What If You & Me by Roni Loren
Chapter Five
“Every woman knows what it’s like to contemplate murder. Not as the perpetrator—though some ex-bosses and ex-boyfriends can definitely inspire a fleeting thought—but her own murder. The loud guy trying to sell you something in the street. The man two aisles away in the grocery store who’s watching you instead of inspecting the quality of the tangerines that are on sale. The random grammatically challenged dude on Instagram who thinks your pics with your dog ‘r real sexxy.’
“We’re all familiar with that sick pang of warning in our guts, the tensing of muscles in our legs, our bodies readying themselves to bolt, or even just that vague sense of unease.”Andi paused the recording to edit out a place where she’d coughed. She hit Play again. “Listeners, that feeling is your personal oh-shit detector. Listen to it. Be best friends with it. Trust it like you trust your hairdresser. Don’t let anyone tell you it’s silly, that you’re overreacting, that you’re being ridiculous.
“I think Janice Walters trusted her oh-shit detector about her new coworker. She brought up concerns about Cliff Bastrop to her boss, that she had a bad feeling about the new guy. Her concerns were dismissed. Where was the proof? He was a nice guy. He was helpful. He always had a compliment for every woman in the office. No one but Janice seemed to question why he was so ready to help, to go out of his way for the ladies in the office, until one night when she was the last one out the building and Bastrop was waiting there to help her carry things to her car. Before she could decline, he grabbed her, the file box she’d been carrying hit the ground, and no one ever saw Janice alive again.”
Andi inhaled deeply, trying not to imagine the scene and to focus on the podcast recording. She knew getting Janice’s story out there was important, knew her listeners needed to hear the message the story held, but she also didn’t want to have a complete freak-out the next time she had to leave WorkAround at night. Covering these cases and managing her anxiety was a fine line to walk every day.
Horror and true crime gave her an outlet to process her anxiety in a safe way. After what she’d been through as a teenager, she’d worried that she was demented for finding solace in this stuff, but her therapist had explained that it wasn’t uncommon. She’d given Andi a stack of research articles to show her she wasn’t alone. Andi had learned that the majority of true-crime enthusiasts were women. And horror movies and fiction were as popular with women as they were with men. Her therapist had said watching horror or studying true crime could act almost like exposure therapy, women looking their biggest fears straight in the face and coming up with mental plans for how they could keep themselves safe.
For instance, with Janice’s story, Andi wanted her listeners to hear that trusting the this-guy-makes-me-uncomfortable feeling wasn’t only valid, it could be lifesaving. And not to let others dismiss their instincts.
It was one of the main reasons Andi had started the podcast. She wanted to shine light on things that often remained in the dark otherwise. Scary stories gave people fuel to protect themselves. Those stories gave them proof that their fears or bad feelings or instincts weren’t “overreacting” or “being silly.” There was power in knowing that. In not letting society gaslight you into thinking you were being paranoid if you carried mace or sent a photo of the guy you were going home with to a friend or didn’t accept a drink that you didn’t see poured. Knowledge truly was power.
Which was why it annoyed Andi so much when she got podcast reviews from the haters. She had loads of five-star reviews, but of course, her eyes always went straight to the ones and twos when she checked them. Tonight, she’d had:
LollyVR4:People who listen to this shit and exploit these crimes are sick in the head.
BroWhoa62:This show is called What Can We Learn from This? I’ve learned not to listen. She makes it sound like every guy in the world is a psychopath.
Mayh3m:This chick probably watches true-crime shows and horror movies instead of porn to get off. I’ll tie you up, baby.
The last one she was able to flag and get removed. But the reviews had also inspired her to open a bottle of wine for her evening podcast shift. She huffed, getting frustrated all over again, and pulled off her headphones. She clicked on a file and inserted an audio clip from the documentary on Janice Walters’s murder.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of her wall and she frowned. The werewolf was prowling around again. Always heard, never seen. An image of Hill answering the door shirtless rushed back into her mind. Her tongue had nearly rolled out of her head like a cartoon character when she’d been greeted with that view. The man was built like a fucking gladiator. One who’d been through war. Next to the line of dark hair that had disappeared into his waistband, he’d had a swath of skin that was raised and pink with an almost melted texture. Burn scars.
The sight of him had made her blush, but it’d also made her heart hurt. This man had survived a horror. In that moment, that fear she always had around new men had softened some at the edges. She’d wanted to know more about him. She’d gone inside with him despite all the warnings that had automatically run through her head.
