Chapter 17
My head was in such a haze, I didn't realize I was home until I parked and cut the engine off. I didn't feel home though. Didn't feel any sense of safety or comfort. How could I? Everything that happened last night was so fresh, as was waking up in Peter's backseat not even an hour or so ago. Hands still tight on the wheel, I stared off into nothingness. I felt so far away, stranded on a foreign little island in my own head.
After a moment, my aimless eyes and crinkled brows caught my car clock. It read 7:40. Liz and David were probably having coffee by now (and likely talking shit about me). That was the last thing I was worried about though. For other and more obvious reasons, I still could not unbuckle and get out. I was just... lost in thought and disgust.
The disgust part was pretty strong. The bloody clothes didn't make me feel dirty. Peter's jacket hiding it made me feel dirty. I shouldn't have to hide this or feel this way! I should have drove to the police station instead of home. But since I didn't, I might as well have been the one that ended that girl's life. I felt that guilty, paranoid, and disgusted with myself.
Sure, I didn't kill her – and it's not like the strangler nut-case was innocent – but not doing anything made me sick. All I could think, all I wanted to do, was call the police. Regardless, I realized it didn't really matter how I proceeded. There wasn't one course of action that would do me any favors, weather it fell under the moral umbrella or not.
Ready for this unhealthy brain-storming anxiety session, folks?
Scenario one: be a good-noodle and report what happened to the police. According to Peter, I was wearing the only evidence that a girl died last night. If that was the case, me wearing her blood would likely get arrested. Oh, what's that, guys? Hide the bloody clothes before going to the cops? My far-fetched story would make me a suspect, they would investigate me, and possibly find the evidence that I intentionally hid from them. Not a good ending to the story. Result: getting tossed in the slammer.
Scenario two: I don't go to the police, and her body gets found. Peter's nonchalant disturbing manner told me he was not bluffing about evidence. It wouldn't get traced back to him, but what if it somehow gets traced back to me? Trust me, I've watched enough Forensic Files and the First 48 to understand it was a possibility. So, if it does get traced back to me, even if they know I didn't kill her and she attacked me, not coming forward with information was just as bad. Result: get tossed in the slammer.
Scenario three: I don't go to the police, the body is not found, and nothing happens. That would be great, but I will always be worried about it. Worried she may be found or that it will come back to haunt me. I would always be paranoid. I would always feel guilty too for not coming forward. Guilty for that girl's family. Well, unless she strangled them too. Result: be unable to live with myself and go insane.
Sitting in my car, my eyes wandered aimlessly in thought. All I wanted was to call the police and be a good person. I also wanted to be smart. What if scenario one was a little more forgiving? After all, I couldn't just listen blindly to stalker asshole. Seriously, how in the world was there no evidence someone was killed in that room last night? Well, I guess he did wrap her in that comforter. But how did he get me out of there too?
If there was one drop that escaped the comforter, if one witness saw me getting hauled out of there last night... that would back up my story more if I went to the police. And guys, I really wanted to go to the police. So first, instead of calling the police, I called Bryce. Time to fish for some answers.
After a late night of partying, it was a miracle he answered. His muffled voice indicated I woke him up. "Hello?"
"Hey, Bryce, it's Josephine. I'm so sorry to wake you so early."
"Oh. Hey." He cleared the sleep from his throat. "You enjoy your first college party last night?"
Even while internally freaking out, I managed to sell my casual tone well. "Yeah, I loved it actually! Felt honored to see what college has in store for me this fall. Anyway, I was actually wondering if my wallet was there or if anyone found a wallet? I really didn't want to call and bother you. I just can't find it." What better excuse was there to call this early?
"Sorry, I haven't seen it. Maybe it ran off and eloped with some bedding of mine."
My heart jumped. The fish were biting easy apparently. "Oh, what do you mean?"
"Get this shit. Someone stole all the bedding in the guestroom. Comforter, sheets, even pillowcases. My girlfriend says it's my fault for letting friends of friends come to our parties that we don't even know," he sighed with an amused scoff. "But really, who the fuck would break a window and steal bedding?"
Oh, that's right. I forgot about the broken window. I had to assume that was how Peter got in – and how he got both me and the dead girl out of there too. It's not like he could have taken the stairs and maze of people without notice. Jesus, how in the world did he pull that off? Especially when there was a cop there too?
"Wait, someone broke a window too?" I asked in fake surprise.
"Yup."
