Dead Pretty

by Samantha Towle

  It feels … significant somehow.

  In a way I can’t describe.

  But I also know that I have to go over and apologize because if I don’t, I’ll just annoy myself further, obsessing over this.

  Just go over, say sorry for being a dick, and go.

  I take a deep breath and move my feet in Jack’s direction.

  I can hear “Incomplete” by Backstreet Boys playing in the background, and it sounds like the soundtrack to my life.

  Jack’s eyes hold mine the whole time I walk toward him.

  It’s unnerving. I feel like he can see all the thoughts in my head and all the shame in my soul. I want to cut eye contact, but I can’t seem to. Or I don’t want to. I haven’t figured out which one it is yet.

  “Hi,” I say, reaching his table.

  “Hello,” he says in a low, husky voice.

  Shivers ripple over my skin at the sound of him.

  I grit my teeth, ignoring the sensation.

  It’s only been four days, and I’m getting shivery over the sound of his voice. It drives me nuts, the effect he has on me. One hello from him, and my ovaries do backflips.

  “So …” I say, not really sure what to say now that I’m here, standing in front of him.

  “So …” he echoes, leaning back in his chair.

  What to say? What to say?

  “You can still use the library, you know. You don’t have to avoid me.”

  His eyes widen a fraction, like he wasn’t expecting that to come out of my mouth. Neither was I. But I’ve said it now. There’s no taking it back and going with something else.

  Jack’s head tips to the side, just a fraction. His hair tumbles over his forehead. I have this sudden, weird urge to reach over and push his hair back off his face. It’s like an itch in my hand.

  I grip the back of the chair in front of me to stop myself from doing it.

  “Who says I’m avoiding you?” Jack says evenly.

  “The fact that, before, I couldn’t turn a corner without seeing you, and now, you’re nowhere to be seen.”

  He lets out a laugh, which catches the attention of a few people seated around us.

  “Fair enough,” he says without seeming to notice or care that people are looking at him.

  And I smile. I can’t help it.

  “So, you are avoiding me?” I push.

  He says nothing. Just holds my stare.

  I’m the first to break it. I look down at the table, letting out a sigh. “I’m sorry that I was a bitch the other day.”

  “I didn’t think you were being a bitch.”

  I bring my eyes back to his. But I can’t get a read on him. There’s nothing in his expression to tell me whether he truly meant what he said or if he was just being polite.

  “Well, you thought something. Enough to sit in a coffee shop with your laptop to avoid seeing me. And … I, uh … feel bad.”

  A smile appears in his eyes, and it warms my chest.

  “You feel bad because I’m sitting in a nice, warm coffee shop?”

  “No. Yes. No.” I press my fingertips to my forehead, trying to gather my suddenly scattered thoughts. This guy has a way of making me feel flustered and confused at the drop of a hat. It’s disconcerting. “I feel bad because you feel like you can’t come to the library because I’m there. Because of what happened … you know … at the supermarket.”

  He sighs and sits forward, pushing down the lid of his laptop, resting his hands on top of it. “Look, Audrey, truth is, I wasn’t avoiding you. I was just trying to give you a little space. I didn’t want you feeling uncomfortable at your place of work because of me.”

  “You wouldn’t have made me feel uncomfortable.”

  He gives me a knowing look, telling me he’s aware that he makes me feel uncomfortable.

  He does but not for the reasons he thinks.

  It’s because I’m attracted to him … well, attraction is maybe too tame a word for what I feel when I’m around this guy.

  “Okay,” I concede. “I would have felt a tad uncomfortable for about thirty seconds, and then I would have been fine.”

  He laughs a low sound, and I feel it in my chest and between my legs. The urge to press my thighs together is real.

  “Are you staying?” he asks me.

  “I haven’t decided,” I answer truthfully.

  “I was just going to get another coffee. Why don’t you let me buy you one—in a takeout cup? And then you can decide to stay or not …” He lets his words hang.