No one knows I’m here.
He’s a stranger.
He’s big and strong and could overpower me.
Being a victim of something doesn’t mean he’s not a bad guy.
Freddy Krueger had burn scars.
But the worries had been unfounded. He hadn’t murdered her. In fact, he’d been nice and quietly funny, and she’d thought they’d made headway with the possibility of becoming friends. But she’d been wrong. It’d been almost two weeks since she’d brought those brownies over, and the handful of times she’d seen him outside, he’d given her a quick wave and then headed inside without a word. Dismissed.
He clearly didn’t want to be friends.
Which was his prerogative but also kind of sucked. She didn’t want awkwardness with the neighbor. But more than that, she was frustrated that she’d read the situation so wrong. That day at his house, she’d felt like they’d made a connection. He was clearly going through some stuff. She’d pieced together that his disability had taken him out of a career he loved, and she’d wanted to help. She didn’t know what it was like to have that kind of physical loss, but she remembered what it was like not knowing what she wanted to do with her life.
However, once again, her instincts had been wrong. There’d be no connection. He didn’t want her help. He’d probably thought she was meddling.
Message received: the hot werewolf didn’t want her around.
She sipped her wine and tried to shake off thoughts of Hill and refocus on her work. She needed to finish editing the episode tonight if she was going to post it on schedule tomorrow. She didn’t have time to obsess about the neighbor anymore. She put her headphones back on.
“Janice was reported missing the following Monday when she didn’t show up for work…”
Two hours and one too many glasses of wine later, Andi was done. She put aside her laptop, pulled off her headphones, and yawned, wondering if she should just sleep there on the couch. Getting ready for bed suddenly seemed like too much work. Her limbs felt heavy and her thoughts fuzzy.
Maybe not so much wine next time.
She swung her legs to the floor, checking to see if she was head-spinning drunk or only a little buzzed. The room didn’t tilt, so that was a good sign. She rubbed her face, preparing to get up, but a thump from the back of the house made her pause. She lowered her hands from her face and turned her head toward the kitchen, listening. Was Hill still up and moving around? It was past midnight.
He seemed to be a night owl so probably so. But when she heard a creak, one that sounded distinctly like her back screen door, goose bumps prickled her arms. That sound hadn’t come from Hill’s side. He didn’t have a screen door. Her body went stiff and cold, her ears straining.
She half expected her phone to ring with a voice on the other end asking her if she liked scary movies. The creak came again, and she inhaled a shaky breath. Okay. The latch on the screen door had probably come undone. It was windy outside. The door was probably flapping in the wind. You’re fine. The main door is locked tight.
She reached for her phone, which she usually kept on the coffee table, but it wasn’t there. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Where had she put it? She’d had it when she’d sat down to edit the episode. She’d gotten up to use the bathroom once and had gotten a refill on wine twice. She must’ve brought her phone into the kitchen.
Dammit.
How had she lost track of her phone? But she wasn’t going to follow up that mistake with a second one. She definitely wasn’t calling out “Who’s there?” or going outside to investigate a weird sound. She hadn’t watched hundreds of horror movies without learning something. Still, she needed to know what the noise was, but she wasn’t going to look without some protection.
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, and as quietly as she could, she rose to her feet, her knee making a soft popping sound. She swayed a little, the wine still coursing through her system, but the fear had sobered her thoughts. She glanced toward the kitchen again and then quickly but quietly hurried toward the front door in her bare feet. She’d left her purse on the table by the door when she’d come home, and she grabbed it like a lifeline. She rummaged around, and when her fingers closed around the gel pepper spray she’d bought at Hill’s suggestion, a jolt of relief went through her.
She pulled out the canister and peeked through the peephole of the front door. Her porch was well lit and empty, but the darkness on the street beyond revealed nothing. She didn’t want to walk outside at midnight, not knowing if someone was prowling around her place.
She turned away from the front door and listened. She didn’t hear the creak anymore, but she was filled with the sense that the silence was not empty. It had weight. Like the air had changed. She slid the safety latch on the pepper spray, putting her finger on the trigger, and took a few steps toward the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been home alone and thought she heard a noise in the house. This was just the first time at this place. She’d learned to live with her hyperaware senses and overactive imagination. But this was the first time she didn’t have her phone to call someone to stay on the line while she checked things out. Every other time, whatever sound she’d heard had been nothing. It would surely be the same now, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She held the pepper spray at-the-ready.
