Still no answer.
Shoving my hands deep into the pockets of my coat, I huddle my shoulders together and groan softly.
Maybe it’s the wrong time of day to visit whoever this is. Just as I turn away, something falls over behind the door and a muffled curse rises, then footsteps hurry closer.
A lock slides out of place and the door creaks as it swings open.
“Yeah? What is it?” barks a voice through a cloud of cigarette smoke. The man hangs onto the door with one hand.
His other bony hand curls around a cigarette clinging to too much ash and bleary, narrow eyes blink furiously as if the daylight burns.
My heart punches up into my throat as we come face to face.
I know him.
I recognize his dark, curly hair and thick beard that hangs off a gaunt face.
I shouldn’t be here.
“I’m sorry,” I say hastily. “Wrong address. Sorry.”
“Wait.” His body hand leaves the door and grabs the back of my coat as I try to leave, jerking me backward. “I know you. What the—who are you?”
“Let go?—”
“Wait!” With surprising strength, he hauls me backward and spins me around, grabbing my flailing arm before I can stumble away. “You’re Caleb’s chick, right? The fuck are you doing here?”
His grip on my arm is just as painful as the day he crashed into my apartment and choked me against the wall, demanding Caleb’s whereabouts while that fucker hid in my closet.
“I said I’m at the wrong address!”
“Bullshit. Why are you here?”
“Let go!”
“Fucking hell, stop yelling!” He grunts and casts his cigarette aside, then grabs my arm with both hands and hauls me into his apartment despite my panicked struggles.
A wall of smoke hits me, invading my lungs with each desperate breath.
Try as I might when pushing against him, he’s stronger than me, and I’m unable to push past him.
He kicks the door closed behind him and drags me into a bare room with a few scattered pieces of furniture, a rickety chair, and a threadbare couch covered in ruffled blankets.
“You woke me up, you come to my place, and then you tell me it’s the wrong fucking address?” He jerks me so close that I can see the individual pores along his nose and he grins a yellow-toothed smile. “Sit the fuck down.”
“I’m sorry!” Gasping, I barely manage to remain upright as he shoves me down into the chair. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Bullshit,” Dickson snarls. “What does that fucker want now?”
“Who?”
“Caleb!” Dickson flicks my forehead with his finger. “Duh!”
“He doesn’t want anything… Caleb’sdead.”
Dickson halts his pacing in front of me and stares, then he breaks into a waspish, deep laugh and pats his abdomen. “No way, for real?”
I nod, cautiously slipping my hand into my pocket and seeking out the smooth, cold screen of my phone. “A few weeks ago. Car crash.”
