The Thin Wall

by E. M. Parker

  The first thing she noticed when she exited the elevator was that the yellow tape had been removed from apartment 612. She had guessed this was because the police were still working inside, but the door itself was closed and she didn’t notice police activity anywhere else on the grounds. She lingered in front of the door just long enough to give herself a major case of the creeps before moving down the hallway toward her own apartment.

  She had considered the very risky move of stopping in front of 607 to see if she could hear any signs of Olivia to go along with the presence in the window. But as she approached, it wasn’t apartment 607 that got her attention.

  It was her own.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  FIONA HAD LEFT IN A HURRY, her mind focused solely on her cell phone, and it was entirely plausible that she left without closing the door. But as someone with an obsessive-compulsive disorder that sometimes required her to check a door or window multiple times to ensure it was closed, such a scenario, no matter how distracted she had become, was highly unlikely.

  The front door was ajar about four or five inches. She thought there could have been an object on the floor, like a bunched-up mat, that would have prevented her from closing it; something that her hurried state would not have allowed her the time to notice. But she saw no such obstruction when she looked down.

  Even though the open door was most likely her own doing, Fiona still hesitated to walk inside. She pushed the door open a few inches, waited to make sure that nothing stirred inside the apartment, then pushed it open a few more inches. Once it was fully open, and she had a clear view of everything inside, she took her first tentative step in.

  Stop being such a damn wimp. There’s no one in there.

  The declaration could not stop an image of Noah – that soulless smile on his face – from flashing in her mind. In the most nightmarish of all scenarios, he was standing in her kitchen; or worse yet her bedroom, his hands prepared to carry out the threat that his eyes so subtly communicated.

  She pushed the image out of her head as she walked inside, tensing her body for the fight or flight response that could occur based on what she’d seen. With each step she took through the apartment, the tension subsided. As far as she could see, nothing was out of place, nor did the air feel different, as could happen when there is a foreign presence somewhere beyond the eye’s ability to see.

  By the time Fiona had concluded her walkthrough with trips to the bathroom, her bedroom, and the linen closet, she had relaxed completely. Whatever had occurred with the door was a fluke, plain and simple, and she felt slightly foolish for thinking otherwise.

  She reached for the amulet, clutching it with a tight grip that she hoped would make the transfer of its energy into her weary spirit much smoother.

  Whenever you’re ready to rid me of those demons, you go right ahead.

  The soothing warmth of the stone was not enough to convince her that such an exorcism was imminent, but it was enough to calm her nerves.

  She sat down on the bed to relieve the aching in her feet. It felt like she had been on them nonstop since moving here, and most of that time had been spent pacing for one reason or another. She struggled to remember what a restful night’s sleep felt like. It had been weeks, and she was seriously contemplating a trip to the grocery store for a bottle of Tylenol PM. Anything stronger would mean certain death for her sobriety. Even something as tame as an over-the-counter pain pill brought risk. But at this point in her chronically sleep-deprived state, she was willing to take the chance.

  She had thoroughly massaged the knot out of one of her feet and was preparing to dig into the second when she heard it.

  “Hey.”

  It was a single word spoken in a hurried whisper, loud enough for Fiona to notice, distant enough to know that it came from the room adjacent to hers.

  Olivia.

  “I heard you earlier. Are you still there?”

  Fiona rose off the bed and approached the wall, standing in the spot where she’d heard the girl’s voice. “I’m still here, Olivia. How are you?”

  “I’m doing okay, I guess.”

  The brightness in her tone brought a smile to Fiona’s face.

  “Did you have a good day at school?”

  Olivia hesitated before answering, and Fiona wondered if she’d heard the question consistently enough to even know how to answer it.

  “School is school. It doesn’t really change.”

  “That’s very true. It probably hasn’t changed much since I was there either.”

  “When would that have been?”

  “The olden days.”

  “You mean when the world was black and white?”

  Fiona laughed aloud for the first time that she could remember. “Nope. By then the world was full technicolor.”

  “What’s technicolor?”

  Jesus, maybe I am old. “Never mind.”

  Apparently willing to let the query go, Olivia quickly changed subjects. “Have you seen all the police around here?”

  Fiona thought about lying, but decided instead to downplay the situation. “I have, but I don’t think it’s a really big deal. The police come around sometimes when they want people to feel safe.”

  “That’s not true. They were here because that man died.”

  Fiona did not respond.

  “It’s nice that the police want people to feel safe,” Olivia continued, “but I don’t think that’s possible after what happened to Mr. Tisdale.”

  “You know what happened to Mr. Tisdale?” a stunned Fiona asked.

  Hesitation. Then, “Yes.”

  “Can you tell me?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “My mom says I shouldn’t talk about things that I don’t know about. She says that’s called gossip, and she hates gossip.”

  “This isn’t gossip, honey. Something very terrible happened and the police need to know why. If you know something about a bad thing that happened, telling someone, especially the police, is the absolute right thing to do. Have you or your mom talked to them yet?”