She placed her footsteps carefully, watching for a floorboard that she’d learned squeaked loudly. If she could get a peek at the kitchen and verify the main door was still safely closed and locked, she could end this. She got close to the entrance of the kitchen and took a deep breath. Steeling herself, she shifted to peek around the corner into the kitchen.
She almost didn’t register what she saw, the image so preposterous for a woman who regularly checked that everything was locked up tight.
The back door was wide open.
Panic flooded her, electric fear zapping through her muscles like lightning, and a scream ripped out of her. She took off running in the other direction, shouting “Help!” the whole way. Her bare feet slapped against the floor, and she couldn’t get a sense of whether anyone was behind her or not as she bolted toward the front door. Her fingers fumbled the dead bolt, and she started to cry, but finally the lock turned, and she flew out the front door like the house was on fire.
She had no idea if anyone was outside, and she didn’t have her car keys, so she did the only thing she could think of. She rushed to Hill’s door and banged on it with the sides of her fists, shouting for him to open it. Her throat hurt, her body was trembling all over, and her heart was going to pound out of her chest. Please God, please. Come on, come on, come on. “Hill!”
When she was about to give up and run to another neighbor, the door swung open. Hill took in the sight of her, confusion on his face, and she launched herself at him. He made an oof sound as she barreled into him and she slammed the door behind her. “Lock it!”
He put an arm around her, steadying them both. “The hell. What’s wrong?”
“Someone’s in my house,” she panted, tears she hadn’t known she’d been crying now streaming down her face. “Call the police.”
His body stiffened against her. “Shit.”
He let her go and shifted into action. Before she could process what was happening, he’d locked the door behind her, grabbed his cell, and called 911 to put in a report. He handed her the phone. “Stay on the line with them.”
“What?” she asked, voice shaking. “Where are you going?”
The 911 operator was chattering in her ear for Andi to stay on the line, but she couldn’t respond.
Hill left her for a moment, disappeared into a hallway, and then came out with his trusty baseball bat. “I’m going to check things out.”
He moved to walk past her, but she reached out and snagged his T-shirt. “No!”
He frowned. “Andi…”
She couldn’t let him out of her sight. Every survival instinct she possessed screamed at her to keep him right there with her. “What if they come over here while you’re there? What if they have a gun? What if there’s more than one person?” The questions rushed out of her without pause. “Please don’t leave. Please, Hill. Stay until the police come. I can’t—”
His determined expression softened at her frantic words. He set the bat down, then reached out, took the phone from her, and put his arm around her shoulders, giving her a little squeeze. “Shh. Okay. Take a breath. You’re going to be okay. You’re safe here. I won’t leave you if you don’t want me to.” He put the phone to his ear to talk to the operator. “We’ll be here waiting for the police. I have the neighbor here on my side of the duplex, safe. Please advise them that the problem is in Unit A. We are hunkered down in Unit B. I’ll leave you on speakerphone, but I need to talk to her and help her calm down.”
Hill set the phone on the arm of the couch. Andi was shaking all over, but the steady warmth of his arm around her helped a little. “I can’t catch my breath.”
“You’re having a panic attack,” he said, voice calm and soothing. “Here, come sit on the couch with me while we wait. My guess is whoever was in your place is long gone after all that screaming.”
He kept his arm around her as they sat down, and she kept the pepper spray clutched tight in her hand, half expecting her intruder to bust through this door, too. “You heard me? Why didn’t you come?”
He squeezed her arm. “Andi, I’m so sorry. I heard the screaming, but I thought it was one of your movies again.”
“Jesus,” she said, every part of her trembling now.
A distant police siren wailed, and Hill rubbed his palm up and down her chilled arm. “Try to take a few deep breaths. You’re okay now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“I’m okay?” she repeated almost to herself, unsure.
“You’re okay,” he said. “I’ve got you.”
The sound of his reassuring voice undid her, the reality of what she’d seen sinking in for real. Someone had been in her house. With her, while she sat there under headphones, oblivious. So many bad things could’ve happened. She leaned into Hill, pressing her face into his shoulder, letting the tears overtake her. The terror she’d felt when she’d seen that door wide open had been a sensation she’d experienced in her worst nightmares.
Hill made quiet, soothing sounds, letting her make a mess of his white T-shirt, and murmured gentle words to her, obviously used to being the calming presence in chaotic situations. “You’re all right.”
The man was a stranger. One she couldn’t get a good read on, but in that moment, he felt like safety and comfort, like exactly the thing she needed right now. She let her pepper spray drop and wrapped her arms around his neck.