One year later…
I stayed late at work because I love my job. I stayed late at work because I had nothing better to do. I mean, really, trying to tell myself that lie was laughable. So laughable in fact that it made me snort even as I tried to convince myself it was even half true.
There was no point. If I couldn’t be honest inside my own head, then I probably should have climbed out of that wall that day and died right then with my father.
Harsh.
Sometimes the truth was harsh. But wasn’t the truth better than lie after lie? I would know. I lived one every single day.
Correction: it wasn’t a lie. It was a new me.
Or so I was trained over and over to believe. For the most part, it worked. Except on nights like tonight when I stayed late correlating files because thoughts of going home and staring at the empty walls of my apartment was excruciating. I wondered, not for the first time, if it would ever get any easier.
To cheer myself up, I stopped at a local grocery place on the corner near my apartment building. I didn’t stop here much, though the place was amazing. It was expensive, but beyond that, it made me homesick. Because of that, it probably should have been the first place to avoid tonight as all these thoughts whirled around inside me. It stood to reason, though, that maybe if this place could make me homesick, perhaps it could also make me feel closer to what I missed.
At the very least, I could get a nice bottle of wine.
Wandering up and down the aisles of the little grocery, I breathed in the various scents mingling in the air. Fresh herbs, produce, and the heady aroma of baking baguettes.
I took in a deep breath and exhaled. Some of the tension and restlessness inside me eased.
Tucking the basket into the crook of my arm, I continued on, pausing to glance at the jarred sauces and selection of oils. A tingle of excitement and inspiration swirled inside, leaving my chest a little fluttery. The need to create something that burst across the tongue was almost irresistible.
After indulging in my thoughts for a few moments, I choose a few fresh herbs, some tomatoes that smelled delish, some garlic, and a few other light ingredients. Once those were in my basket, I selected a fresh baguette, still warm.
Fresh bruschetta would go very nicely with the wine I planned on drinking tonight.
Perusing the wine selection, a tingle of something brushed over the back of my neck. Almost as if someone opened a window or the door and some of the wintry air floated in. I was nowhere near the door, though. And there was no window over here.
Glancing around, nothing appeared amiss, so I continued. As I was pulling out the bottle I chose, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. I turned, staring down the aisle, as a man disappeared around the corner.
My stomach tightened and prickles of warning—the same kind I’d only ever had once before—assaulted me. Adrenaline flooded my system so fast that everything in the basket began to rattle with the shaking of my body.
Forcing a deep breath, I walked toward the cashier, forcing my steps to be unhurried and casual. All I really wanted to do was run.
Run and scream.
That familiar clawing sensation in the back of my esophagus started, and I cleared my throat, trying to push it away.
After paying for my items and giving the cashier a tight-lipped smile, I used the cold air as an excuse to hunch down into my coat and hurry to my car.
I white-knuckled the steering wheel until I pulled into the parking garage past the security gate. It wasn’t much, really, but having that little drop-down arm that required a pass to park inside was better than nothing.
I might have pressed on the close doors button inside the elevator a few thousand times as I anxiously stared out into the garage. And I might have nearly tripped rushing down the hall to my door and sagged against it once I was safely inside.
The relief didn’t last very long, though.
Instead, my head shot up and I stared down the small hallway that lead into the rest of the apartment. Suspicion and anxiety with adrenaline was a dangerous combination. Shoving away from the door, I went into my place, flicking on every light along the way. After depositing my groceries and purse on the counter, I checked the rest of the apartment, something that wasn’t really unfamiliar to me.
Once that was done, I double-checked the closet, then finally took off my coat and sighed.
I was being silly.
I was.
There was no way anyone had found me. I’d done everything right. Taken every precaution. I was safe.
Then why don’t I feel like it?
I poured myself a big glass of wine and unpacked the groceries I’d bought. After about half the glass, I began to feel a little looser. I decided what I needed to do was take a hot shower, put on something comfy, and then make the bruschetta. I could have another overly full glass of wine and watch a sappy romance movie on TV.
Once I was showered, blond hair pulled up on top of my head, and a pair of loose, comfy sweats covered my legs, I carried the empty glass of wine to the kitchen and began cooking.
I’d barely begun when that feeling slinked back over me again.
Dropping the knife, I gripped the edges of the counter and squeezed, watching the way my fingers turned white from the pressure. Beneath my ribs, my heart galloped and an intense urge to flee knocked me back.
Thinking it would make me feel better, I went to the closet nearest the front door and looked inside at the duffle bag sitting on the top shelf, packed.
I wasn’t sure what it said about me that it was there, but whatever it was didn’t stop me from having it.
After forcing a few deep breaths, I started to push the door closed.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
I let out a low squeal and jumped back, pressing a hand to my chest.
Someone was at the door, knocking. No one ever came to the door.
Creeping forward, I looked through the peephole.
