The Thin Wall

by E. M. Parker

  Her body ached with the dull pain of emptiness as she turned off the phone and made her way to bed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  FIONA HAD NO MEMORY OF FALLING ASLEEP, nor did she remember dreaming. All she knew for sure was that for seven glorious hours between ten-thirty P.M. and five-thirty A.M., there was nothing but deep, penetrating, restful darkness.

  She awoke that morning to the faintest sliver of pre-dawn light peeking through her window. Though the light was enough to confirm the promise of a brand-new day, it was not yet enough to illuminate her bedroom. The sleeping pills had done their job. She woke up physically rejuvenated, and for the first time in days, felt that she could approach the day with energy and focus. But the pitch-blackness that enveloped her room made it tough to get out of bed. So instead of taking advantage of her newfound energy and getting a jumpstart on the day, she pulled the covers over her shoulders, sunk as deep as her air mattress would allow, and focused on that thin sliver of light in her window until she drifted back to sleep.

  This time she did dream. As had been the case in nearly every other dream she had, Jacob’s was the first face that she saw. Dressed in a black suit and tie, he stood outside her apartment, jiggling the door handle, frustrated that he could not get in. In his free hand, he held a bundle of fresh flowers – the yellow marigolds that were always Fiona’s favorites. She could see him from inside the apartment, but she could not get out of bed to let him in. He twisted the door handle, pushed on the door with his shoulder, but it would not budge. His eyes grew fearful and he began to sob. “Mom, let me in. Mom, please.” The soft whimper registered in Fiona’s ear with the force of a megaphone. But still, she could not move.

  Finally, with one last strike of his shoulder, Jacob came through the door. He smiled with relief as he stepped into the dark apartment, the bright marigolds beaming in his hand.

  “Mom? Are you here?”

  “Yes honey. I’m here, in the bedroom.” Fiona once again attempted to get out of bed, but she was still unable to move.

  “Mom, I’m here. Where are you?” Jacob’s voice sounded distant, though Fiona could clearly see him.

  “I’m here. Just follow mommy’s voice, you’ll find me.”

  He started sobbing again. “I can’t find you. Why won’t you come to me?”

  Fiona attempted to lift herself out of bed, but something pushed her back down – a heavy hand that she could not see. The harder she fought, the harder the hand pushed back. “Please, don’t.”

  “I have to go, mom. I can’t stay here.”

  “Jacob, no. Please wait!”

  Without saying another word, he turned around and walked toward the door.

  “Don’t go, Jacob. I’m coming.” The invisible hands that held her down on the bed pressed even harder, and she suddenly found it difficult to breathe. “Please don’t leave me.”

  Jacob reached for the door knob. Before he turned it, he looked back into the darkness. The marigolds were no longer in his hand. “I miss you mommy. Why did you have to go?” He opened the door and stepped through it. The hallway was just as dark as her apartment and Fiona instinctively knew that once Jacob entered it, she would never see him again.

  She tried to call out one last time, but there was no air left in her lungs. The last image she saw of Jacob was the ghostly white silhouette of his face against the pitch-black of the hallway. He smiled again. This time there was nothing bright about it. This time, it was dark, and contorted, and malevolent. Then, in an instant, he was gone, and she was someplace warm, looking up at a bright blue sky. Fiona thought for a moment that she had finally landed on that sun-filled sandy beach. Then she looked down and saw the marigolds spread out on top of her. The soft fabric of her favorite sundress clung to her cold body. Once again, she couldn’t move, bound on all sides by an obstruction that she didn’t see. It was only when she saw Kirk’s face, and the shovel in his hand, and the mound of dirt that he was preparing to toss on her, that she realized what the obstruction was. She tried to stop him, but lungs that are devoid of air can’t produce much noise. The bright sky disappeared with each mound of dirt that Kirk heaped on top of her, until there was nothing left but darkness and the sound of wheezing as she struggled through her final breaths.

  When she was in the dark void, she heard a young, soft voice.

  “No, it’s not time yet.”

