My wallet sat on my nightstand. The option of forgetting was like an open invitation. The promise of letting go in its back pocket. I opened the pocket and the twelve pills tumbled into the palm of my hand. I fished out the note scrunched into the bottom corner so I could read it one last time. Throwing the note away occurred to me, but the action wouldn’t change anything. So I shoved it back into its home, where it would certainly be trashed with the rest of my belongings when the time came. Not like anyone would be claiming them.
I was filling my Nalgene from the sink in the bathroom when a light female voice penetrated the silence of our apartment living room. Julia.
TWENTY-ONE
Julia
“Yeah, he’s here. I think so anyway.” Pat’s roommate held open the apartment door to let me in. “Name’s Fray, by the way.”
“I’m Julia.”
He pointed me to Patrick’s room then retreated to his own. Pat’s door was closed. Had he been ignoring me? The possessiveness I was acting on was totally out of line. He wasn’t indebted to me in any way. He wasn’t obligated to respond to my texts. He probably had a great time with his old friend and was sleeping to catch up on some needed zzzs. Then here I came, waking him up to satisfy my need for peace. What was wrong with me?
I ignored my racing heart and knocked on the door. I hoped he wouldn’t be mad at me for waking him. No answer. I knocked again.
There was a shuffling sound.
“Who is it?” Pat’s voice was puny and scraped unnaturally. Poor thing. Maybe he was sick.
“Hey, Pat. It’s Jules. Are you okay? You didn’t respond to my texts, and I got worried.” The pause was long. Every possible reaction he may be having raced through my mind. The pause sounded annoyed. Was he annoyed?
“My phone’s been dead.” He cleared his throat. Talking seemed to be an effort for him. “Sorry about that.”
“It’s fine.” I was undecided. Why was he not coming out? “Can I come in?”
“Ah, it’d probably be best if you didn’t.”
“Are you sick?”
He answered quickly this time. “Yeah, I got the flu or something.”
That explained the sound of his voice. “Oh no, I’m sorry, Pat. Do you need anything? Can I help somehow?”
“No, thanks though.”
“Okay, plug in your phone and text me if you need anything.”
No answer.
I left very unsettled. Something didn’t feel right. I spent the evening watching a few of my favorite crime shows on TV, trying to put Pat out of my mind. He was a grown man and could handle himself. He didn’t need the nosey neighbor-friend checking in on him constantly. It took all of my willpower not to text him again. I kept my TV volume low and checked my ringer volume eighty times. It was dark now. No text.
I doubted Fray was much of a cook. The Hungry Man I’d seen him putting in the microwave as I left was a dead giveaway. Did Pat have dinner? Maybe he was hungry. I picked up my phone to text him, careful not to nick the tender pink polish on my nails. I typed for a second then deleted the text after deciding to take the man something whether he wanted it or not.
There was a diner with fantastic chicken soup a couple blocks away. I slipped my flip-flops on, grabbed my purse, and practically ran down the sidewalk.
Thirty minutes later, the other roommate opened the door. Carl was his name. He tried to make some small talk and seemed to think I’d arrived for his personal entertainment. I shut him down in a hurry.
“Look, I’m only here to see Pat. Excuse me.” I turned my body towards the wall and slipped around Carl to go down the short hallway.
I knocked on the door. Confidence flowed through me this time. I knew Pat well enough to know he’d be glad someone was thinking of him and trying to help. There was no answer so I knocked again. I waited to hear rustling or movement of any kind but there was none.
On any normal occasion, I would have put the soup in the refrigerator and gone home. But, something in me had to hear his voice and know he was okay. I couldn’t figure out what had gotten into me. He was sick! I needed to leave the man alone for heaven’s sake.
Instead I knocked louder. “Pat? You okay?” There was no answer and my heart rate picked up speed. Wednesday night I had told Pat I sleep like the dead. He’d laughed and told me he sleeps horrible and wakes up at every noise.
“If you don’t answer, I’m coming in there.” He should at least be stirring because I was basically banging on the door. I pushed my ear against the crack of the door and listened. The adrenaline I’d come to love so much sent panic throughout my body. What I heard made the blood in my veins run cold.
Absolutely nothing.
