or something. I don't know what it is, all I know is I get free food."

  Marcus didn't look convinced.

  "Damn," he said, "if you're doing your boss and I have to deal with Aiden's shit every day, no thanks to you, that makes you one cold heartless bitch."

  I considered telling Marcus the whole truth. I thought about laying it all out there — exposing Aiden and the girls he considered friends — but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Even when I was younger I was always the girl who kept the secrets best. Instead I gave him a half smile and reaffirmed that I would consider having him as a roommate and I would let him know if I thought it was a good idea.