  Fiona didn’t recognize the voice, but it comforted her nonetheless.

  “Wake up. See me. I need you.”

  She sprung up off the air mattress with a furious start, gasping for air. Quickly realizing that there was no danger, no invisible hands crushing her chest, she steadied her breathing. She looked around the day-lit bedroom, trying to reorient herself. It was just a dream. All of it. There was no Jacob, no marigolds, no casket, no mounds of dirt burying her alive. It was another day, a new day. And she still had the chance to make everything right.

  Relieved beyond anything she had ever felt before, Fiona made her way out of bed and into the bathroom. The sense of rejuvenation that she woke up with earlier was gone, replaced with a fierce exhaustion. She carefully avoided looking in the mirror for fear of how her face would display that exhaustion. She instead kept her focus on a hallway photo of her mother holding a newborn Jacob. It was the one photo that had thus far managed not to fall off the wall it had been nailed to. But there was still something wrong. She couldn’t pinpoint what that something was until she started to approach it.

  The tilt of the photo appeared minor at first, but the closer she got to it, the more askew it became. She never saw it move, it was almost as if the microscopic changes happened every time she blinked. For every blink, it seemed, there was a one degree turn, until, by the time she stood directly in front of it, the photo had rotated a full forty-five-degrees.

  She stared at it for a long moment before touching it, her head tilting in unison with a sideways Jacob.

  “What the hell is this?” she asked herself. Her tongue felt thick and she slurred the words. She was accustomed to the feeling, though this time it wasn’t the result of alcohol. Fearing what the words would sound like should she say anything else, Fiona kept quiet as she turned the picture to its rightful position. It fell easily back into place.

  She gave no conscious thought to how the photo had ended up in that position. The answer, she knew, was not readily available. And even if it was, she was better off not knowing.

  As she walked back into the bathroom, she heard a slow creaking sound. Her eyes immediately fell on the door that she had just walked through. I must have brushed up against it, she concluded, completely ignoring the fact that the sound had originated in another area of the apartment entirely. She had turned on the faucet for her daily wake-up call when she heard the creaking again. This time, she couldn’t ignore it.

  She shut off the water and listened.

  Another creak, this one louder.

  Fiona froze with fear, unsure of what to do. She wanted to lock the door, hide in the shower, and wait until whatever was opening the door decided to leave. Better yet, she could squeeze through the tight bathroom window and take her chances with the six-story drop. It was certainly better than the nightmare alternative that she had already decided was inevitable.

  But what if it wasn’t? What if it was nothing more than her overcooked imagination having its way again? Was she prepared to spend the rest of the day cowering in her shower because of a threat that most likely didn’t even exist? Fiona answered the question by slowly making her way out of the bathroom and into the hallway. When she rounded the corner into the living room, she froze again, instantly wishing that she had chosen the window.

  Her front door was wide open.

  Beneath the sound of televisions and muted chatter from other apartments, Fiona heard something else, closer.

  “Hey!”

  An excited whisper.

  “Come here, quick! I want to show you something!”

  Then, mischievou
s, youthful laughter.

  “Come on, Fiona! Hurry up! You’re gonna miss it!”

  She ran for the door to the sound of light, quick footsteps padding in her direction.

  By the time the screaming in her mind travelled to her mouth, it was nothing more than a labored moan.

  Her momentum was stopped cold as she crossed the doorway. Heavy hands on her shoulders. She closed her eyes and screamed. Then she fought.

  “Miss, calm down!”

  Fiona pushed until she broke free of the grip. Only then did she open her eyes.

  She immediately recognized the man from his pictures, but she didn’t register him as friend or foe.

  Iris’s son held his hands up. “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to grab you like that, but you almost knocked me down running out of your apartment. Is everything okay?”

  Still unsure of what to make of his appearance in front of her door, Fiona backed away.

  He stepped back too, holding his hands higher in the air. “My name is Quinn. My mom lives right here. I was just leaving her apartment when you came running out of yours. Is someone in there trying to hurt you?”

