by Lydia Reeves
Suddenly I remembered the words Levi had said as I chased him out of my apartment. The door. He’d broken down my door. Which meant I was just as vulnerable now as I had been with my window open, maybe more. I shouldn’t have forced him to leave. But I couldn’t go after him now; he was probably back in his apartment, sound asleep.
So, I cowered tighter into a ball, pulling the blanket taut around me in a futile effort to stop my trembling, and let the images cycle through my head until the harsh light of dawn began to filter through my cocoon.
* * *
I wasn’t actually sure if I’d fallen back to sleep in the intervening hours or just lay huddled in my blankets, but I rose with the dawn and stumbled into the shower, where I set the water near to scalding and let it wash the feel of remembered fingerprints on my skin down the drain, along with the shame of the police—Levi—anyone—seeing the state of my apartment.
Dried and dressed and feeling marginally more human, I went to assess the damage to my front door. It was extensive. A screwdriver lay forgotten on the floor, where it had been discarded after being obviously wedged into the frame by the lock. Splintered wood surrounded the broken lock where I guessed Levi had kicked the door open. There was no salvaging it. The picture it made was almost more terrifying if you didn’t consider it had been broken down by Levi rather than the intruder. I shuddered at the thought.
But when I stepped around the wreckage into the hallway to see the damage from the outside, my breath caught in my throat.
A man sat propped against the wall just to the left of the door, his tousled head propped on his knees which were pulled up against his chest. He wore no shirt or shoes, just a pair of navy-blue sweatpants, and the bare skin of his shoulder glowed golden in the early morning light.
Levi hadn’t left. He’d stayed, as close as I’d allowed, guarding my broken door. Embarrassment pulsed through me, and not, this time, for the state of my apartment, but instead for the way I’d treated him.
This man had potentially saved my life, and I’d thanked him by screeching at him and throwing him out, and still he’d stayed. Maybe he didn’t hate me after all. Of course, he was a police officer; he might just think it’s his job to protect me regardless of whether or not he hates me.
Well. Either way, I owed him.
A soft snore came from the hunched figure, and the corner of my mouth twisted up softly. I ducked silently back through the door into my apartment and went to the kitchen, setting the coffee pot on to boil. I didn’t know how he took his coffee, so I brewed it strong and poured it into a huge mug. I made up a tray with a small ceramic pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar. I added a spoon and then, feeling a little silly, added a couple of Geoff’s jam-filled shortbread cookies I’d filched from the bookstore a couple of days before. Then I tiptoed back out through my broken door and left the tray—the peace offering, I hoped—next to the still-sleeping figure propped against the wall. His sandy hair glinted in the early morning light filtering in through the windows at either end of the hallway, and a couple of red strands were visible against the shades of light brown. It looked soft, and I ducked back through the door before I let myself touch it.
Then, with nothing else to do and the need for some sense of normalcy rising within me, I grabbed my purse and set off for the craft store.
* * *
Sherry was there at the register, and while I stopped to say hi and give her a quick hug, I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about the events of the night before. Instead, I wandered the aisles of the store, looking for something I could make for Levi as a thank-you-for-rescuing-me-slash-sorry-for-freaking-out gift. I could just make him a card, I thought. God knew I had enough card-making supplies at home, and they might be some of the only supplies I could actually locate, but I hadn’t opened that cabinet since I’d bought it, and I couldn’t bring myself to go there just yet. Besides, this called for something more than a card.
The idea hit me in the paper aisle. I knew I already had origami paper at home too, but that was buried somewhere in the living room, so I chose a variety of bright, colorful pages in different sizes. Two aisles over I found thin lengths of cloth-wrapped floral wire. I was on my way across the store to look for a vase when I saw a familiar face.
“Gary!”
He looked up in surprise, and his lined face crinkled into a smile. “Well, Marian, good morning!”
I smiled back. “You know they don’t sell mystery novels here, right?”
He chuckled, holding up a small package of silver buttons. “That’s true, but I lost a button off my jacket, and I don’t think they sell those at the bookstore.”
We exchanged a few more pleasantries, then I bid him farewell. After a little more searching, I found a copper vase with stamped geometric accents around the base and rim that seemed at least a little manly, and I headed back out into the May sunshine, swinging the bags on my arms as I went.
Chapter 6
LEVI
When I awoke, stiff and sore and with an awful crick in my neck, there was a tray sitting next to me on the floor of the hallway. The coffee was still hot, and I gulped it down gratefully. I didn’t add any milk from the—was that a ceramic chicken? I rolled my eyes—just let the bitter caffeine do its job. I scarfed down the cookies as well—they were great—then knocked on the wall by the broken door. When there was no answer, I peered in, but Marian was clearly out. I wondered if she had gone to work, and how she was doing. I hoped she wasn’t too shaken up after the events of the previous night.
I would have to find her later and get her statement, but for now I had things I needed to do. I set the tray just inside the door to her apartment, then headed down the hall to my own place to shower and get dressed. I called the landlord to report the incident, and assured him that I’d take care of the door since I had caused the damage. Then I made some more calls, and finally found a place that was able to come immediately to replace the broken door. Two hours later I was on my way to the station.
