You Owe Me a Murder(71)

I counted to five hundred while I listened to the house. I wanted to make sure I was alone. Nicki shouldn’t have been home—?there was no point to any of this if she hadn’t arranged an alibi—?but I didn’t trust her, either. Maybe she wanted to stick around to make sure I would go through with it. Or maybe she was the kind of person who wanted to watch.

I didn’t hear anything. The place seemed empty. A giggle started to burble up and I had to bite down hard on my lip to stop myself. The irony if I’d finally gotten up the guts to do this and Nicki’s mom wasn’t even home was almost too absurd not to consider.

As I crept up the stairs, I remembered to avoid the creaky third step. At the top, I counted two doors to the right. Part of me was tempted to try to find Nicki’s room first. If I rummaged through her belongings, perhaps I could find a clue as to how her brain worked. Was her bedroom still stuck in childhood, with a stuffed teddy named Oliver on the bed, a dancing ballerina jewelry box on the dresser, a pink floral duvet? Or had she redone the décor: dark colors, muted throw pillows, stripped of anything personal? Maybe instead of posters of a cute boy band, there would be photos of famous serial killers. That would certainly be a giveaway. I hesitated, but if I wasn’t careful with the sounds I made, Nicki’s mom would wake up. I could imagine kneeling next to Nicki’s bed to look underneath and having her mom stumble in, her bathrobe open and flapping behind her. There was no amount of explaining that would make my presence okay.

I caught myself a split second before I tapped on her mom’s bedroom door to ask if I could come in. Habits die hard. My mom hated it when I barged in without knocking. This door wasn’t latched shut, just pulled most of the way closed. I gave it a light shove and it swung open silently.

The room wasn’t huge. The large bay window I’d seen from the street was directly across from me with long white curtains pulled shut. They moved in and out, as if they were breathing in tandem with the breeze. The walls were painted white, and the bit of moonlight creeping through the cracks in the curtains lit things up enough that I wouldn’t stumble around. Nicki’s mom lay in the center of the bed, her mouth open, her breathing heavy. A thin blanket was tangled up around her legs, as if she’d been cycling through it.

I reached out for her. My hand wasn’t shaking the way I’d expected. Now that I was here, I was calm. Focused, every sense on high alert. I could hear everything: the tick of the clock from downstairs, the faint hum of the fridge in the kitchen, and the very muffled sound of the TV from next door through the wall. Even in the weak light I could make out everything. The tiny print of pink forget-me-nots on her cotton pajama gown, the loose change on her dresser, and the pattern on the floor made by the light from a passing car. I’d never felt more alive in my entire life.

I leaned forward again and tapped her on the shoulder with one hand. Her eyes opened and then widened when she realized she wasn’t alone. I was ready. I slapped my hand down over her mouth, her lips feeling dry and hot on my palm, like snakeskin. She tried to pull back when she saw the knife, but there was nowhere to go; she was pressed against the mattress.

“Shhh,” I whispered. “I’m not going to hurt you, but you have to be quiet.” A tear slipped from her eye and ran down her face. “Do you understand?”

She nodded frantically. I hesitated before pulling my hand away. I was counting on the sight of the knife to make her comply, but if she started screaming, I didn’t have a plan B. Once my hand was gone, she sucked in a shallow breath that turned into a strangled sob.

“You have to listen to me. What I’m going to tell you is important.” My voice was low but steady and calm. I felt a rush of pride, a tingling that ran down my spine and then into my arms and legs.

“I have a bit of money in the top drawer,” Nicki’s mom said. “There’s maybe some more in my purse downstairs, and my credit cards.” Her words tumbled over one another, racing out of her mouth. “I don’t have much jewelry. I don’t—?”

“I’m not here to steal from you,” I cut her off. I sniffed the air, trying to tell if she’d been drinking. She didn’t sound confused or drunk, just terrified.

She swallowed. “Okay.” Her eyes darted around the room as if she thought there might be someone else here. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been sent here. To kill you.”

Her eyes shot back to mine. She whimpered, seemingly trying to pull herself deeper into the mattress. “Please . . .”

I shook my head. “I’m not going to do it. But you have to listen to me. We need to call the police together.” I fumbled for my phone, not taking my eyes off her in case she lunged at me. I dropped it onto the blanket.

Her eyebrows shot up. “You want me to call the police?”

I could tell she didn’t believe what I was saying. “Yes. We’re going to talk to them together.”

She didn’t pick up the phone—?maybe she thought I was messing with her, that I would stab her if she reached for it. “I don’t understand.”

Nicki’s mom glanced behind me and I was suddenly certain that Nicki was standing there with a weapon. Out of the corner of my eye I caught a flicker of movement. My heart shot into overdrive.

I whirled around, the knife in front of me, while at the same time throwing myself to the left, but there was no one there. The curtains billowed with the breeze. Nicki’s mom scrambled for the far end of the bed, like an insect scurrying for safety. I poked the knife in her direction and she froze.