"That's awful. Has anyone done shitty stuff like that before during your parties?"
"Nothing like that. It's really random. Like why the window and bedding?" he chuckled. "Someone must have just got super drunk and thought it was funny or just were stupid."
"That's crazy that happened. Yeah, I would try to regulate who comes to your parties from now on," I scoffed. "So did anything else go missing? Or did anyone see anything weird?" You know, like a dude single handedly hauling two limp bodies (one wrapped in bedding) out of a second story window?
"No. Trust me, we looked around and made sure nothing else or valuable was gone."
Hearing that was both relieving and disappointing. I wanted any reason to run to the police... but this only confirmed Peter's claim. He took all the bedding and made sure everything was unseen. Meaning there was probably no evidence and nothing unusual happened. Aside from some drunk weirdo stealing some bedding and smashing a window.
"That's awful! You would think someone, even a stranger, would have some respect for your home," I said in outrage, fiddling with my missing wallet next to me.
"Some people are just assholes. Like that stalker. That's not why you left early, is it? Zack and I noticed you were gone kind of early on."
"Oh no, I was having a great time! I just got a call, and it was kind of an emergency." Great, I needed a good excuse. "Yeah, um, my sister called and said that our house flooded, so I had to book it home."
"Wow, really?"
Ugh, why did I say that? If I'm going to lie, I need to switch it up. When dream-dude showed up at my work, I ran out of there because 'my house flooded.' It can only flood so many times before people compare notes or Liz and I have to pretend move.
"Yeah, this is actually the second time my house has flooded recently. Need to get that checked out. Besides that though, I had a great time."
"Even though you were stalked, your house flooded, and you lost your wallet?"
"Pshh, it was well worth it. Gotta look on the bright side," I chuckled, cutting myself off with a 'surprise' gasp. "You know what? That's funny, I actually just found my wallet."
After wrapping it up and getting off the phone, I exhaled deeply. Well, it's settled. No cops. There was no way I could with nothing to back up my already shitty story. 'Yes officer, a girl almost strangled me last night - even though my neck looks 100% okay and she's the one now missing with her blood all over me. I also have zero idea why she wanted me dead. Oh, how can I prove my stalker jumped through a second-story window and killed her in order to save me? I can't because there is no evidence and nobody at the party saw a thing.' Well folks, it better fucking stay that way!
If I couldn't go to the cops, then fine, so be it! But I could not just lay down and take this shit anymore. There was no way in hell I was living on and 'looking away.' No, I had it with everything!
Annoyed, paranoid, shook up, I zipped the jacket all the way up to my neck and made sure it covered the front of me and all blood. I checked and made sure my eyes, flaky from make-up, were dry from earlier tears. Then, I got out and headed inside. The large jacket covered everything down to the hem of my short skirt, but I still felt exposed, as if I was out in the open covered in blood for all to see.
Shutting the door quietly behind me, the stairs in front of me were a beautiful invite. I tried quietly but quickly heading upstairs... but my arrival was heard from the kitchen. I guess today was just not my day, folks.
"Morning, wild child! Get your spunky ass in here and don't be shy. Embrace the walk of shame!" David called.
Pausing halfway up the stairs, I dropped my head and sighed. I could fake my way through a phone call, but this called for a perfect performance. I would like to think I was convincing and a good schemer, but I was shook up and paranoid. Better make this fast.
I begrudgingly headed back down and into the kitchen. Surprisingly, it was just David sitting at the table, sipping coffee while on his laptop. His eyes scanned the screen, but there was already a humored smirk on his lips. Liz wouldn't be nearly as entertained or amused. Maybe I could avoid seeing her since she must still be getting ready for work.
Glancing over to me, his amused smirk widened. He lively looked me up and down. "Oh, hell yes, Jos, hell the fuck yes. I didn't realize you had legs until now, but now I understand the power they possess, and I respect it. Look at what being tall has awarded you with," he said, gesturing to my bare legs. "Stay away from my man, missy. You in that skirt might make him switch sides."
I chuckled. "Thank you. I guess. First of all, this isn't a walk of shame."
"No? Do you know what a walk of shame is?"
"Yeah. I'm not sure you do," I teased, trying to keep my breaths even. Please just let me go upstairs, let me go upstairs, please. "Liz still getting ready?"
"Yeah. You're lucky you didn't run into her yet. She was really annoyed."
"Well, I explained that I just drank too much and couldn't drive home last night."
