“It’s fine.”
“Amie, please—”
“It’sfine.” Amie didn’t want to yell. Ziya looked sad enough as it was, and the rain dampening their clothes clearly wasn’t improving either of their moods. But Amie was angry. Not really at Ziya, she knew, but at herself. How,how, after having been given so many chances to get Ziya back, had she managed to ruin it again?
“You wanted me to make decisions for myself,” she said flatly. “This is me doing that. Drive safe. Don’t stop too fast, you always stop too fast, you’ll hydroplane if you do.”
She forced herself to walk away, even as Ziya continued to call her name behind her.
Amie hadn’t taken notice of it when she first arrived, but Ziya had been right—the bus stop didn’t have a covering. She sat on the wet bench, her jeans already soaked enough that more water wasn’t going to make a significant difference.
Shielding it from the rain, Amie took out her phone, swiping away notifications for a spam missed call and voicemail. A red icon popped up as she opened the bus app, signaling delays, and she determined that the next bus wouldn’t be arriving for another thirty minutes.
She could have probably caught Ziya before she left, but she couldn’t do that. Amie didn’t want to talk anymore, and she even less so wanted to sit in silence as Ziya drove her home.
Her eyes began to well up with tears. She’djustgotten her back. And now she couldn’t see her anymore. Just like that, Ziya was gone.
A sob wracked through her, shaking her body so hard it startled her. Amie covered her mouth as hot tears stung her eyes. She lifted her phone again and made a call.
“Hello?” David’s voice was barely audible over the sound of rainfall.
Amie opened her mouth, but all that emerged was another sob. She barely had any idea what had just happened, much less how to explain it to David.
“Amie? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
“Tell—” Amie gulped, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Tell Genevieve—” Her throat closed again as another sob commandeered her vocal chords.
“I’m on my way. Where are you?”
Upon arrival, David had begun to scold Amie for sitting out in the rain, saying he would’ve brought her a towel if he’d known … no, don’t worry about the seat, just get in, get in … what on Earth were you think—oh, you’re crying, oh, no. Okay, it’s okay, make sure that vent is pointed at you, I’ll crank up the heat … do you feel the air? Good. Don’t worry about the seat, it’s okay, just buckle up. Do you want the radio on? I can see you’re having trouble speaking. I’m just going to turn on the radio. If you start crying harder, I’ll turn it off.
Which was how Amie found herself shivering in the passenger seat of David’s car, listening to classic rock on the radio, body tensed as if that would keep the car seat from getting any more wet.
Several minutes later, after she’d visibly calmed down, David lowered the volume of the radio. “Do you want to talk about it?” he ventured with caution.
“No,” Amie replied miserably.
“All right then.” He turned the volume back up, and they didn’t speak again until they were walking up the stairwell of their building. David kept shooting worried glances at her.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I have leftover lasagna. Or I could order something and subject a delivery person to this rain.”
“I’m not really hungry,” Amie mumbled. “Thanks, though.”
David opened his mouth to say something else, but instead let out a high-pitched scream. Wait, no, that hadn’t come from David. The scream was muffled and originated from a point above them.
Amie and David looked at each other with wide eyes, then thundered up the stairs. They passed the second floor, up to the third floor, pushing through the door into the hallway just in time to see Madeline burst out of the Harlows’ apartment, screaming for help, hands smeared with blood.
Chapter SixteenVoicemail
Day 5 A.L.
Amie sat on the floor in the corner of the lobby, waiting for David to finish talking to the police. Her clothes had gone from uncomfortably wet to uncomfortably damp, and the ends of her hair had begun to curl up as they dried.
“I think he’s dead!”The memory of Madeline’s screams still gave Amie goosebumps. She’d been hoping someone might give her one of those shock blankets when the EMTs arrived to take Andrew (who was not dead) to the hospital, but none was offered. In fairness, she wasn’t really in shock. Just cold. And damp.
The lobby was full of building residents milling around, exchanging information and shooting concerned looks at the cops as they interviewed Amie, David, and a few other neighbors who had heard raised voices from the Harlows’ apartment prior to Madeline’s dramatic exit.
Amie had told the police what she’d encountered—Madeline running out of the apartment, blood on her hands. Madeline screaming and pointing into the apartment. How Amie and Davidhad looked inside to see Andrew lying unconscious on the floor, a fresh wound on his head. David ordering her not to touch anything as he checked Andrew’s pulse, then telling her to call an ambulance. Running downstairs to wait for the ambulance. The ambulance arriving with the police—