  I hesitate.

  Jesus, it’s just coffee. That I can take with me if I want to.

  It’s not like I’m making besties with the guy.

  “Okay.” I find myself nodding my agreement. “But I was also going to grab a cinnamon-and-raisin bagel.”

  Smiling, he stands. “I’ll get that in a takeout bag as well.”

  He walks past me, his arm brushing mine ever so slightly. The scent of him invades and assaults my senses. I feel somewhat dazed and wobbly. Like a new foal trying to find its legs.

  Maybe that’s why I hear myself saying, “Jack?”

  He turns back. “Yeah?”

  “I, uh … I don’t need a takeout cup or bag.”

  A slow smile spreads across his face. A dimple appearing in his cheek that I didn’t notice before. “Okay.”

  I take a seat on the chair I was holding on to, making sure not to look at Jack across the coffee shop.

  He returns five minutes later with our coffees and my bagel.

  “Thanks,” I say to him when he puts my food and drink in front of me. “How much do I owe you?”

  “It’s on me.”

  “You sure?” I check.

  “I’m sure. I still owe you for looking out for Eleven.”

  “Like I said before, I didn’t mind. She’s a friendly kitty. How is she, by the way? She made any more escape attempts?” I ask because I haven’t seen her in a while so I’m assuming she’s stayed put.

  “Nope. She’s decided to take a break from escaping the apartment.”

  I laugh, picking my coffee up and taking a sip. “Has she always been an escape artist?” I ask him.

  He shrugs. “I wouldn’t know. I only got her recently. I had just come back to the States, and I found her wandering down the side of the freeway. She’s lucky she didn’t get killed. Anyway, I pulled my bike over, and she came to me, no problem. Practically leaped into my arms. She was scared witless. I took her to the local vet, and she wasn’t microchipped. They thought that she had been dumped by her owner. So, it was either she stayed with me or went to a shelter. There was never any question that I wouldn’t take her home to live with me.” He shrugs, taking a sip of his own coffee.

  She was dumped? And he rescued her.

  Sweet Jesus.

  An unexpected lump appears in my throat. “I hate people sometimes. Well, most of the time,” I say. “Humans really don’t deserve animals.”

  He’s watching me with those sharp, knowing eyes of his, and I suddenly feel like I said too much. When, really, I haven’t said much at all.

  “I would agree with you on that. We don’t deserve animals. But I wouldn’t say I hate people. There are some shitty ones. But overall, most people are good.”

  I say nothing. Because I don’t have anything to add.

  I pick at my bagel, putting a piece in my mouth. “So, you said you came back to the States recently. Had you lived abroad?”

  I don’t know why I’m asking questions and being this nosy; it is out of the norm for me. When I ask questions, they usually get asked back, so I don’t put myself in that situation. But something about Jack has me intrigued.

  “I had just come back from Syria. I was in the military. It was my last tour.”

  “Oh, wow. Well, thank you for your service.” The words immediately bounce back at me, and I cringe. “Was that as patronizing as it sounded in my head?”

  He laughs. “No. And my service was my pleasure.”


  The smile on his lips and the look in his eyes make those words sound a whole lot less clean than he said them, and it makes me feel flustered. And hot.

  I take another sip of my coffee.

  “So, you’re out of the military. What are you doing now? Aside from sitting around in libraries and coffee shops.” I smile so that he knows I am teasing.

  “Writing. I’m an author. I’ve been doing it for years, even while I was still in the military.”

  He’s an author. Makes sense why he was spending so much time in the library. Probably doing research for his next book.

  “Wow. A real-life author.”

  I see a slight blush on the tops of his cheekbones. I find myself thinking it’s adorable, and then I want to slap myself.

  And I also might work in a library, but I have never actually met an author. Well, not that I know of. It’s not like I actively try to get to know people. Avoiding people is my specialty. And yet, here I am, chatting with Jack.

  “I’m assuming you’re published?”

  He nods.

