Chapter 20
Claire
Around me the apartment goes silent, all except for the soft sounds of something being dragged or brushed against something in my bedroom. My pulse is racing, I can hear the rushing and thumping of the blood through my ears. I want to run but my boots are cemented to the floor. Whoever is in my bedroom has already heard me scream and the thought of turning my back on the bedroom door to go out the front one is too terrifying of an idea to me. All the hairs on the back of my neck raise up and my skin starts to crawl.
I slip my phone out of my pocket and hit the emergency button without even bothering to open my phone. I hold the phone in my left hand and with my right, pick up my long-handled umbrella that’s been tossed into the mess on the floor. It’s the closest thing to me that I could use as a weapon until I can get to my knife drawer.
The noise continues. It’s a hushed sound, almost rhythmic. Muffled, like someone is gently sweeping fabric over a surface again and again. I’m holding my phone at my side so I can listen carefully to whoever is here with me. “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?” I hear a low disembodied voice ask.
I quickly bring the phone up to my lips and whisper, “Someone is in my apartment. In the bedroom. Please send help.” Quietly, I tell her my name and address.
“Okay, please stay on the line…” I drop the phone down and slip it onto the couch. I take hold of the umbrella in both my hands like a baseball bat and continue to listen to the woman’s voice on the phone. She tells me to stay where I am, but I don’t listen. I’m not even realizing what I’m doing. I somehow just shift forward and end up standing in the doorway to my bedroom, umbrella at the ready to defend myself.
But my room is empty and the sound I’m hearing is my curtain brushing against the wall because of the wind from the wide-open window. My knees weaken and I turn to jelly, collapsing in relief to the floor. I can’t stop shaking and crying. Why would anyone break into this apartment? I have nothing to offer anyone except for the small mason jar full of quarters I use for the laundromat.
What if whoever broke into my apartment is the same person who is texting me from my mother’s phone?
I rush back to the phone and explain to the 911 operator what is going on. She tells me because of the weather the police will be here in fifteen minutes.
Fifteen minutes?
Thank God no one was still in the apartment or by the time the cops arrived they would have found some crazy blackmailing lunatic wearing my flesh as a skin suit, eating what’s left of my cereal. I sit on the couch and sob. I want to call Maddie but I’m too scared to get off the phone with the operator—just in case she needs to be a witness if my stalker comes back. They record these calls, so she would be able to get his voice and maybe who he is. I talk to the operator mindlessly through my tears. I don’t know if I forgot to shut the window, if I caused all this to happen. I tell her all about my mother and her secret house, and the text messages from her phone. I tell her about all the fake pictures and how I might lose my job. I even tell her about Vaughn, which makes me bawl harder until I’m a blubbering incomprehensible mess.
When I hear the sirens, I end my phone call and run out into the snow to meet them. The story gushes out of me like a dam break. I tell them every little detail I can.
They search the house.
More police arrive.
For some reason they take all the sheets off my bed and my comforter too. They let me pack a bag of clothes, but for some reason I can’t find any of my underwear. Why would someone break into my house and take all my underwear?
They go through my computer. My cabinets. Even the crawl space under the building.
I’m too scared to stay here. I swipe open my phone and call Maddie.
She picks up just before it goes to voicemail. “Hey, sweetie. How are you doing? How was packing up your mom’s things?” There’s music and laughter in the background and the undeniable sound of clinking of glasses.
My voice trembles but I blurt everything out in a rush, “Uhh…I was in an avalanche. I got stuck there for two days. My mother was living with a married man and while I was gone my apartment was burglarized and someone is blackmailing me for my mother’s offshore accounts that I don’t even think exist. I don’t want to stay here alone can I come stay with you?”
She gasps dramatically. “Oh my God, Claire! Oh my God, are you okay? Are you hurt? I’m…I’m not home. I took a quick trip to Miami Beach to get away from the snow.”
Of course she did, that’s what people with money who live here do. I don’t know what to say, all I want to do is hang up the phone and cry. “Oh, that’s okay. I can call one of my girlfriends from work,” I lie. I don’t have any girlfriends from work.
“Are you sure? I can probably hop on the next flight back home if you really need me,” she says.
“What?! No, no way. I’m fine. The police are here and everything,” I say, faking an airy laugh.
“I can’t believe this is happening to you, are you sure?” she asks.
“Positive,” I manage. “Oh, uh…I have to get off the phone now, the officers need to speak to me. I’ll text you later.” I cut the phone dead and shiver. None of the officers needed to talk to me, they’re busy chatting with each other and writing stuff down in their memo books. I’m sitting on my couch, alone, with my whole world crashing down around me and no one seems to bat an eye at me.
I should be used to this—being alone. Thing is, I don’t want to be, not anymore. I want to have someone to lean on and talk to, like how Vaughn and I talked on the mountain.
But there’s no one. So I sit alone like that for hours, as the police mill around me, until my phone starts blowing up with text message after text message. Then phone call after phone call.
Heat rips across my chest when I look down to see the headmaster of the school is calling me. A sickening twist knots in my stomach and tightens hard. Why would he be calling me? All the teachers from the school too. My hands are too shaky to hold the phone and it drops to the floor, cracking the screen even more. I don’t want to answer any of them, I’m terrified of what’s happening. I can’t catch my breath.
I can’t see past my tears.
