I wake up with a smile on my face that immediately turns into a grimace. My back reminds me I’m not a twenty-year-old who can just sleep on any flat surface willy-nilly. I look back at the lumpy couch and dock it down to the flat-passing surface list.
I barely slept last night, jerking awake every few hours, drenched in sweat and heart racing. Since it's Saturday, my alarm didn’t go off, and the sun is already up and shining.
I slowly drag myself to the kitchen and kick the coffee machine on. Once the coffee hits my system, everything from yesterday comes flooding back.
The force of the dam opening in my head makes me drop down on my kitchen stool.
I close my eyes, trying to picture the guy I saw on the stairs again. All I can see is him crawling on his hands and legs at superspeed. But maybe Matt’s right. The guy could have been on drugs.
Thecouple of times I've run into him, he’s only ever grunted in response to my greetings. He seemed like a total asshole.
But why were his eyes glowing in the dark?
Only one way to find out. Going directly to the source.
I finish my coffee, rouse myself out of my sleep slump, and get dressed.
I grab my keys and slam the door behind me. We’re getting this mystery solved one way or another. I need my dead-to-the-world sleep back.
I take the elevator to the eighth floor. The hallway is noisy with the sounds of kids fighting in the apartment across from 8D.
I knock on Dalton’s door and wait.
And wait some more.
I knock again, shifting from one foot to another. The fight across the hall is getting louder.
Still no response.
I give up after the third knock. Guess he’s not back from his bender yet.
I trudge back to my apartment, already thinking of a new plan. I’m about to go prepare breakfast when it hits me.
I had dinner with Matt Hale, didn’t I?
In all the suspense, confusion, and anxiety, my mind forgot to process how easy it was to talk to Matt yesterday. How he took care of me when he found me looking, hopefully, like a cute deer caught in the headlights and not a possum halfway through a mental breakdown.
And didn’t he have a date over? He postponed getting laid for me? I must have looked dreadful.
That brings me back to why I looked miserable. I know Isaw something strange. The problem is telling people I saw a man bigger than his normal size, crawling faster than humanly possible, with golden, almost glowing, eyes. That is how you get sent to a psych ward.
Hell, it sounded crazy even to me. And I write for a paranormal teenage drama.
The fact is, I can’t focus on anything else until I know what happened last night. So, I need to find the man from 8D.
Actually, that shouldn’t really be an issue.
I go to my kitchen and fish out leftover muffins. I plate them nicely and cover them with a tissue. I take the elevator down to the lobby, then the stairs to the basement, where the landlord’s office is. I've never actually been in his office. I hope he's in. If he is, the suck-up muffins can work their magic and get me some information on the missing man.
These muffins have achieved way more than a name and number. I once convinced my boss to change my shift to when the tips were the highest. I even won a large teddy bear for my best friend at a fair without throwing a ring. All with a couple of these bad boys. Today, I had four!
I carefully make my way to his door. It’s slightly ajar. I knock anyway. First impressions are everything. Or the hundredth, in this case.
A grunt responds. I interpret it as, “Come in, come in. I’ve been craving some company here for so long. You’re my savior,” and step inside.
Inside is just as dark as the outside. There’s a desk in the corner with a large figure on the chair. The only sound is a regular scritch-scritch. Something sharp moving over wood, maybe?
There are also tiny birds on every surface of the room.What the hell kind of taxidermy nightmare is this place? My soul leaves my body for a second, wanting no part in this little adventure.
