Hello Darkness

Chapter Twenty-Three

Talum waits in the car as I step out on the porch, a travel mug of coffee still in hand. The fog coats my face like a sheet. A breeze nips my ears, and I'm happy I slipped on a sweater.

I yank the door handle of the front passenger seat—locked. I blink twice, point taken. Stepping to the back door, I pull the handle and it gives way.

"Good morning," I say sliding into the back seat.

He nods. "Good morning, Miss Beckett."

I hate the way my name slides from his tongue and slithers through the air, lingering thick and heavy like the fog. The warmth I felt over the weekend is gone, and we are back to dry, stale nothingness. The drive to work is utterly silent, with an edge.

It is like those first days all over again. Quiet and cold, completely shut off. Maybe I am just a job. He'd been so open this weekend. He told me about his painting, and we joked about his pet cat—I'm still convinced he has one. I couldn't have imagined all of it, right? Or, perhaps, he is more upset that I questioned Lazarus than he let on.

By the time I step from the car and enter the building, I'm relieved to be rid of him and his sharp silence. Maybe I will think of something to say before the next time I see him. I ride the elevator, drumming my fingers on the side of my coffee cup. The metallic doors slide open.

Eve.

Her blonde hair is pulled back into a bundle of loose waves. She wears sunglasses, a lilac floral scarf, and a sweater, as if she's expecting snow. Perhaps she was sick.

Her chestnut eyes meet mine before she dodges away, disappearing into her cubicle. What is her problem?

It doesn't matter, she is here—not hurt.

My chest lightens at that and I take a sip of my coffee, pretending not to notice and walk towards my cubicle. I hate the swirling mass that forms in my gut all too often nowadays—it's enough to give me an ulcer. Everything is fine. She is fine. She is probably busy from her vacation.

I step into my cubicle and nearly drop my cup. A crystal vase holds a bouquet of roses, all classic red—except for one. The centerpiece—the lead meant to steal the show is the color of starless nights and dread. I survey the room, like someone might be watching, before stepping closer. A white envelope sticks from the top—my name roughly scribbled on it.

"Oooh. Someone's got an admirer," one of my coworkers cooes behind me making my heart jump.

"Yeah." It comes out more like a rush of air, but I still manage a weak smile as she passes.

My fingers shake as they wrap around the white envelope, but I don't hesitate to tear it open. What good would taking my time do?

It was delightful seeing you this weekend. Fifteen roses for each year I missed. My shaking hand cups my mouth. My breath just as unsteady. I shove the card in my pocket and pulled out my phone. I hold the auto dial, number five—as Talum instructed.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Four. God damn it pick up.

"Hello."

"Talum, I need you."

"What's happened?" His voice edged with panic, feeding off mine.

I try to keep my voice to a whisper, but it cracks and breaks. "Someone's left me a note. It's a message. It's from him."

"I'm turning around now. Whatever you do—don't go outside. I'm coming."