A man in a dark-brown uniform with the yellow logo of a delivery company stood on the other side. His head was tilted down, so I couldn’t see his face, only the hat. In his arms was a brown box.
I wasn’t expecting any delivery. In fact, I never shopped online. I never did anything online. It was too risky.
“Yes?” I called through the door.
“Delivery!”
“I’m not expecting anything.” I watched through the peephole as the man tugged the box out and glanced down at it.
“Bella Lane?” he called out. “Apartment twelve?”
I nodded, then realized he couldn’t see me. “Yes, that’s me.”
“Then this one’s for you.”
I hesitated, not saying anything. That feeling was back. And this time, I didn’t want to try and fight it. “Just leave it by the door,” I called out. I’d get it after he’d gone.
“I need you to sign for it.”
Don’t open that door!
The scent of sautéing tomatoes that were close to burning wafted down the small hallway.
“I’m not able to answer. If you can’t leave it, just take it to the store and I’ll pick it up tomorrow.”
His head remained down, but his shoulders stiffened. “It will only take a second.”
I backed away from the door, creeping as though if I made even the slightest sound, he would know.
He knocked again. I tossed my hand out to steady myself on the wall.
Something was wrong. If you feel like something is wrong, it probably is.
Backtracking into the room, I fetched my cell out of my purse and dialed 9-1-1 on the screen. Heart pounding, I stood between the kitchen and the hallway, clutching the phone, staring at the door.
Please go away. Please.
Suddenly, I was back there squished between the walls of my father’s shitty apartment. The smell of fear and sweat clung to the inside of my nose, and the sounds of flesh hitting flesh made me shake.
“All right, then,” the delivery man yelled. “I’m leaving!”
I let out a breath, but I still trembled all over.
I was still too afraid to move, so I stood there for a long time, just staring at the door and listening for something. Anything.
I thought to go check the window, to see if perhaps the mail truck had driven away, but I couldn’t get my feet to work.
A faint sound hit me like the boom of a gun. I jerked, and my eyes flew back to the door.
I watched in horror as the deadbolt, which was locked, turned slowly… until it stopped.
Unlocked.
The front door creaked like a bad horror film when the man, who was clearly not a delivery man, shoved it open. He filled the doorway in his brown uniform. His head lifted just as slowly as the door had swung in.
“I have your package,” he intoned. The box was dropped, and beneath it in his hand was a gun.
A gun with a silencer on the end.
I screamed and lunged to the side falling into the kitchen. The sound of a shot going off and the bullet burying in the wall was something I was unfortunately familiar with.
In my haste to leap away, my cell slipped out of my hand and slid nearly under the stove. With a cry, I lunged forward, my knees slapping against the floor. My fingers closed around it, but as I pulled it close, the man appeared, shoving me back into the corner of the cabinets.
He pointed the gun. His eyes were empty and void.
Adrenaline surged in me again, and before I knew what I was doing, I reached up over my head and grabbed the pan I’d been using on the stove. I flung it at the man, and he screamed.
Hot oil, vegetables, and the pan itself smacked him in the face. He screamed as though he was burned, batted the pan away, then began trying to brush off the burning food.
I scrambled away, ran down the hallway, and opened the closet door. My hand closed around the duffle as he came at me. I swung, using the back like a battering ram, and hit him in the face. He fell to the side into the wall with a curse. I yanked open the apartment door behind me and ran. Instead of the elevator, I rushed down the stairs. I heard him not far behind, his footsteps pounding closer. Thinking fast, I ducked into the maintenance room just before the door leading out to the parking garage.
Trembling behind the oversized equipment, I heard him rush by.
“She headed toward you!” he said and burst out into the garage.
The second my heart stopped thundering, I knew I couldn’t just sit here. I couldn’t wait for him to come back. Sneaking out of the room, I went in the opposite direction, looping through the hall until I came to a door that led out on a different street.
Pulling my hood up over my head, I ducked onto the sidewalk and carried the duffle like an oversized shoulder bag.
A cab pulled to the curb up ahead. A laughing couple stepped out.
I ran for it, sliding into the backseat before the door was even closed. The cabby glanced up, surprise written over his face.
“Where to?” he asked.
“Just drive.”
He pulled out into traffic, went down the street, and turned the corner. “I’m gonna need an address, lady.”
My first thought was the police station. They would know what to do. They had the resources to keep me safe. I opened my mouth to give the address of the precinct. I knew it by heart.
Something stopped me.
A cold feeling wormed around inside me.
Going to the police was what I was supposed to do. It’s what I did last time.
And now I was here.
They’d promised me protection. They’d sworn I was safe. My new identity, my new life… it was all perfectly calculated so the men who killed my father couldn’t find me.
They lied.
The fake delivery man with a gun back there was proof.
I had been found.
Everything I’d done was for nothing.
Witness protection couldn’t protect me. I’d given them a chance. They failed.
Now it was up to me.