  “Would I have heard of you?”

  Something dark flashes through his eyes. “Probably not.” He lets out a laugh that sounds self-deprecating and out of odds with the expression I just saw in his eyes.

  “Hey, I work in a library. I’ve read a lot of authors. What genre do you write?”

  “Crime.”

  And a chill cuts into the warmth that he unknowingly placed in my chest.

  I sit back in my seat, hands curling around my coffee cup. “Crime books aren’t my thing. But I might have seen your name while I was filing books away. What’s your pen name?”

  “Jack Canti.”

  Jack Canti. Can a name be sexy? Yes. Yes, it can.

  “Jack Canti,” I echo my thoughts. “So, is Jack Canti your real name or a pseudo name?”

  I know that authors who have pseudo names will sometimes use them in real life with people they don’t know.

  “Real,” he answers slowly.

  “Then, nope, I haven’t heard of you.”

  I smile, and he laughs.

  I find myself loving the sound of it. I like being the one who made him laugh.

  “But I am definitely going to look you up when I get back to the library.”

  “You’re on your lunch break right now?” he asks me.

  “Yep. And I should be heading back,” I say, glancing at the clock on the wall. I’ve hardly even touched the bagel. I pick it up and quickly finish it off before swigging down the rest of my coffee. “Sorry to rush off,” I tell him.

  “No problem.”

  He’s watching me with those intense eyes and smiling at me, and it makes me feel flustered again.

  “And thanks again for the coffee and bagel,” I tell him, getting out of my seat.

  He answers by way of a shrug.

  “So, I guess I’ll see you …” I say, letting the words hang.

  I’m hesitating. Stalling leaving. And I don’t know why.

  Maybe it’s because you don’t know when you’ll see Jack next, whispers my subconscious.

  Nope. I might find the guy hot, but I’m not hanging out, waiting to hear when I will see him next.

  I don’t do people. I don’t do friends.

  Yet isn’t that what Jack is to me now … a friend?

  Ugh.

  I really need to get out of here. Now.

  “So, yeah … bye.”

  “See you tomorrow, Audrey,” he says, his words catching my back, turning me around again.

  “Tomorrow?” I question.

  A smile lifts his eyes. “At the library.” He says this like I should have already known the answer.

  And I hate that my heart is doing a happy dance in my chest right now.

  So, I conceal my feelings and act casual and shrug. “Sure. See you tomorrow.”

  And I turn and walk out of the coffee shop, unable to keep the smile off my face, thanking God that Jack can’t see it.

  “Thanks.” I pay the cab driver, exiting the car.

  Palming the building’s security fob and my apartment keys in one hand, my rape alarm in the other, I walk quickly toward the entrance to my apartment building, hearing the cab drive away behind me.

  I don’t usually like to take cabs. Getting in a car with someone I don’t know is not exactly my favorite thing to do.

  But it was either that or walk home in the dark.

  I ended up working late, covering for a member of the staff who had called in sick today and monitoring a book club that met tonight at the library. So, I said that I would stay while they were there and locked up after they left.

  Hence the cab ride home.

  And at least a cab driver is registered. So, if I were killed, there would be a good chance of catching him.

  If I walked home and got grabbed, severely less chance of catching the killer.

  I know; I’d end up dead in both of those scenarios, which wouldn’t be good for me, obviously. But I’ve escaped death at the hands of a psychopath before. I don’t think I can do it twice. Don’t get me wrong; I would put up one hell of a fight, but I don’t see myself being so lucky twice.

  Which is why I’m not keen on ending up in a situation like that ever again.

  I didn’t fight back when Tobias had me … and I hate that so much. I hate that I was frozen there with terror and did nothing to try and save my own life.

  I was tied up, so it wasn’t like I could have done much. But I did nothing.

  I didn’t even try.

  The only reason I lived was because he let me.

  But I won’t make that mistake again. That, I know for sure.

