I instinctively pull it back, staring at the person standing over me. His eyes grow wide and his eyebrows knit in confusion. He’s an older man dressed in a security uniform.
“Sorry,” I mutter, letting him pull me to a stand. “I’m fine.”
“I saw you step out of the elevator in a hurry. Are you sure you’re alright? That looked like a nasty fall.”
“I’m fine. Thank you.” My breaths are heavy and frantic as I shuffle the papers haphazardly together. They crinkle and bend as I shove them back into my bag. When I’ve finally gathered everything up off the floor, I run toward the front door. My knee aches with a pulsating beat. I don’t even bother looking at it as I get in my car and race to Seattle.
I didn’t know what I expected to find when I got home. The interstate is surprisingly clear, but every passing yellow stripe painted on the road makes the trip feel longer. The distance between me and the truth was fading. Logan and I weren’t home. There was no other explanation.
“Shit,” I scream into the emptiness of my car, slamming my palm against the steering wheel. I insisted on getting a camera when Logan and I moved into our house, but Logan had said the system was one hundred percent safe and the camera wasn’t necessary. He could monitor everything that went on at our house with the system we had. Now, I regretted not getting one to begin with.
When I pull up to the house, I don’t immediately go in. My finger hovers over the green button to call Logan. I want to. I want to hear his voice, reminding me that he’s safe. That I’m safe. But I know he’s at work, training Natalie. Instead, I decide to call Abby. She answers on the first ring.
“Hey, babe. What’s up?” Her voice is light and cheerful.
I didn’t plan on explaining to Abby about someone being inside our house. I hadn’t even told her about the emails or knowing Julian had shown up again. There was no way I could tell her about this. I just needed to hear her voice.
I step out of my car, leaving my purse and laptop on the passenger seat. “Nothing. I just got back from my meeting and was wondering if you wanted to come over tonight.” I inch slowly across the driveway.
I crane my neck, peering around the side of the house before coming to the front door. Nothing seems out of place and the door is shut. I place my hand on the knob, turning it to test to see if it’s locked. It is.
I insert my key and step into the entrance.
“Of course,” she says excitedly. “Want to watch that new movie on Netflix?”
I step into the hallway. The sun is hidden behind gray clouds, not allowing any sunlight to pour in. The curtains are drawn shut, the way I had left them this morning. I grab a knife from the kitchen, slowly walking farther down the hallway, peeking my head upstairs. The downstairs is empty, the intense quiet vibrating off the walls.
“Yeah, that sounds good. Do you want to pick up a bottle of wine on your way over? I only have half a bottle left from the other day.” I speak louder hoping if the person is still in the house, they’ll hear me and know I’m here.
“Sure. Red or white?”
I press the phone harder against my ear. It gives me an odd sense of comfort. Abby Isn't here and wouldn’t be able to protect me but hearing her voice is enough to put me at ease, even just a fraction.
I flex my fingers against the handle of the knife. It’s ridiculous really. I hadn’t noticed I grabbed a small paring knife, too nervous to pay attention to the size.
“Lena?”
I make it to the top of the stairs and hold my breath. My feet land against the carpet, slow and hushed.
“Lena?” I hear Abby’s voice louder against my ear.
“I’m still here.” I step inside our bedroom, then our bathroom. There’s no one here.
“Good,” she sighs. “I thought I lost you there for a minute.”
“No, I’m still here.” I sit down on my bed, setting the knife beside me.
“So, what kind do you want me to bring over?”
I wrap my hand around the back of my neck. There’s a thin film of moisture on the palm of my hand, sticking to my skin. “What kind of what?”
Abby sighs. “Of wine. I asked you if you wanted red or white.”
“Oh.” I swallow. “Whichever kind you want.”
“Okay.” Her voice trails off. “What time do you want me to come over?”
As I sit on the edge of my bed, I stare at the picture of me and Logan resting on top of our dresser. It was taken the day we got married outside the small little chapel in Missouri. The day plays through my mind, remembering the way the air smelled sweet and the taste of Logan’s kiss after he said ‘I do’.
I cover my mouth and squeeze my eyes shut. A tears slides out and drips down my cheek, falling on the back of my hand.
I inhale a deep breath and swipe my hand across my cheek, the warm liquid of my tears soaking into my skin.
“Whenever you want,” I tell Abby. “The sooner, the better.”
Fourteen
Logan
The dark used to never bother me. Growing up, I lived for summer nights in Boston. The air was warm, and humidity lingered in the air like a thick blanket. When the night was clear, a few clouds in the sky, I could camp out in my small back yard, using the stars as