Sipping his coffee, he arched an amused brow. "Well, she believes you, but I know better. Jos, there is no shame in the walk of shame," he said, standing up and grabbing something off the table. He neared me, coming close. What was he doing? He could easily unzip my jacket; my heart jumped, and I flinched. However, he grabbed my hand, raised it, and pressed something against the back of it with a click. "There. It's official," he said, sitting back down.
What the...? Looking down, I truly could appreciate the stamp on my hand. Yes, an actual rectangular stamp. 'Certified Cock Champ' were the inked words imprinted on my skin. David was definitely one of a kind. Only he would have a stamp like this – and have it prepared for me when I got home.
"You are something else," I laughed. "Is this how you end all your dirty deeds?"
"Only when my man does something extra special," he said with a wink.
"Well, sorry to break it to you, but I didn't screw anyone last night. I just drank too much."
"Of course, that's going to be your story. You're not going to outright say you didn't come home because you were out fucking until the sun came up. Come on. No, you 'drank' too much. That adds even more heft to my case: that what we have here is classic walk of shame. You went to a party, showed off the merch, drank, which finally loosened ya up, and came home the next morning in the same clothes and a man's jacket."
My smile started to sour with the reminder of what really happened. "Okay, ha-ha, I know how it looks. Can I please go upstairs? I just want to shower."
"I'm sure you need one," David mumbled with a smirk.
I made my escape up to my room, and thankfully didn't run into Liz. Even if I had, her being upset with me was the last thing on my mind. All I cared about right now was not losing my shit – and waiting until they left for wor
First, I needed things to be still. If I'm going to act, I needed to do it right. I needed to let logic beat impulse. And I needed to calm myself and catch up with all that's happened. Because for how much has happened since moving here, how quickly it's happened, I had to press pause.
Before showering, I spent some time just staring at myself in the mirror. Shedding the jacket, I couldn't look away. Spots of dried blood covered my chest and the ruby pendant of my necklace, making it almost blend in. It was terrible, seeing my grandma's necklace, the one I wore every day, lathered in crusty blood. Then, a thick line seeped and spread down my chevage into the peach fabric, spreading out across my stomach. It was a disturbing picture, but staring at myself allowed it to sink in. It allowed me to play last night in my head until it thawed my shock.
A few more tears spilled, but not as many as I expected. Stepping in the shower, I scrubbed and scrubbed – and scrubbed the fuck out of my neck and my necklace. Even after the blood was gone, I stayed in there for a long time. I allowed myself to breathe and calm down. I didn't allow my thoughts or theories plague me yet. I needed to ground myself from the craziness around me.
After my shower, I numbly put on a striped tee-shirt and tucked it into my jeans and belt. I bagged up the jacket and everything I wore last night – shirt, skirt, even the heels; I didn't want any of it anymore – and shoved it under my bed for now. It was 9:30 now so David and Liz were off to work. I opened up my window to the nice cooling breeze. It was overcast, but a few spots of the new day's sun peaked through. It was all simple, still, and calm.
Grabbing my phone, I sat on the floor, crossed my legs, and pressed my back against the wall under my open window. The breeze was nice, especially against my wet hair. I looked around my room. My bed, my dream board, my kiddish clutter from years and years ago, and anything that reminded me of home.
Illinois wasn't the best place in the world, but it was home, and I did miss it. Especially right now. Yesterday's problems seemed like a blessing today. The family drama, health issues, my mom's vices, the turmoil, and the things I intentionally blocked out... they didn't seem any more appealing, but they were normal. They could be explained, addressed, I could control how to handle things. This was a new level and no control. So more than anything... I just wish I could give my grandma a big hug. I wanted nothing more than to be with her right this second.
Opening my phone, I went into my music and found my most hated playlist: 'Mom and Grandma's Old Crap Music.' For how much I loved my mom and my grandma, they were not that close. Honestly, I felt I was the link between them. They were very different people; I was closer emotionally to grandma than my mom and it went both ways. But if there was one thing they had in common, it was weirdly music.
The playlist was all classic rock, cheesy love songs, 80s and 90s cringy hits. Scrolling down my long playlist, I couldn't help but smile. It was all random and scattered – until I reached 30 songs just by Pat Benatar and then about 10 by Bonnie Tyler showed up. Grandma especially was a groupie for both of them, let me tell you! That's your homework tonight: look up both of those ladies, some 80s love songs, and listen until you want to die and rip your ears out. Then you will know what I've been through.