  I swipe the fob, letting myself into the building, hearing the door click shut behind me.

  The well-lit entry hall is devoid of people.

  Not that I usually see many people when I come home at my normal hour. But it’s daylight then, and it doesn’t seem as eerie as it does right now.

  Goose bumps skitter up my arms, moving me forward. I jog up the stairs, my bag bumping against my hip, until I reach my floor.

  I fast-walk to my apartment, unlock the door, and let myself inside. It’s pitch-black in here. My heart is banging in my chest. I hate the dark. Shutting the door closed, I flick on the light switch. It comes on, followed by a pop, and I’m plunged straight back into darkness.

  Shit.

  The lightbulb has blown.

  I scramble to get my phone out of my bag, somehow dropping my rape alarm and keys at the same time.

  “Fuck.”

  My hand curls around my cell, and I yank it out of my bag. I touch the screen, illuminating it, and turn on the Flashlight app.

  Light shines out from my cell. But it’s not enough. It hardly illuminates anything.

  My breath is coming in quicker. Fear of the dark starting to take over.

  Calm down, Audrey.

  I shine the flashlight down to the floor to find the things I dropped. I locate my keys and rape alarm. Bending down, I pick them up and pocket them. I put my bag down near the wall by the door.

  I need to get the lights back on, but I can’t remember where the fuse box is.

  Okay, so truth is, I don’t actually know where the fuse box is.

  I’m not a practical person. I always relied on my dad and then Cole for this kind of thing.

  Fucking fuck.

  My anxiety is quickly building. I can feel fear and adrenaline starting to pump around my body.

  I need to calm down.

  I’m fine. It’s just a bulb that’s blown out. I’m not in any danger.

  Deep breath.

  I suck in some oxygen and slowly release it.

  Right, if I were a fuse box, where would I be?

  A cupboard maybe.

  Think, Audrey. Do you remember any fuse-looking boxes in any of the cupboards in the kitchen?

  Nope. But then would a fuse box even be in the kitchen?

  Why don’t I know this?
<
br />   Because you’re useless, Audrey.

  I can’t even argue with myself on that one because it’s the truth.

  Closet! In my bedroom!

  There’s a white box up above the shelf where the hanging rail is. That’s surely got to be it.

  Holding my cell in front of me, shining the light ahead, I start making my way toward my bedroom.

  I see it the second I step into the hallway.

  “Oh fuck. No.”

  A dead rat. On the floor outside of my bedroom.

  No.

  My heart bangs hard against my ribs. Tremors run through my body. The hand holding my cell shakes.

  My mind flashes to the first time I ever saw a dead animal, my memory dragging me back to a place I never want to go, rooting my feet to the spot.

  Swinging open the door, I expect to find another one of those notes that this stranger has been leaving daily for me.

  But there is no note.

  Only a dead bird.

  I didn’t know in that moment … I thought it had died of natural causes.

  It hadn’t.

  It was a gift from Tobias. One of his many sick gifts.

  It’s starting again.

  No. No, it’s not. This is a rat.

  Not a bird or a cat.

  A rat.

  Calm down.

  But I can’t seem to.

  My pulse is beating wildly.

  Rational thoughts only, Audrey.

  There are a hundred reasons as to why a dead rat is in my apartment. It could have easily gotten inside.

  Rats can do that. They can go anywhere.

  Only it’s not a small rat. In terms of rat size, it’s definitely at the larger end of the scale.

  It could have gotten in under the front door. They do that.

  Not that I have a big gap under my door.

  Maybe a window? It could have crawled in through a window.

  Yeah, it shimmied up the drainpipe to the second floor and crawled in through my locked window.

  Fear sprints down my spine, spinning me into action. My pulse is beating wildly in my ears.

  I whirl around. My cell flies out of my hand.

  Shit!

  I hear my phone clatter to the floor, but I don’t have time to stop and look for it.

  I have to get out of here.

  I rush through my apartment, heading for the only exit I have—the front door.