The door I’d replaced her flimsy one with might have been overkill, I thought to myself in retrospect. I’d ended up with thick 18-gauge steel over a hollow core of thermal bio-foam to reduce the weight. It even included rows of engineered wood at the top and bottom that the installer assured me made it kick-proof. I added a heavy-duty deadbolt and a chain link, and with a little extra persuasion and lots of confused looks, I was able to get the door painted an ugly, dirty beige color to fit seamlessly with the shoddily constructed doors in the rest of the building so the landlord couldn’t complain.
I tried not to think too hard about why I’d gone so far overboard. It wasn’t for any specific sense of responsibility. I was a police officer; it was my job to protect everyone. Hell, I’d have done the same thing for my mom if someone had broken into her place. But that’s your mom. You wouldn’t have done that for just anyone, my subconscious pointed out.
“Sure I would have,” I informed it. Out loud, to make it true. It certainly wasn’t because I had any kind of interest in the crazy woman next door. Because honestly, she was crazy. I’d seen her apartment. If nothing else, she had severe issues to work through, and those weren’t anything I needed to be part of.
Although, she had freaked out and kicked me out of her apartment pretty quickly, clearly embarrassed that I’d seen the state of her place. Suggesting that at least she knew she had problems, which was more than could be said for a lot of people. But I’d grown up with a father who struggled with addiction, and the last thing I needed was to deal with anyone else’s addiction problems. Because hoarding was just as much an addiction for Marian as gambling had ever been for my father.
No. I didn’t need to help her with her problems. I only needed to keep her safe. And I’d done that, so all I needed to do now was get her statement and have her file a report, and my job was done.
* * *
When I arrived at the station, I found that the intruder had already been released. Jansen had already ended his sh
ift and headed home, but I found the chief in his office and got caught up with what I’d missed since the night before.
“He sobered up and made bail, so we cut him loose,” the chief said, forestalling the angry rant I had ready. “Jansen ran his info—name’s Danny Thieman, and his record was clean. No reason to hold him.”
“Did he say what he was after?” I demanded. “Was it just a robbery? Was he after the girl?”
The chief actually had the gall to chuckle. “No, we got the story out of him when he sobered up. Get this. He thought it was his apartment.”
“What?” I sank down into one of the chairs by the desk. Why did I have the feeling this was going to take a while?
“Yeah. Kid went out drinking with his buddies. Stumbled home in the middle of the night. Apparently, he lives over on the other side of your apartment complex, the side that faces West Street? Jansen checked it out on his way home; it looks identical to your side. Anyway, kid gets to what he thinks is his apartment, but the door is locked. Goes outside, finds the window open, lets himself in. Then imagine his surprise when there’s someone sleeping in his bed!” The chief threw his head back and laughed, his eyes crinkling under bushy eyebrows.
“I fail to see the humor,” I muttered. Which wasn’t exactly true, it would have been amusing under different circumstances. But the chief sobered regardless.
“Sorry, Mathes, of course,” the chief said. “That woman was lucky you were next door. Jansen said you had him neatly pinned when he showed up. No one got hurt?”
I shook my head, my anger draining away into tiredness. “No, I don’t think so. I haven’t seen Marian again since last night, but I’ll check in with her when I get home, make sure she’s okay and see if she wants to press charges. We can go from there.”
The chief nodded.
“Was the kid okay?” I belatedly thought to ask. “He was bleeding when Jansen hauled him out.”
“Oh, yeah,” the chief chuckled again. “Just a hole in his arm. We got him bandaged up. Nothing too serious, but I’ll bet it hurt. Stabbed him with a knitting needle, huh? Haven’t seen that one before.”
I suppressed a smile. Marian had some fire in her, at least I’d give her that.
“So, you believe his story?” I asked.
The chief nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah, I think so. Kid was pretty young—only twenty-one. Once he came around, I think he was pretty horrified at what he’d done.”
I scowled. It was no excuse. Marian could have gotten really hurt from that idiot’s dumb mistake, and I hoped he wouldn’t get off too easy. But I let it go for now.
I thanked the chief and left his office to head to my own desk, where I typed up my report of the night before. I had other paperwork to deal with too, but I must have looked as tired as I felt, because after a couple of hours, he sent me home. I nodded my gratitude and left in a hurry.
Not because I wanted to check on Marian. Not because I needed to be sure she was okay, and certainly not because I was worried that her traumatic experience might negatively affect the cheery friendliness she displayed with everyone she seemed to meet—well, other than me. But because I really did need to get some sleep. A handful of hours propped against a wall in a hallway wasn’t really cutting it.
But I would check up on her first, sure. Because it was my job.
* * *
There was something strange sitting outside my door. It caught my attention the second I stepped into the hallway, and I slowed my step suspiciously, glancing around. But the hallway was empty, and when I arrived in front of my door, I found a bizarre flower arrangement awaiting me. Marian’s new door was firmly shut, so I hefted the strange gift and made my way inside.