Not saying it was bad music, just not my favorite (especially when I had to listen to it so often). Mom and grandma constantly had me play that type of music, but for the first time... I actually wanted to listen to it. So, I shuffled the songs, and it was weirdly therapeutic. It was comfort music at the moment – and it grounded me, calmed my nerves, and reminded me of how normal life was before.
I'm not saying my misfortune here in Oregon made a pile of shit shine in Illinois. I missed home, but home wasn't amazing. There were things I still can't handle facing. But I was grateful to have been raised with a roof over my head, a mom that helped me with my schoolwork, and I had some good times. Not many friends, but some good times. I just wish I would have realized before how much of a gift it was to feel safe, secure, and have a feeling of normalcy.
The music and the mixed memories motivated me. The breeze, the soft music, a few cars passing by up front. This moment was so normal. It really made me take a step back and see just how crazy things have become. Maybe moving across the country was just such a big change that it numbed the other weird stuff for me... but thinking about everything collectively, really focusing on everything... it was jarring.
Peter stalked me and followed me. Apparently for my own good. I almost died three times and all by someone's hand – the near drowning, severe car accident, and being strangled. At this point, I had to believe Famine. Someone was after me and trying to kill me. Why? For what? How could someone even enter my dreams?
Then, my thoughts moved to Peter. Thinking back on everything, I had to accept that he... it sounds crazy, but he had some type of abilities. The glaring obvious one: that he could heal. The other one was a guess: he was somehow able to mess with people's memories – or should be able to anyway.
Think about this, guys. The night of the car accident... after he pried me from my car, he openly told me that he would heal me himself. He was more relaxed with me and less tense too. It was the only time he actually was forthright about a few things – but why? It was the single time since I've known him that he was that open. I had to guess... it was because I wasn't supposed to remember any of what happened that night. Peter even said that: he was going to heal me, and I wouldn't remember any of it.
However, he couldn't take away that memory. I remember him taking my hand and seeing that stunned and annoyed expression. Maybe he tried making me forget and it didn't work? Maybe by taking my hand? Yes, it made sense. Especially because the next day... even though I remembered what happened... he made up a completely different story. He pretended as if those impossible things – like my broken leg – never happened. That's the way he wanted it. I wasn't supposed to remember the truth, but there was nothing he could do about it aside from deny and lie.
Yes, it sounds bat-shit crazy. But after analyzing this so many times, other occurrences seemed to justify it. Seemed to line up and have similarities. Like when Jamie barged in a sobbing mess during our dinner. He grabbed Peter's hand, begged him to take it away... like maybe take away his memory? I wouldn't have come to that conclusion, but he took his hand – like Peter took mine. Plus, there were many times – including last night – where Peter referenced being unable to change what I've seen. He seemed annoyed when he commented about how he couldn't make me forget what happened. Crazy? Maybe. But you guys try to come up with something better or something that made sense.
So... he could possibly mess with memory. He could heal – like seriously heal me. He even confirmed he could make me pass out. Maybe he had some type of crazy illegal drugs? What drug could make him heal a shattered leg overnight though? How did he affect people's memories, and why could he not affect mine? There was no good answers, but... that's likely why he refused to give me any.
That thought reminded me of something Famine once said. "There is a reason I offer answers and they don't – and it's because it's not going to paint them in a wonderous light."
Impossible questions will give me impossible answers. I needed to come to grips with that before I go forward. Whatever was happening... it was beyond the physical bounds and rules of this world. Honestly, me being crazy would make the most logical sense, but I knew I wasn't.
Peter seemed to want to protect me, but what if it was all a show? He also admitted to knowing what was happening around me, yet he tried ignoring it, hiding it, and even denied it. That – along with how stubborn, selfish, unsympathetic he has been – made me not care. Even if I could trust him, I didn't fucking want to. He didn't deserve it. Why would I? You play me, you lie to me, why would I?
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath. I knew what I needed to do.
***
Under the gloomy afternoon sky, I was navigating streets I've never seen before. I was east of town, and my surroundings turned more industrial. Glancing to my phone, I was now five minutes away from my destination.
2781 Broadway.
Six hours ago, Peter pushed my last button. Six hours ago, I woke up in his jeep with yet more questions and was denied any answers. Two hours ago, I chose how to get my own. So, I left the house with a frustrated focus. If Peter didn't want to give me answers, it was time to pick my reluctant alternative.
