The Lover’s Promise (No Exceptions #3)(17)
Author: J.C. Reed

In the midst of the situation, I thought of Jett.

If Jett had been here, he could have protected me.

Unless he’s a killer and siding with his crazy brother, set out to kill you.

A hard knock echoed through the room, disrupting the silence and my trail of thoughts. The four consecutive knocks came with such a force that the door vibrated in its hinges. I pressed my hand against my mouth to stifle the whimpering at the back of my throat. Sylvie would never knock like a maniac, like she was about to kick in the door with something heavy. A tool, maybe. I could only hope it wasn’t a gun and whoever was out there was about to shoot through the door. I didn’t like that thought. I didn’t like that someone was standing outside, banging on our door in the middle of the night, and it might just give in any second.

Please dear Lord, keep me safe.

My heart pounded hard against my chest as I prayed, the scissors in my hands cutting into my skin.

I was crippled with fear and tears began to stream down my face. First the key, then the knock. Whoever was out there, I just wanted them to stop and go away. I wanted to escape. To wake up and discover it was just another dream. That this was real filled me with anger.

“Fuck you.” The words stumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them.

The knocking stopped and was replaced with silence. This time there was no doubt that they had heard me. What would happen now?

My legs continued to tremble as I listened to the shuffling sounds outside the door. More shuffling, then retreating footsteps. Someone walked away, the shuffling sound growing softer, until I couldn’t hear it anymore. I pressed my back against the wall, realizing it was too good to be true. Too easy.

I stared at the door, expecting it all to be a trap. But no more sounds came. No one entered. No one pushed the handle. No one turned the key to open the door.

It was as if nothing had happened.

One minute passed. Then another. Eventually, a door slammed shut, before silence befell the building once more. Somewhere, someone started the engine of a car.

My heart skipped a beat.

Whoever had been at the door, was leaving, and about to drive away. Grasping my only chance, I dashed across the living room and looked out the window, my gaze scanning the darkness. But I was too late. The distant sound of an engine speeding away carried over. There was no sight of anybody. No clue as to who had been at the door. For a long time I stood rooted to the spot, staring at the street below, countless shivers running through my body until I was convinced I would have them for the rest of my life.

I wondered what they had wanted. Why did they knock? If they had intended to hurt me, they could easily have done so. After all, they had a key, and they could have easily entered….

Unless the key didn’t work. Maybe that was why they knocked.

Why would that be, Stewart? You think they would ask for an invitation rather than kick the door in?

The entire scenario didn’t make any sense. Nothing did. There had to be a reason—an explanation—maybe one of the neighbors tried to unlock the wrong door, or why else would they leave after I told them to fuck off?

My attention snapped back to the hall, my heart hammering harder at the thought of what I was about to do.

“Crap,” I muttered as I grabbed the phone from the table, vowing to always carry it with me from now on. Walking back to the hall, I ignored the new pangs of dread washing over me at the prospect of coming within walking distance from a door again.

I had always had an irrational fear of wrapped gifts, but after the previous night’s events, doors brought new levels of terror. Both fears had something in common: you never knew what was in store for you. One push at the handle, and you might never be able to close that door again.

My eyes fell on the dark slit below the door. The lights in the hall were out again, and no sound carried over. I groaned as I pushed the dresser out of my way, stumbling over my bag in the process, and rattled the handle.

The door didn’t open. Whoever had been outside had never turned the key, meaning either the key didn’t unlock the door or they had left the door locked on purpose. I stumbled back, unsure whether to be relieved or worried. I grabbed my bag, fished for my own keys, and unlocked the door. It opened with a soft squeak, revealing an empty dark hall. I switched on the lights and scanned my left and right out of fear that someone might jump out any minute and hurt me. But there was no one and the hall remained quiet. No scent to place, no sign of anyone, nothing to indicate someone was here. Whoever banged on the door, had left.

Frowning, I turned to head back to my apartment when my gaze fell on a white envelope building a strong contrast to the charcoal doormat beneath.

I stopped still as another cold shudder ran down my spine.

It was my only proof that I wasn’t mad, nor was I crazy.

Suddenly feeling nauseated, I leaned against the door, taking deep breaths—to no avail. Someone had left me a letter.

Seconds passed but the streets remained as dark and quiet as before. If it weren’t for the letter in my hands and the ugly reminder that Gina was dead, I would have taken into account that I might be on the verge of needing a mental health check-up. For some reason the thought that I wasn’t imagining things didn’t bring me much peace, because that meant I had been right:

Someone had been outside, following me. Someone had been in here, watching me. Someone had been in the corridor, lurking in the darkness, leaving a letter outside the apartment.

There was no doubt that whoever left it there wasn’t Sylvie. And most importantly, they had a key.

Just like Jett had in my dream.

The thought popped up in my mind again. Great, just great.

I didn’t know what was creepier: that someone had been watching me as I arrived home, waiting for me like a hunter would wait for prey. Or that they had been following my every move like a crazy stalker. Or that I dreamed of Jett having a key to my apartment and it turned out that someone really did.

Every part of my being urged me to call the police, but what if I was making a mistake? Maybe whoever sent the letter was trying to help me by giving me answers. Back at the hotel someone had left me an envelope, too. If I hadn’t been told the news that Nate was out of prison, I would never have known Jett was keeping secrets from me. However, the first letter had been handed to me. This one was different—I could feel it. Who would leave a letter in such a creepy way?

A psycho, Stewart.

Another shudder ran down my spine as memories of the last hour flooded my mind. Warning or not, after a friend was killed I had to take precautions. From the kitchen I grabbed a pair of rubber gloves and put them on. I had no clue how it all worked, but I had to preserve the fingerprints in case I needed them. My hands remained surprisingly calm and steady as I studied the letter. There was no name written on it, no stamp; just a simple white envelope that was so light I doubted there was anything inside. My pulse sped up only so slightly as I opened it and pulled out a sheet of paper. It was a single white sheet covered in black, wide font. I stared at it, taken aback by what looked like a poem. I frowned as I skimmed the text briefly.