The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(16)
Author: J.C. Reed

Wrapping my bathrobe tighter around my body to help stave off the cold, I decided to make myself another cup of tea. There was no point in going back to bed. I was tired but I doubted I could close my eyes and ignore the vivid images inside my head. With my laptop tucked under my arm, I headed for the tiny kitchen. It was eerily silent as I brewed the tea and slumped down on a seat. Scanning through my emails while sipping my tea, I grew more impatient by the minute. Where the heck was Sylvie? I needed her. She was the only person who always knew how to make me feel better. She always knew the right thing to say. She could help me clear my mind about Gina and Jett. For once I wanted to forget the dreadful events and banish the memory of her dead face. Blind date or not, Sylvie never stayed away that long, at least not without texting me to say that she was okay. That had been part of our arrangement when we moved in together. After repeated fruitless attempts to reach her and sending her three texts, urging her to get in touch with me, I threw the phone on the kitchen counter, frustrated.

Maybe her battery was dead and she was on her way home.

Maybe she lost her phone and was filing a missing item report that instant, which was why she was so late.

They were all reasonable explanations—all unfortunate accidents that could happen to anyone, anytime. Now, if only I could believe them.

Watching the clock above the door while I chewed on my thumb—an old habit I had acquired during college—I counted the seconds.

At fifty-five I stopped.

Time just passed too slowly for my nerves. At that rate I was going I’d end up driving myself crazy. Sighing, I grabbed the empty tea mug to return it to the sink and wash the dirty dishes of last night’s dinner when I thought I heard a noise. I froze in my tracks, my ears straining to listen for more sounds. Something shuffled loudly, followed by a jiggle, this time so clear the blood froze in my veins.

My gaze swept across the room, toward the hall.

The sounds were coming from the front door.

My heart hammered hard as my imagination began to run wild. Two days ago, I would have gladly assumed it was Sylvie. This time, though, I wasn’t going to make such a mistake. If it had been Sylvie, I would have heard her key ring, the loudest noisemaker I had always made fun of. My breathing came hard and fast as I waited for the usual clanking.

It never came.

Seconds passed but nothing happened, yet I was sure someone had fiddled with the door handle. Alarm bells began to ring in my ear, and my heart lurched in my chest at the thought of a possible break-in. I stood slowly, my fingers clasping around a pair of scissors. If someone entered by force, I’d use the sharp end to poke their eye out before running back to grab a knife, and then call the police. After what happened to Gina and with Nate being out of prison, I couldn’t be careful enough.

Slowly and as quietly as possible, I crossed the dark hall and tiptoed to the door, then stopped in front of it. Too bad we didn’t have a spyhole. However, through the slit below the door, I could see that the corridor lights were switched on. Someone was out there, but nothing moved. Was it possible that a drunken neighbor got the wrong apartment?

I eyed the door, daring myself to go and duck on the floor to look through the slit, and maybe find out what shoes they were wearing. You could tell a lot from the shoes people were wearing. I knew for a fact that our landlord always wore dirty, yellow sneakers, which were as cheap as the guy. If Nate were outside, I’d probably spy soft, expensive leather. Inching closer, I steadied myself, ready to press my ear against the door to listen, when the space below the door darkened.

My breath caught in my throat.

Someone was there—right that very instant. There was no doubt about that now. And that someone was clearly not Sylvie. Nor a neighbor. I was sure of that because no neighbor I knew had that kind of heavy breathing bordering on creepy.

Only inches separated me from the person outside and if I could hear him, I wondered, could he hear me, too? Suddenly our door felt too thin, too delicate—too weak to offer any kind of protection. Holding my breath, I turned my head to the kitchen, contemplating how long it would take me to grab my phone and call the police to alarm them of a possible intruder, when suddenly there was another sound. A sound so scary that it made my blood freeze. It was the one of a key being pushed into a lock.

Holy shit!

Holy. Shit.

I stared at the door, ready to faint out of sheer fear. The jiggling sound wasn’t someone picking a lock. It wasn’t a mix-up. Someone had the intention to enter using a key!

Oh God!

Just like Jett had in my dream, except I had never given him one.

Time was running out. I had to stop them from entering before it was too late. My eyes fell on the dresser. It was so small I doubted it would cover the entire door, but it had to do. With a sudden fervor I had never felt before and not caring if they heard me, I grabbed a hold of the wooden panels and, as hard as I could, I pushed it across the floor. My bag fell at my feet, the contents scattering in all directions. I stepped on a makeup brush as I pressed my back against the dresser. It was now the only barrier, my safety wall.

My whole body trembled and my legs threatened to give way beneath me. Every muscle in my body tensed, readying me to throw myself against the door if need be.

As I stood there, straining to listen, legs apart, back tense, rivulets of sweat began to trickle down my back. Seconds passed and nothing happened. I eyed the slit below my feet, watching the shadow’s movement, too scared to dash for the kitchen and call the police, too afraid to turn my back on the door in case whoever was out there kicked it in. Taking shallow breaths, I waited for the dreadful turn of the key, the push of the handle that would swing the door open.

It never came.

In my mind, I could imagine them listening for any sounds—just like I was. I just hoped it wasn’t the people I had once escaped. I survived before; would I survive a second time? I wasn’t so such luck would be on my side this time. As much as I wanted to scream and call for help, I knew there would be no point. I lived in a neighborhood where people barricaded themselves inside, each of them minding their own business to ensure nothing bad happened to them. I was on my own.

I wished I had grabbed something sharper, something bigger, something more solid than the pair of scissors I was holding in my hand, which wasn’t much of a weapon. Maybe I could defend myself, but probably not without the baby getting hurt. Every part of my body screamed to get away and hide, but I doubted that hiding in our tiny matchbox apartment with all that clutter would give me much of a chance. Where could I possibly hide? Under the sink? In Sylvie’s cramped closet? Nothing was large enough to hide a pregnant woman. And even if I came up with a good hiding place, my legs wouldn’t follow my brain’s command.