  “We heard them in the hallway last night. They knocked on our door a bunch of times, but Noah didn’t let my mom answer.”

  Fucking Noah. Fiona had had just about enough of that overgrown bully and resolved right then and there to not tread lightly the next time she saw him. Men like him thrived on inspiring fear in people whom they considered weaker than themselves, in this case, Natalie, Olivia, and now Fiona. He wasn’t going to frighten her anymore, and if she had anything to say about it, he wasn’t going to frighten Olivia either.

  “You shouldn’t listen to anything that Noah says, and neither should your mother. If he cared at all about you, he wouldn’t talk the way he does.”

  “I know he doesn’t care about me,” a solemn Olivia answered. “But I can’t do anything about it. I tried running away last year when I was nine. Instead of walking home from school the way I usually do, I walked in the other direction. I didn’t know where I was going. I just wanted to be someplace far away. I was sitting in this park, all by myself. It was getting dark and scary outside. But it still wasn’t as scary as it is here. A policeman found me and brought me back home. I got in the worst trouble ever that night. Worse than anything that happened before. Well, almost worse.”

  Fiona was on the verge of tears. “Do you have any other family you could talk to when you feel sad like that?”

  Hesitation, then, “No. My mom doesn’t like it when anybody else is around. She says she doesn’t trust other people. She wasn’t like that before she met Noah.”

  In that moment, Fiona devised a two-part plan. The second part of the plan involved a call to Child Protective Services. The first required her direct involvement.

  “Olivia, do you think we could see each other face to face? Maybe you could come over here or we could meet outside on the playground? Wouldn’t that be so much better than talking through this wall?”

  “I don�
��t think it’s possible.”

  “Why not?”

  “It just isn’t. This is the safest way for us to talk.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I really like you, and I don’t want you to be in any more danger than you’re already in.”

  “What kind of danger am I in?”

  “I’m sure you’ve felt it in your apartment. The strange things that we talked about before.”

  “Yes, I’ve felt it, but you never explained what you think those strange things are.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  Fiona still had not come up with a reasonable answer. “I honestly don’t know. I just think it’s a weird time in my life right now and I probably wouldn’t be comfortable anywhere.”

  “Why is it a weird time in your life?”

  “You’re changing the subject, young lady.”

  “I’ve told you about me, now I want to hear about you. It’s only fair.”

  Fiona bit down on her lip in frustration, but she could not argue. “I have a son who I haven’t seen in a long time and it makes me really sad. But I’m doing my best to make sure I can see him again.”

  “Why haven’t you seen him?” Olivia asked pointedly.

  “It’s a long story.”

  “You mean, like, complicated, grown-up stuff.”

  “Exactly.”

  “What’s your son’s name?”

  “Jacob.”

  “What’s Jacob like?”

  A smile danced across Fiona’s face as she envisioned him. “He’s a great kid, about your age. Really smart, really kind, really funny. He gets that from me, you know.”

  “I didn’t realize you were funny.”

  Few people do, Fiona thought to herself. “Catch me on a good day and I’m a regular laugh riot.”

  “I can’t wait for that good day.”

  “Neither can I.”

  “So do you think you’ll see your son soon?”

  “I hope so. I really miss him.”

  “Yeah. I know what it’s like to miss people, but when they’re gone, they’re gone, and there isn’t anything you can do about it.”

  “Who are the people you miss?”

  There was a long silence.

  “Olivia, are you still there?”

  “I am, but I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Okay, we don’t have to. But I would still like for you to think about meeting me somewhere that I can actually see your face.”

  “I would like that too. But how do I know I can trust you? My mom always talks about not trusting strangers, and you are still kind of a stranger.”

  “Your mom is right to tell you that, but I promise you can trust me.”

  “She said that was exactly what a bad stranger would say.”

  “Fair enough. What can I do to convince you that I’m not a bad stranger?”

  Olivia thought on it for a moment. “You can promise to believe me.”

  “I’ve believed everything you’ve told me so far.”

  “There’s more.”

  “Try me.”

  “You have to promise first.”

  Fiona was suddenly worried about what she was walking herself into, but she also worried that if she didn’t walk into it, she would have no chance of gaining Olivia’s trust. “I promise.”

  “I know who killed Mr. Tisdale.”

  Fiona could feel the blood drain from her face. “What did you say?”

  “I know who did it, and it won’t do any good to tell the police, because they will never catch them.”

  “Who killed Mr. Tisdale?”

  “I can’t say it here,” Olivia whispered. “We should only talk about it outside.”

  “I can do that. What about that spot in the back of the building?”

  “Which spot?”

  “By the children’s playground, the place you saw me standing in earlier when I was on the phone.”

  Silence, then, “What?”

  “About a half-hour ago. I was standing outside. You were looking out the window. We waved to each other.”

  More silence.

  “Don’t you remember? It just happened.”

  “I’m sorry, Fiona.”

  “Sorry about what?”

  “It wasn’t me. I wasn’t at my window. I never saw you outside. Maybe it was someone else.”

