Among the Echoes(8)

Twelve years later, I came back.

Who would have guessed the place I hated most in the world all those years ago would eventually become my safe haven? No one knows I bought this building three years ago. It would be a media circus if they did. Which is exactly why I bought this place to escape. Luckily for me, Jimmy was willing to put it in his name to keep mine, as owner, off public record. He even paid for it out of his own pocket to keep the paper trail from leading back to me. He did get a nice little bonus that year that more than compensated him for his efforts.

As I pull up in my economy rental car, an immediate sense of calm washes over me. Not the kind you feel after a few deep breaths or a stiff drink. I'm talking the kind of calm you feel in your bones. The eye of a tornado. The still after an earthquake. The silence after a hurricane. Calm.

I grab my small bag from the backseat and head inside. I never bring much with me when I come here. I never had anything before—why start now? Honestly, my whole first twenty years of life could have fit in this bag with plenty of room to spare.

I rush around the corner, ready to own that feeling for the next month of my life. It’s a feeling that I will eventually lose when I have to go back to my real life, but now that I have this place, I know I can always reclaim it.

"Shit," I hear as I turn the corner. A petite woman with mousy-brown hair pulled back into a ponytail is juggling grocery bags while trying to open her front door. Her bags slip from her hands and a carton of eggs opens, spilling all over the ground. "Shit!" she screams.

I drag a baseball cap from my bag, pulling it low over my eyes, and move toward her.

"You need some help?" I ask gently.

"Shit!" she screams again and jumps away, flattening her back against the door.

"Jesus. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. It just looked like you might need some help."

"I'm okay. I'm okay." She breathes deeply, and if I'm not mistaken, talking to herself.

I reach down, pick up the mess of broken eggs, and shove it back into the plastic grocery sack. I tie it in a knot, readying it for the trash.

"You'll probably need more. Not even one egg survived." I smile, but she doesn't reciprocate. She stands silently with her back still pinned to the door. Her whole body is tight as she stares at me nervously.

Fuck. Based on that star-struck look in her eyes, I know she’s recognized me. I haven't even stepped inside yet and I've already been made. I'm starting to think her choice in vocabulary seems fitting. Shit.

"You didn't see me. Okay. Don't tell anyone I'm here," I whisper, and she visibly relaxes. Her eyes glide over my body, and she even leans to the side to take in my small bag.

"Did Dave send you?" She finally speaks a sentence that is not a cuss word.

"Who?"

"Dave. Did he send you?"

"Not that I know of," I answer, confused.

Her eyes narrow as she accesses me. It's only fair that I do the same. I rake my eyes over her body from top to bottom and back again. She's pretty. Cute, small, nice boobs, and trim figure. She's not hard, but she is fit. Like her hair, her eyes are brown, and aside from her unusual level of alarm, there's nothing overly special about this woman.

"What's your name?"

"Adam," I lie. She might recognize me, but if she's looking for me to confirm it, it's not going to happen.

"Where are you staying?" she asks, and I narrow my eyes back at her.

"Do I need to leave? Is this going to be a problem?" I ignore her question and jump right to the issue.

"No problem for you, but I'm going to rip Dave's balls off for not giving me a heads-up." She shoves open the door and moves inside.

Clearly, this woman is unstable. Just out of curiosity, I peek around her apartment as she walks to her kitchen. The entire room is open, not even a wall to separate the entryway from the kitchen. I can tell that her place is two bedrooms based on the hallway. It's the exact same floor plan as mine, only in reverse. It’s clean, but most of the furniture is older and well used. It actually looks similar to the place I lived when I was growing up. Well kept, but nothing nice. I smile and breathe in the scent of dust and mothballs.

"Are you a bloodhound as well as a bodyguard?" she asks, looking at me strangely.

"Bodyguard?" I question, and she tilts her head in confusion.

Suddenly, her eyes go wide and she takes two giant steps away from me. "How long have you known Dave?" she asks as her face pales. She slides behind the kitchen counter. I can see her head and shoulders over the bar, but her body is blocked. I can hear her digging through a drawer as fear transforms her.