AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yeah, sorry,” he winces. “I shouldn’t be too long though. Call me if you need me, okay?”
After Conrad leaves, I wander around his place, my arms crossed over my chest, checking out his things. I hate to think what I’m doing is snooping, but let’s face it—that’s exactly what it is. I’m curious to learn more about him, and what better way to do that than through his things?
The first thing that strikes me is the lack of photos from his childhood. I count one of him with his parents in a nice wooden frame in the living room, but that’s it. It’s not that strange, I suppose, but for someone like me who was always close to her family, it feels odd. Shaking off my questions, I move onto his bedroom. Everything is perfectly placed, from the smooth, crease-free duvet to the neatly folded stack of clothes sitting on his dresser. He’s so damn neat. I wander over to the table sitting under the window and pick up a book. It’s a novel by Alex Maestro, bookmarked about halfway through. I set it back down, careful to place it in exactly the same position in case he notices.
I leave his room, leaving the door a crack open as it was, and make my way back down to the living room. I pass another door and, curious, I stop and turn the handle, gently pushing it open. My heart thumps loudly in my chest as I fumble for the light switch. My anxiety levels are so high that I feel like I’m in the middle of a horror movie and about to get slashed. I tell myself I’m being stupid and push my anxieties aside. Light fills the room. I spy the ironing board and the spare single bed that lines the far wall and laugh, no idea what I’d been expecting to be in here. I’m about to close the door when something catches my eye. I step closer, sure I must be imagining things. Lying on the floor next to the full-length mirrored closet is a photo. Of me. A photo of me that was taken outside my old apartment back in Orange County.
He’s a cop. He probably has my whole file somewhere around here. Having my photo in his spare room doesn’t mean anything. I’m sure there is a logical explanation.
I stand up, the photo still in my hand, and stare at the closet in front of me. It’s ajar just enough for me to see there is something in there. My hands shaking, I gently push the door along the run. My eyes widen as I take in the contents. Stacks and stacks of folders and photos lie on the two middle shelves. I grab a handful and flick through them, my heart sinking. All me. Every fucking last picture is of me. There are photos of me inside my apartment—both here and back in Orange County—pictures of me leaving work, the gym, the bank, everywhere.
There are way too many photos for these to be part of my file. I push them back inside the closet and shut the door, the mirror rattling as it slams closed. There’s only one explanation, and it’s the worst one I can possibly think of.
I back out of the room and race down to the kitchen. Grabbing my phone off the charger, I dial the police station.
“Hello?” a friendly woman answers.
“Hi, uh, I was hoping to talk to a detective you have working there, Conrad Livingstone?” My voice trembles as I force the words out. I close my eyes and brace myself, ready to hear the words I know are coming next.
“I’m sorry, miss, are you sure you have the right precinct? We don’t have anyone here by that name.”
“Sorry,” I mumble. “My mistake.”
I drop the phone and fall to my knees. This has to be a bad dream, but I know it’s not. As much as I want to wake up and find none of this is real, I need to face up to the reality: Conrad is my stalker.
My hand flies to my mouth. I feel sick and so violated. I’m struggling to my feet to rush to the bathroom when I hear the telltale click of the front door. Oh fuck. What the hell am I going to do now? One look at me and he’ll know I know. God knows what he’ll do to me.
Panicking, I run to the bathroom and close the door, pressing my weight against the back of it. I listen as his footsteps get closer, ignoring his calls for where I am. I close my eyes and focus on breathing.
“Raven, let me in.”
I close my eyes as he pounds on the door, his voice becoming more urgent. I clap my hand over my mouth, trying not to scream. Why didn’t I bring my phone?
“Rave, I’m going to have to break the door down if you won’t let me in.” His voice has softened. He almost sounds like he feels sorry for me.
Sliding down the door, I sit on the floor, clutching my stomach. I have no idea how to get myself out of this mess, but what upsets me more is how angry I am that he lied to me.
“I know you know. I need a chance to explain.”
Explain? As if there is anything he could say to fix this.
“If you want a chance to explain, I need you to give me some space, Conrad. I can’t handle hearing whatever it is you have to say to me right now.”
He sighs, the sound of his fists connecting with the door making me jump.
I spy the open window on the far side of the room and carefully get to my feet. All I know is I can’t face him right now. With every step I hold my breath until I reach the window. I breathe out as I frantically climb through the small space while listening to him talking to me through the door.
I storm down the fire escape, not sure about where to go from here. I need to think. Running around to the main road, I hail a cab and ask the driver to take me to work. I can’t go home and I have nowhere else.
At least this way if he comes after me I won’t be alone.
Chapter Twelve
Work is the last place I want to be, but the only place I can be.
I’m disgusted at what he’s done, but what messes with me even more is that I haven’t reported him. I try and tell myself that I’m still in shock, and once I process everything that’s happened I’ll call the police, but I can’t even convince myself.
I don’t want the police involved because I’m hoping there is a small chance that we can work this out. At the very least, I alerted security about him and requested he not be allowed in the club. That way I can figure this out knowing I’m safe from running into him. I sigh and rub my temples, frustrated with myself. How can I be into someone who has done what he’s done? What kind of person does that make me?