Famine was right. Someone had wanted to kill me. I didn't trust him, but I didn't have a choice. Unlike my now day-to-day life, I didn't fear for my life by doing this. The dream guy knew where I lived, so if he really wanted, I'd be dead by now. That was the perfect reason to seek out someone out, right? He was dangerous and scary, but he didn't slaughter me yet, right?
Now, in my defense, I did look up this guy's name – Famine Lewis – and found nothing. Meaning he wasn't a felon or on the sex-offender registry. That justified seeking him out right? He at least earned a few brownie points.
When I arrived, turning right into a narrow parking lot, I was stunned. It was like I've been here before. I accepted that the impossible would be possible... but this was still so hard to process. It was all the same, every vivid detail. The sight also confirmed one thing. Famine definitely was the one that left this address under my wiper.
The small parking lot was to the right of a brick building. The structure was old and worn, with a few broken windows that made the place look abandoned. Hell, everything here looked abandoned. Grass sprouted between the cracks in the old asphalt. On the other side of the lot, there was a cinder-block utility shed, a rusty truck, and a dumpster next to it. The back of the lot ended at a chain-link fence, and beyond it, there were passing train tracks in the distance. The only thing that showed any sign of life were the four lamp posts. They ran along the side of the building and overlooked the row of seven parking spots.
Seem familiar, folks? There was no question why it stuck out to me. For never being here before in my life, I recognized my surroundings. This was the place I dreamed of. Well, Famine made me dream of this place. He told me to come here if I wanted answers – and this address proved my suspicion. But where would he be?
There were no cars in the lot. Nobody even seemed to be around, but this was where he said I could find him. So, did he live here? And how would he know that I've arrived? Who knows. If you guys couldn't tell, it was just easier to go with the flow and see what happens at this point. So, after parking, I took a deep breath and stepped out.
The overcast sky offered a nice breeze in the eerily quiet air. Seeing this place in person after seeing it in a dream, it was unsettling. Where was I supposed to go? Then, I noticed something out of the corner of my eye. The fourth and furthest lamp post towards the back... started to slowly dim.
I neared it in curiosity. It didn't flicker... it just stayed dimmed. Reaching where it stood towards the end of the lot, I stopped and studied it. Craning my neck up, I didn't know what to make of it. It didn't change brightness, it stayed dimmed. Then a moment later, it flicked back to its original brightness. Huh. Maybe the lights were on during the day because they were clearly too pathetic to be reliable at night.
"Hello, doll," came a velvety voice behind me. His voice.
Turning around, my breath caught. Out of nowhere, standing only yards away in the middle of the lot, there he was. He was clear as day – and as alluring as when I saw him in person before. His thick complimenting beard was trimmed yet layered perfectly. His hair was styled back, and that growing smile was... dangerously captivating. He sported the same style of clothing as before that showed off his lean but toned body: a brown vest over a white button-up dress shirt, tight black pants, and leather-laced boots that hugged up his knees and ended below his kneecaps.
They crunched against the loose pieces of asphalt as he neared me. It was hard to not take a step back. I could just... feel he was dangerous. Of course, I had to remember that didn't mean his intentions were dangerous. I had to remember I was here for a reason. And that reason wasn't to admire his big captivating eyes, framed by long lashes and pointed brows.
When he reached me, those round and lively eyes were nearly level with mine. "It's nice to see you, especially when you aren't running away from me," he subtly smiled.
"Don't scare me or give me a reason to run."
His slick voice filled with sympathy. "I am sorry for scaring you before. I'm not the most patient person in the world when things are time-sensitive and fragile. I'm also sorry I couldn't share everything with you before, but I'm able to be fully open and honest now."
I couldn't stop myself from staring. Being mid-afternoon – and not trying to run away from him – I could see my dream and nightmare so clearly now. It reminded me of a few things from the last time he visited me in a dream. One was that he was much shorter in person (which I found amusing). And the second thing I recalled contradicted the words he just spoke.
"What do you know about honesty? You flat out lied about Jamie beating someone."
"Ah, you asked him about it," he said in amusement, crossing his arms.
I nodded. "He said he didn't hurt anyone."
After Famine told me Jamie hurt someone, I pressed him about it – which led to a very private admission on his part. I'll never forget that night around the fire in my backyard and him detailing his involvement with a dangerous group of people. Jamie had tried brushing it off, downplaying it, but it was disturbing to him. It disturbed me. The man is basically uprooted and taken away to be used because of a debt at any time. They made him do certain things – but he stressed those things were nothing terrible like almost beating a man to death. For connecting the dots earlier though... I should have been better able to do so now.