  “I don’t know,” Fiona answered warily. Despite his blatant attempts, he had still not disarmed her.

  “Is anyone else in there?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Quinn looked at her with eyes that were understandably confused. “Do you want me to check?”

  Fiona nodded as she backed away another step.

  “Okay.” He tensed as he walked into her apartment.

  Fiona continued to edge down the hall until she was in front of 607.

  “Is someone in here?” Quinn’s voice was strong and unwavering. “If you are, come out.”

  Iris suddenly emerged from her apartment. “Quinn, is that you?”

  When she stepped into the hall, her eyes immediately found Fiona. “Sweetheart, what’s the matter?”

  Fiona motioned to the open door of her apartment.

  “Is Quinn in there?”

  Fiona nodded.

  Iris quickly moved toward the door. “Quinn? What’s going on?”

  Within seconds, he emerged from the apartment. “There’s no one in there,” he said, looking past Iris to Fiona. “I checked everywhere.”

  “What is this about?” Iris asked.

  He shrugged his massive shoulders and looked at Fiona.

  Iris looked concerned as she approached her. “Fiona? What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

  Fiona looked at Iris, then at Quinn, then at Olivia’s apartment, then at her open front door, and suddenly she knew exactly what was wrong.

  “Pretty much everything.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  “THERE’S NOTHING WRONG WITH THE DOOR that I can see,” Arthur declared as he completed the inspection that Iris had requested.

  That wasn’t news to Fiona. She knew there was nothing wrong with the door, except that someone, or something, had opened it and entered without her consent. But as had been the case when she saw the shadowy figure inside Olivia’s apartment, it was apparently all in her mind.

  “You’re positive you locked it?” Arthur asked Fiona in a tone that suggested the fault was somehow hers.

  “Yes, I’m positive I locked it,” Fiona answered confidently. Her OCD would never allow her to overlook such a thing, but she thought it best not to burden anyone with that particular bit of trivia.

  “Looking at the door, I can certainly tell you that no one forced their way in. I don’t really know what else to say beyond that.”

  “Maybe you should get a deadbolt,” Iris suggested. “I have two of them. Only thing that helps me sleep at night around here.”

  “I don’t need a deadbolt.”

  “Are you sure?” Arthur asked. “It won’t be a problem. I can have it installed in ten minutes.”

  “Please Fiona,” Iris reiterated. “If you don’t do it for your sake, do it for mine. I don’t want to be up in the middle of the night worrying about you.”

  Fiona knew that whatever she experienced in her apartment wasn’t going to be deterred by a deadbolt, but she decided to play along for the sake of getting everyone off her back. “Fine.”

  “Great. Can you get that done today, Artie?” a relieved Iris asked.

  “Sure. Whenever Fiona is ready.”

  “I’ll let you know,” Fiona said, knowing that she would never follow through.

  “Sounds good. Well, if you guys won’t be needing me anymore, I have a few other errands to run around the building.”

  “Thanks for coming, Artie,” Iris said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Fiona added.

  “My pleasure. Sorry I couldn’t find anything more definitive for you. Strange things happen sometimes. Things we can’t explain. I guess this is one of those situations.”

  “Guess so,” Fiona answered with a tired voice.

  “The important thing is that you’re safe now. You’ll let me know when you’re ready for that deadbolt?”

  “Of course.”

  “I’ll be off then. You folks have a great day.”

  “We will,” Iris declared as she walked Arthur into the hallway. “And thanks again.” When she came back, she closed the door, making sure to lock it, then she walked over to Quinn, who had silently watched the exchange from the living room. “Fiona, you’re more than welcome to stay with me until you get that deadbolt installed.”

  Fiona shook her head. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Shaking your head while answering in the affirmative is a dead giveaway that you’re lying.”

  “I am fine, Iris.”

  “I certainly wouldn’t be. Would you, Quinn?”

  He shifted nervously, clearly embarrassed by the sudden attention. “We can’t tell her how to feel, mom. We weren’t here.”

