Page 97 of Two Sides of Sin

Click. Locked.

I practically ran back into the kitchen, marching straight to the sliding glass door. The same door I had sworn I left locked the night I found the painting. I checked the latch. It was secure. I engaged the secondary floor lock anyway, yanking the thick drapes across the glass until not even a sliver of the fire escape was visible.

Only when every single window was covered and locked did the frantic hammering in my chest begin to ease.

I abandoned the vegetables entirely. Instead, I reached for a bottle of red wine I had been saving, pouring a generous amount into a glass.

I carried the wine into the living room, turning on a few low lamps to chase away the suffocating darkness I had just created. I grabbed my thickest, softest blanket, curled into the corner of the sofa, and pulled it all the way up to my chin.

I turned the television on, flipping blindly until I found a mindless romantic comedy. I turned the volume up, letting the cheerful dialogue drown out the heavy, creeping silence of the apartment.

Outside, the rain had started up again, a steady drumming against the roof and the brick exterior of the building. I took a long sip of wine, the alcohol burning a warm, comforting path down my throat.

Just a coincidence, I told myself firmly, staring blankly at the TV screen. You are locked inside. You are safe.

I pulled my knees up to my chest, closing my eyes and listening to the rain, desperately trying to trick my brain into believing it.

The romantic comedy on the television was doing nothing so far to settle my nerves. Even with the volume turned up, I was hyper-aware of every single creak the old apartment building made, my eyes constantly darting to the heavy, drawn curtains.

When my phone suddenly buzzed on the coffee table, I physically flinched, spilling a few drops of red wine onto my fingers.

I set the glass down quickly, my heart in my throat as I reached for the phone. The screen lit up the dark corner of the sofa.

Unknown Caller.

A massive, overwhelming wave of relief crashed over me. I snatched the phone up, pressing it to my ear as I curled tighter into the blanket.

“Julian,” I breathed, closing my eyes against the bright glare of the TV.

“Sage, Hey!,” his low, gravelly voice vibrated through the line. The background noise on his end was quieter tonight—no sirens, no shouting, just the faint, steady hum of a generator. “God, I missed your voice. How was your day? Are you okay ?”

“Everything’s fine on my end,” I said quickly, maybe a little too quickly. I forced a small, shaky laugh, desperate to cling to the comfort of his voice. “I’m just… I’m at home. On the couch. Drinking wine and watching a terrible movie.”

“Sounds perfect,” he murmured, though there was a slight edge to his tone, like he was carefully analysing every syllable I spoke. “What did you do today?”

“Nothing crazy,” I lied smoothly. I traced the rim of my wine glass, trying to steady my breathing. “I actually talked to my dad this morning. He called from a golf convention. He’s been nagging me to come home for a weekend—though God only knows why. I’ll just be ignored the whole time anyway.”

I kept rambling for a minute, talking about my dad’s garden and his complaints about the weather, using the mundane details as a shield against the creeping terror of the afternoon.

But Julian wasn’t a normal man, he couldn’t be fooled.

“Sage. Stop.”

His voice cut through my nervous rambling like a knife. It wasn’t harsh, but it was heavy with demanding authority.

I clamped my mouth shut.

“What is wrong?” he asked, the static on the line crackling with his sudden tension. “Your voice is tight. Your breathing is shallow. You sound like you’re a million miles away, and you’re lying to me. Tell me what’s wrong.”

My throat tightened. I pulled the heavy blanket all the way up to my chin, staring blindly at the bright colours flashing on the television screen. I didn’t want to sound crazy. I didn’t want him to worry when he was sitting in a war zone.

“I…” I swallowed hard, a traitorous tear pricking the corner of my eye. “I think I’m just sleep-deprived. The stress of exams are getting to me, and I’m just being paranoid.”

“Sage,” he growled, a dark, protective warning slipping into his tone. “Do not lie to me please.”

The dam broke. The overwhelming heavy terror of the day finally spilled out.

“Someone is following me, maybe..,” I whispered, my voice trembling so badly I had to grip the phone with both hands. “I was at the grocery store, and I felt it. That weird, unexplainable feeling of being watched. And then I went to the library, and there was this car. A black SUV with tinted windows. It followed me. It followed every single turn I took all the way back to my apartment. I thought I lost them, but when I pulled into the driveway, they drove past. So slowly. Just… staring.”