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“I’m not sure. I think she was with people.”
“People or a person?”
“I don’t know. It was busy. I don’t really pay attention. The faces blur into one.” Liar. He watches me as I fidget, biting on my nails. “Is there anything else, Detective?”
Pulling out his wallet, his badge flashes as he pulls a card and hands it to me. “If you remember anything else.”
“Do you know who killed her?” I ask, the phantom scars burning my hand.
He offers a tight smile. “That’s what I’m trying to find out.”
A pale, lifeless body. Blood, blood, blood.
“Don’t take too long, Detective. No one deserves what happened to her.”I hate the dead hours between my day finishing and bed. I need to exhaust myself if I have any chance of a dreamless sleep. I check the fridge for food, my stomach growling in hunger. There’s nothing but leftovers.
Pacing the floor, I stare into the window of the apartment across from us. The lights are out. The window is still open. It’s just a reflection staring back at me. The nothingness is torture. It leaves room for too much thinking.
“You going out tonight?” I call down the hall, getting an answering grunt from Charlotte’s room. Thanks. That clears things up. I feel like I’ve been drinking energy drinks and bubbles are traveling through my bloodstream. “I’m going for a run,” I call out, grabbing my running shoes.
“You sure that’s wise?” Charlotte pokes her head around her bedroom door.
“I’ll be fine,” I tell her, pushing up my sleeves.
“What if there’s a killer out there?”
“There are lots of killers everywhere,” I snap, pinning her with a stony glare. Slipping on my headphones, I leave without another word.
My aunt would hate that I run in the evenings. “It’s not safe. Nowhere will ever be safe.” I hear her in my mind as clear as if she were walking alongside me. I know my head is trying to warn me, but if I don’t tire my mind, it will hold me hostage all night. The neighbor’s door above slams closed as I descend the stairs. I wonder if he struggles with quieting his mind too. We should introduce ourselves. I’m dying to see who he is, but terrified he won’t live up to the version of him I’ve created. I like having the illusion, the fantasy. Without it, I wouldn’t pursue him. I’d never allow myself the moments in my room. The thought flees as fast as it came, and before I know it, I’m stomping the curb.
The misting of rain glistens under the streetlights. Cars passing make the world seem safe. It’s still moving, people milling around, living their lives. I push on, tiring my legs, forcing myself forward even when my calves burn and demand a reprieve. The rain hurts my skin as it tears across my face, but I don’t stop. I run. And run.
My lungs burn, screaming for a break. I slow my pace until I’m at walking speed. Condensation creates clouds around me. Fog creeps across the field to the park, coating the grass. Streetlights flicker above me, making the hairs rise on my arms, the trees rustling with the power of the wind whispering to each other. Nighttime has fully claimed the sky darkening my surroundings.
I stretch my limbs and turn back. The streets have emptied. There’s no one around, only my heartbeat pounding in my ears to keep me company. Fear begins to bloom like a flower seeking the sun within me. Every sound and shadow has my mind firing off. Tugging out my earphones to hear any impending danger, I internally berate myself for letting the fear take root inside me and ruin simple things like a jog I’ve done a thousand times before. This is what sickos want. They want us scared. Checking over our shoulders. Not leaving the house. My roaring heart dulls out every other sound as anger replaces the fear. Seeing shadows dance and transform into boogey men is irrational. I won’t allow myself to stop living.
“You can come out of there now, sweetheart.”
No. No. No. My brain screams when I suddenly collide with a wall of man. My body jolts from the impact. Jerking back, my ankle twists onto its side, almost tipping me off the curb. Two firm hands grip my arms, stopping me from falling at his feet. My instincts are to disengage his hold, but I find myself mesmerized. Beard, full lips, those eyes. “It’s you,” I say dumbly, breathless. Can a person steal the air from your lungs?
“It’s me.” He smiles. It’s the first time I’m hearing his voice, and it strokes places inside that haven’t been touched by another in a long time.
It’s awkward. He’s held on to me longer than necessary, and I haven’t pulled free. I’m clumsy when he does release me. I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I plant them on my hips, sucking oxygen into my lungs. “Well,…thanks for not letting me fall.” I smile tightly, dipping my eyes to his feet, my cheeks heating a hundred degrees. He reaches out, tipping my chin up with a brush of his fingers, making a gasp wisp past my lips. It’s intimate—too intimate. The simple touch sets a blaze over my skin. I step back from his touch, feeling vulnerable and confused. “I should go.” I shake my head to clear it. I don’t say goodbye as my legs start moving away. Pain shoots up my ankle, begging me to take the weight from it, but I carry on running, sneaking a look over my shoulder every couple seconds. He hasn’t moved. He's just watching me, his silhouette lit by the streetlight like a painting, a beautiful piece of art that should be on display in galleries.