  “Are there any other girls your age who live on this floor?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Fiona felt something heavy rising in her chest, but she ignored it. It didn’t matter right now who or what was in that window. And if there was no one there, if the stress of the last few days had degenerated her mental capacity to the point that she was hallucinating, that didn’t matter either. The only thing that did matter was helping this child while she still had the opportunity.

  “Do you still want to meet me out there?” Olivia asked.

  “Absolutely. When can you go?”

  “I don’t know. It’s kind of hard to leave without my mom seeing. I’d have to sneak out.”

  The mother in Fiona wasn’t in favor of that idea. “Isn’t there another way? I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

  “I’m already in trouble. I don’t see how sneaking out can make it much worse.”

  “Well, I’d rather you didn’t take the chance. What if I come over and talk to your mom?”

  Olivia gasped. “No way. That would be the worst thing to do.”

  “Why?”

  “I thought you said I could trust you. I thought you said you would believe me.”

  “You can trust me, and I do believe you. I really want to talk more, but I don’t want you sneaking out to do it.”

  “Then I guess we can’t talk.” Olivia was quiet for a few seconds, then, “I really wanted to believe you, Fiona. I’m sorry that I can’t.”

  “Olivia, wait a second. I—”

  “Do you still want to know who killed Mr. Tisdale?”

  “Of course I do.”

  Olivia began pounding on the wall.

  THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

  “What are you doing? Please stop.”

  But she didn’t.

  THUMP THUMP THUMP.

  The noise forced her to back away from the wall.

  THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP.

  When it finally stopped, Fiona called out in anger. “What’s the matter with you? Why were you doing that?”

  She could hear Olivia’s labored breathing through the wall. “Because I want you to know what you’re dealing with, what all of us are dealing with. Because I don’t want what happened to Mr. Tisdale to happen to you. Because I want you to run, as fast as you possibly can, the next time you hear that sound. Because the next time you hear it, it won’t be from me. I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t think I can trust you.”

  “Olivia, will you please just talk to me?”

  “I’m going away now. Bye.”

  Fiona didn’t bother to call out again. With the pounding still reverberating in her head, she sat down on the bed and began massaging her throbbing temples. There was no space in her mind for rational thought or explanation. There was no space for anything except the ever-present desire to sleep away the unpredictable, chaotic shit-storm that her life had suddenly become.

  Time to get those pills.

  She had put on her shoes, grabbed her coat and purse, and twisted the doorknob of her front door when the sound of breaking glass in her bedroom rendered her frozen. After the grip of fear finally released its hold, Fiona raced into the bedroom to find that all seven of the pictures that she had hung on the wall were now on the floor. The glass from each of the frames was either cracked or broken, despite the soft carpet they had fallen on.

  Fiona’s mind told her to run, but her body was too tired to comply. She calmly walked into the kitchen, grabbed the broom and dustpan, and made her way back. She carefully picked up the pieces of glass from the wrecked frames, careful to preserv
e the pictures inside. As she put the last piece of glass into the trashcan, Fiona heard a noise from Olivia’s side of the wall. Gentle sniffles. Sadness. She put her ear close to listen.

  “Olivia?”

  “I’m so sorry. I really am.”

  Fiona wanted to comfort her; she wanted to find some way to tell her that it was okay, that whatever had happened here wasn’t her fault.

  But she couldn’t.

  She left the bedroom to the faint sound of Olivia’s sadness, not sure if she would ever have the chance, or the desire, to talk to her again.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  DETECTIVE SULLIVAN STOOD QUIETLY IN Donald Tisdale’s living room. The space felt empty, even though nothing had been removed except for a handful of items that were deemed critical to the investigation. Sullivan had experienced the same feeling in most crime scenes that she revisited, but something was different here. There was something about Corona Heights in general, and Donald Tisdale’s apartment specifically, that seemed almost otherworldly. She felt out of place here, like she didn’t belong, like she wasn’t wanted.

  The sense of foreboding that followed her home earlier this morning returned as she and Greer made their way back this afternoon. She thought that by standing alone in the space she so dreaded coming back to, feeling its sensations, listening to its subtle hums and buzzes and ticks, she could ground herself in the reality of it, thereby eliminating its inexplicable power over her. It had become clear after only a few seconds that the tactic would not work.

  She heard the noise the moment she walked into the apartment. It began as a muted thumping that sounded like footsteps in the apartment above her. It moved across the length of the ceiling before making its way down the wall in the kitchen and onto the floor underneath her. At that point, she ruled out footsteps as a source of the noise. She followed the arrhythmic thumping as it skipped across the kitchen floor, into the living room, then finally into the hallway that led to Donald Tisdale’s bedroom.

  Upon entering the bedroom, her eyes immediately fell on the stained baseboard where the pool of blood had appeared. Forensics performed a DNA analysis this morning that concluded the sample did not belong to Tisdale, which meant her tidy little suicide case had officially been blown wide open. It was also a confirmation of her fear that Corona Heights was not finished with her yet.