"He doesn't remember hurting anyone," Famine said after a moment.
Pursing my lips, my eyes widened. Those words rang a bell. It made me realize what he was getting at. "His memory," I whispered to myself.
"Jamie has no recollection of almost killing that innocent gentleman, but it doesn't mean he didn't do it. He wishes he hadn't done it. That's why he had his memory distorted. He couldn't live with himself and that on his conscious."
I needed to be ready for some far-fetched stuff, but I didn't see that coming. Yet, I couldn't question it. That had to be the reason he bolted in and begged Peter to take it away his memory. He couldn't handle what he did to an innocent man. Clearly, Peter had made that memory disappear. Because the next time I saw Jamie, be downplayed the whole thing.
In fact, recalling Jamie's exact words was chilling. Unless I suffered from memory loss... nope, I didn't hurt anyone.
I studied his face, his unflinching confidence. "Peter erased his memory?"
A lively glint flashed in his eyes. "You've been figuring things out, doll."
Wow. His confirmation was satisfying yet scary. I closed my eyes for a long second. "So, I'm right? Peter can make people forget things?"
"Yes. Except you it seems."
The validation, the clear answer about Peter, was overwhelming. My feelings got caught up in Jamie though. "Jamie... Jamie really did hurt someone and then chose to forget?"
"He's a coward. He can't own up to what he's done."
It sounded ridiculous, but the more I thought about it... the more it clicked. Jamie barged in crying, begging his brother to 'get rid of it.' The next time I saw him, he acted like nothing major happened. Because he knowingly didn't remember. Between that and my suspicions... I had to believe Famine.
"So, um, when his memory gets erased... does his memory of everything else go with it?"
"No. It's a memory that can be specifically targeted. So even though he doesn't recall what he did that night, he is well aware of everything else."
I couldn't help but be suspicious of that. "He's not though. I questioned Jamie many times about what's been going on and he doesn't know anything. His brother keeps him in the dark."
His eyes caressed my face. "You're the one in the dark, doll. Not him."
Searching his gaze, my jaw tightened. Hearing that, letting the truth in his tone sink in, it hit a painful nerve. I should have known better. I should have known! I should have stuck with logic. I've confronted Jamie a few times about his intentions and if he knew of anything going on. He always reassured me he knew nothing. Always said all he wanted was to be my friend. I believed that! He was the only one I put my faith in since moving here. I suppose that was the point though.
Weather it was the shock or the pain on my face, it caused him to stress these next words. "I will be honest with any question you ask. You just are not going to like the answers to some. The truth will be jarring and hard to swallow." Then, thumbing the edge of his vest, he gestured for me to follow him behind the building to a door. Turning back to me, he presented his open palm to me. "You'll be completely safe. I give you my word, doll. Just take my hand."
His words were heavy enough. Seeing his open palm and invitation added more weight to this moment. Pursing my lips, I stared at his open palm. Not going to lie, there was a very strong reluctance in me. The same automatic 'fuck no' that my gut would scream in my dreams reached me now. He offered me his hand many times in those dreams. It made this moment more daunting.
From the moment he appeared in my first dream, he claimed he would protect me, help me, and that we could figure things out together. Because I guess I wasn't the only one with questions. He could protect me; we could help each other understand what was happening. So, I needed to forget how intimidating he was. He has not harmed me. He has already given me some insight and answers. Leaving my comfort zone would be worth knowing what else has been going on. So... I slowly rested my hand in his palm.
The moment my hand laid across his, a small jolt of energy shot through my fingers. It made me flinch and blink in surprise. What was that? It reminded me of the occasional shock from static; it wasn't major and nothing else happened. Nothing changed or seemed different.
However, even though he tried to hide it, a subtle tilt in his lips confirmed there was more to it. He folded his hand around mine, taking slow note of me and studying my face. He even cocked a brow for the briefest of moments before lowering our hands and turning to the door.
"Alright. Ready?" he asked, grabbing the handle with his free hand.
Until now, there was nothing but the breeze and his beautiful voice. Or rather maybe that voice was just distracting me. Because only now was I noticing muffled music on the other side of the door. Yes, music coming from the vacant building. When he opened the door and we stepped inside though, I learned there was nothing vacant about this building after all.