I deposited the arrangement on the dining room table and peered at it. The flowers were all made out of colored paper, folded into intricate patterns. No two of the flowers were alike, and each was attached to a stem of green wire, set into a patterned copper vase.
The gift clearly took some skill—I wasn’t even sure how someone could make paper look like that—and a chunk of time as well, and I rolled my eyes in a mixture of exasperation and grudging appreciation. She didn’t have to do anything so crazy. She could have just said thank you, or left a card—or better yet—done nothing at all, because I’d just been doing my job. I would have responded to any scream in the night exactly the same way.
And yet, from what I’d seen, this was typical Marian. I’d seen her leave gifts outside of Donna and Jake’s apartment down the hall as well, and I knew she brought cookies over to Mrs. Linsey when she was home. I’d just never been the target of her over-the-top focus and appreciation, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. Flattered? Uncomfortable?
I should just throw the flowers away. I didn’t need them, they didn’t go with anything in my apartment, and it seemed excessive. But I couldn’t let that much hard work go to waste. I sighed, lifting the vase, and I carried it into my bedroom, sitting it on the windowsill next to the ridiculous hedgehog planter I’d received from the same ridiculous person. I’d figure out what to do with it later.
For now, I needed to check on her, but when I went down the hall and knocked on her door, there was no answer. I waited, knocking again, but she wasn’t home. I sighed and left. I would try to catch her in the morning.
* * *
It took me forever to fall asleep. Every time I started to drift off, I would jerk awake, my body tensed as if I’d heard a noise and was ready to leap out of bed. I tossed and turned in irritation, rolling to face the window, trying to find a more comfortable position. The moonlight shone in through the open blinds, casting a long shadow from the paper flowers across the wall, and I grunted, rolling to the other side, twisting the sheets as I went.
What the hell was wrong with me? She was fine and I needed sleep. Nothing was coming through that door.
I forced myself to close my eyes and relax, emptying my mind and trying to think of nothing rather than listening for sounds of attack that weren’t going to come.
It almost worked, and when the sounds actually did come, I almost missed them. They weren’t sounds of attack though, no screams or breaking glass like the night before, only the quiet sounds of crying. I opened my eyes, not even completely sure at first what I was hearing. But as I mentally mapped out the apartment next door, I realized that our bedrooms shared a wall, and by the time the sniffle and low sob came again, I was on my feet once more, moving toward the hallway.
I wasn’t sure she’d answer the door. It was nearly one in the morning, and I felt like an idiot, standing on her doorstep in my night pants and bare feet once again—at least this time I’d had the foresight to grab a t-shirt. She didn’t answer my first knock, and for a second, I wondered if I’d imagined the crying, if my mind was playing tricks on me and she was just sleeping inside. Maybe knocking on her door in the middle of the night was just going to wake her and scare her all over again.
But just as I turned to go, mentally berating myself for being so foolish, I heard the faint sound of the latch—not the deadbolt, goddamnit—and the door swung open.
She opened it only enough to slide through, then pulled it shut again behind her, preventing me from seeing into the apartment. Even though we both knew I’d seen everything last night.
She stood in front of me, wearing a pale yellow tank top and pants patterned with tiny cacti, and one glance at her face showed me I’d been right. Her dark eyes were red-rimmed, though she’d scrubbed any trace of tears from her cheeks, and suddenly I was glad I’d come over after all.
“Did you need something?” she said.
“What?” I responded automatically, only belatedly realizing I’d been staring and looking away. “I heard you,” I hastened to explain. “Crying. Through the wall.”
Her face flushed scarlet. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“What? No.” What the hell was wrong with me? “I just wanted to make sure you were okay. You went through some traum
atic stuff, and I…well, I wanted to see if you needed someone to talk to.”
Her expression softened. “That’s…that’s really nice of you.”
I scowled. “You don’t have to sound so surprised.”
The edges of her mouth pulled up, just a little. “Sorry. I don’t want to keep you up though. You probably have to work early, and I’ll be alright.”
The hallway was dim, a window at the far end and a lone yellow bulb casting faint illumination down the shadowed length, and I took in her swollen eyes and tousled hair. She’d piled it loosely on top of her head, but strands were escaping down around her face, as if she’d been tossing and turning as much as I had been.
I sighed and put my back against the wall, sliding down until I was sitting on the carpeted floor, the same posture I’d spent the previous night in. I looked up at her and patted the floor next to me. “I’m already up,” I told her.
She just looked at me for a long moment, and I almost thought she was going to leave me there and go back inside, but then finally she turned and slid down to sit next to me.
Chapter 7
MARIAN
We sat in silence for a moment, the hard surface of the wall cold against my back, and I wondered what we were doing, sitting in the hallway at one in the morning.
Levi just stared at the floor, seemingly unsure of what to say, so I spoke first, my voice soft in the still air. “Thanks for fixing my door.”
He glanced sideways at me, his eyebrows pulling together. “I heard you open it just now; you didn’t have the locks set. You have a deadbolt now and a chain. You should use them.”