Among the Echoes(11)

"What happened?" I ask gently, inquiring about more than just tonight.

"The...um, window by my bed was broken. I don't know if they came in. I didn’t wait around. I just grabbed the gun and bolted," she tells the floor.

"Did you see anyone?"

"No."

I move to the door and glance around the breezeway. On the brick are a few sloppy graffiti tags that were definitely not there earlier. I’m sure it’s probably just a bunch of kids looking for trouble, so I close it back, locking both the deadbolt and the chain just in case.

"It was just some kids," I say, reassuringly. I crouch back down in front of her, and it pains me as she recoils. Not that I would ever dream of touching her, but I understand that reaction, and it kills me to witness it firsthand.

"How can you be sure?" she whimpers.

"I can't. This neighborhood may not be the nicest, but it is relatively safe. The spray paint leads me to believe it’s only some bored teenagers with slightly less than average artistic abilities." I try to make light of the situation, and for a split second, it works.

Her eyes lift to mine, and I can’t stop the gasp that escapes.

"What?" she whispers as concern once again crosses her face.

"No, nothing. It's just... Your eyes. They're amazing."

"Don't look at me." She covers her face with her hands.

"I'm sorry. It just surprised me. That's all. Earlier, they were brown, but now... Why do you cover them up?"

"I forgot my phone in the apartment." She changes the subject, ignoring my curiosity.

"You can use mine if you want." I offer her a smile, but it's not from kindness. The truth is I just want her to look back up so I can see her eyes again.

"I can't. I need mine." She finally lifts her gaze back to mine, and it's actually painful. Her eyes are beautiful, but this time, I see more than just the awe-inspiring color. I see the fear and innocence in the red rims. There is a dark shadow of false strength, but what really has me reaching forward to touch her is the hopelessness. My hand doesn't even get close before she quickly slides out of my reach.

"Hey. I'll go get it for you. You're safe." I repeat the one phrase that seemed to ease her earlier.

"Why are you being so nice?" She turns her head suspiciously.

"I don't have any reason not to be nice to you. Besides, you remind me of someone I used to know," I answer, and she immediately goes stiff. Her eyes begin to frantically travel over my body—scrutinizing my every inch while desperately searching for something. "My mom. You remind me of my mother," I finish, and she holds my eyes, giving only the slightest of nods.

"Why do you live here?" she asks, and I chuckle at her random question.

"Why do you live here?" I throw right back at her.

"Will you walk back over there with me?" She once again changes the topic.

"Yeah, of course."

I offer her a hand to stand, but not surprisingly, she doesn’t take it. She pushes to her feet on her own.

I head for the door with her tight on my heels. I suddenly turn, and she takes a quick step away. "You never told me your name," I question, and her eyes light before dimming completely.

"Riley," she says flatly.

"Nice to meet you, Riley."

She finally offers me a weak smile that never even gets close to her eyes.

"Oh, let’s not forget this." I pick up the gun she came in with and pass it back to her. I immediately regret returning it. This woman is a mess right now. Arming her doesn’t seem like the brightest of ideas. "Do you even know how to use that?"

"Yeah, I do. But I hate it." She reaches forward, taking it from my hands. She doesn’t grasp it. Instead, she holds it flat on her palms as if it were a ticking time bomb ready to explode.

My lips twitch, and I force myself to turn away to hide the smile.

"Come on." I walk to the front door, pulling it open for her to lead the way, but she stands silently, waiting for me to exit first. I take the five steps to her door as she follows closely behind me.

She never touches me, although for some strange reason, I can’t say that I would mind if she did.





"You want me to look around?" Adam asks when we reach my door.

My heart sinks, unsure of the correct answer. Do I want him to look around? I’m still not completely convinced that this guy isn’t dangerous. Yet there was something in his expression when he told me that he wouldn’t hurt me that made me believe him. It was something deeper than just a superficial lie. I would recognize one of those; I tell them all the time. Honestly, what choice do I have right now? He’s had two opportunities to kill me if he wanted to. Both he let pass him by. He is either a normal guy or the world’s worst hit man.