  Fiona appreciated the voice of reason.

  Iris did not. “Anyway,” she said with a glare before turning back to Fiona, “I would still like you to stay with me for a while.”

  “That won’t be necessary. I’d make a terrible houseguest anyway.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll stay with you.”

  “Sorry, but I’m an even worse host,” Fiona replied with a forced smile. When she looked at Quinn, he was smiling back.

  “Well you have to let me do something. I can tell the stress is really getting to you. Whether you saw something in here or not – which I think you did – it doesn’t really matter at this point. You need a change in scenery, even if it’s temporary, just to let your mind breathe a little.”

  Iris was certainly right about that, but her apartment was not the change that Fiona had in mind.

  “I appreciate it. But all I want now is to move forward with the day. I have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it.”

  Iris nodded. “You son. I understand. But with all the stress you’re feeling right now, do you even have enough left to give to him?”

  As much as the question bothered Fiona, she knew it was valid. She also knew that if this conversation was ever going to end, and she desperately needed it to, she would have to lie. “I have more than enough to give him.”

  Iris tapped Quinn on the shoulder and motioned toward the door. “We’ll leave you to it then. I’m not happy about it, but if you insist that you’re okay, I have to accept that.”

  “I insist,” Fiona replied, forcing another smile.

  Iris hugged her as they entered the hallway. “If you need anything, you know where I live.”

  “I certainly do.”

  Quinn returned her smile again. “I’m sorry again about our abrupt meeting, Fiona. I wish it were under better circumstances, but I’m glad everything is okay now.”

  The strong, silent type. Fiona fell for them every time. Well, not this time, she told herself. It was the last thing she needed, even if, in this moment, it was the only thing she wanted. “I’m the one who came running out of my apartment like a raving lunatic. It’s me who should be apologizing.”
<
br />   “A handshake will do.”

  She felt a charge when she took his hand. The feeling was not unwelcomed.

  “We’ll let you run along now,” Iris said abruptly. Though her expression gave nothing away, Fiona could only pray that she hadn’t picked up on the semi-flirtatious exchange. She knew from personal experience that mothers had an especially strong sixth-sense when it came to their sons. And Iris was more plugged in than most.

  “Thank you again.” Fiona put a hand on her shoulder and was relieved when Iris cupped it with her own.

  “Anytime, sweetheart.” Then she turned an eye to Quinn. “And as for you, young man. You still need to take me to the store.”

  “Ready when you are, mother,” he replied with a courteous bow.

  Iris beamed at her son’s gesture. “Let me grab my coat and purse.”

  Just as the pair began the short walk to Iris’s apartment, the door to 607 opened. Fiona held her breath in anticipation of who would walk through it. When she saw Noah’s now-familiar black working boots and rolled up blue jeans, her chest tightened even more.

  He stopped when he spotted the trio. He looked surprised by the sight, but quickly pushed the expression away, replacing it with the narrow-eyed suspicion that was much more at home on his war-beaten face. What kind of war he was waging, Fiona wasn’t sure. But his look suggested that the fighting was far from over.

  Then, something unexpected happened. His face softened, allowing one side of his mouth to curl up in a tight smile. What happened next nearly knocked Fiona off her feet.

  “How’s it going, Quinn? Been a while.”

  Quinn didn’t return the smile, but his eyes were clearly receptive to the greeting.

  “It’s going okay. Busy as ever.”

  “I hear that. Off to work myself. See you around.” When Noah’s eyes shifted to Fiona and Iris, his tight smile went away. He looked like he wanted to say something not at all friendly, but Quinn’s presence forced him to swallow it. Through pursed lips, he instead said, “You ladies have a wonderful day.”

  Determined not to engage him, Fiona said nothing and looked away. Iris, however, was not willing to let him off so easy. “In the two-plus years I’ve lived next to you, that has got to be the first friendly word I’ve heard you utter to anyone. This must be a wonderful day indeed.” Then she turned a dubious eye to her son. “So how long have you two gentlemen been acquainted?”