Paper-Thin Walls

by Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  Paper-Thin Walls

  Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  Amazon

  Copyright © 2021 Melanie Jones Brownrigg

  All rights reserved

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Cover design by: Mike LaChance

  Printed in the United States of America

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  Epilogue

  ABUSE HOTLINE

  Acknowledgement

  About The Author

  Books By This Author

  Prologue

  A loud harsh bump in the late-night hours awakened me from a deep slumber. Sitting upright and listening quietly for further noises, my ears were tuned into the smallest of sounds. My four-year-old son stirred next to me in the bed, either because I had jumped awake, or the loud sound had disturbed him, too. Fearing he might cry out and be heard by my neighbors, I soothed his back with the palm of my hand. Thankfully, he settled back into steady breathing while I continued craning my ears.

  My heart fluttered around, warning me that something terrible had just happened. It was too silent. Other than my son’s chest rising and falling beside me, there were no additional noises. Everything was deadly quiet, which unnerved me to no end. At this time of the night, usually there was the sound of the heater running, the fridge humming, or even the wind blowing. But there was nothing, not even the sound of a car passing by.

  Rising from the bed, I planted my ear to the wall and listened intently. Generally, the paper-thin walls provided absolutely no sound barrier between me and my neighbors. But right now, nothing could be heard. As if my own rapidly beating heart was making too much noise, I held my hand over it just to mask the pounding in my chest.

  Give or take some ten minutes later with still nothing happening, I tried with great difficulty to convince myself the sound was something coming only from a dream. So, why couldn’t I shake the feeling that something horrible had just happened?

  Chapter One

  (A Few Days Earlier)

  Hailey

  Pacing the floors over and over, I checked the clock again. Then the window again. Then the clock again. My mind was going crazy, knowing something was wrong. It was unlike Ryan not to call or text, and he certainly never failed to come home. Where was he? And why hadn’t he touched base?

  With every minute slowly and eternally passing by, the clock eventually registered one-twenty-five in the morning. My heart ached and my stomach roiled. Unable to tolerate the unknowing, I dialed his number for the umpteenth time.

  “Ryan, where are you? I’m worried sick. Please, call me.”

  Ryan was a project developer for Premier Designs, a large architectural firm located in downtown Fort Worth, Texas. The company dealt mostly with city and nationwide expansions, including new schools, condominiums, hotels, hospitals and corporate offices. He had called me earlier in the day to let me know his boss, Wade Campbell, was celebrating his 45th birthday at Bottles Up Distillery, a popular pub within walking distance of their firm. A quick dinner Ryan had said, and then he’d be home well before nine, possibly eight if he could sneak out.

  When nine-thirty came and went, I simply figured Ryan was having fun and the time had flown by unnoticed. Around ten o’clock, I had made my first call to Ryan. But when it went unanswered, I had called Jeff Evans, Ryan’s tall, lanky best friend and coworker who worked in the same department.

  “Jeff, this is Hailey. I hope I’m not calling too late.”

  “No, not at all. What’s up?”

  “I was trying to get hold of Ryan. He’s not answering his phone,” I explained, trying to keep my voice from sounding overly concerned.

  “Sorry, I can’t help you. I left the bar around eight and I’m already home.” He paused. “You know, I do remember Ryan left his jacket on the back of his chair. If he’s stepped away, he may not be within hearing distance of your call. Maybe he’s in the john or something.”

  “Oh, okay. Well, thanks. I’ll try him again in a few minutes.” Knowing Ryan was prone to stashing his phone in his suit coat, there was the possibility he couldn’t hear it ringing, especially if the place was noisy and loud music was blaring. Taking a deep breath, I waited a good thirty minutes more before trying his number again. But still, there wasn’t an answer.

  After another hour slowly dragged by and Ryan had failed to show up, I phoned the bar and had them page Ryan’s name.

  “Sorry, no one’s coming to the phone,” a worker informed me.

  “Okay, thank you,” I responded, hoping Ryan was on his way home.

  Midnight had brought a new day, but no Ryan. And now, the old grandfather clock struck the half hour past one in the morning but did nothing to announce the arrival of Ryan. My husband of seven years was trustworthy, considerate and above all he was reliable. This was so unlike him. I couldn’t remember a time when he’d stayed out all hours of the night … because he never had. It only reinforced the idea that something horrific had happened.

  My mind went to terrible places, imagining him having been mugged, then left for dead on his way back to his vehicle. He could’ve been carjacked and murdered in the process. I envisioned him driving home and encountering a drunk driver heading directly toward him, the impact killing him. What if he had a few too many drinks himself and drove under the influence and killed himself … or someone else? He might still be alive and in an area hospital, unable to contact me. Or perhaps he’d been arrested for a DUI and been thrown in jail. I needed to know. And I needed to know right now.

  Once more I crossed a path over the creaking wooden floors. Again, I peered out the window. A further check of the time was repetitiously conducted. Another phone call and another text went unanswered.

  There were only a few choices worth considering, beginning with contacting the local hospit
als or even the police department. Alternatively, I could do my own search, taking the route between our 1920s Tudor-styled home on Ashland Avenue and Ryan’s workplace in downtown Fort Worth. In fact, I preferred doing my own search.

  For a moment, I considered calling Jeff again. But at one-something in the morning, it was far too late. And what would he think if he knew Ryan was out at this hour of the night? Most likely he’d conclude we were having marital problems.

  Ryan and I did not have relationship troubles. We were a lucky couple who got along well, never having big fights and always able to work out any small differences. We were a happy family with a four-year-old son. Adam, our precious little boy was the spitting image of Ryan, with dark brown hair, matching brown eyes and long curly eyelashes.

  After another unrewarding peek out the thick, gold and burgundy tapestry, I once again considered tracing Ryan’s normal route home. Unfortunately, I couldn’t leave the house without taking Adam with me. But I didn’t want to wake him, either. And too, Adam was exceptionally smart for his tender years, and he’d know something was wrong. My thoughts darkened because there was something wrong. Ryan always came home. But he hadn’t tonight. What if my son was with me and I came across a dead Ryan on the side of the road? The thought did me in and I broke down and cried. No, I couldn’t go out and look for Ryan, not with Adam in my care.

  Another option would be phoning the police to report Ryan as a missing person. After bouncing the idea around, it seemed I’d most likely have to appear in person to fill out a report. Again, this entailed disrupting Adam’s sleep. Was it better to wait until morning? Or was time of the essence? What if I waited and the delay was what got Ryan killed? If I acted now, I might be saving my husband’s life. My indecision had my stomach flipping inside out.

  Coming to terms with the harsh reality of the situation, I went to check on Adam. There was a remote possibility he might be awake and, if so, I’d make a move one way or the other.

  Leaving the living room window, I softly padded up the stairs and looked in on my little boy. The light from his closet cast a beam across his angelic face. He was in a big-boy bed now, but he still had Trumpet, his favorite stuffed elephant, tucked under his chin. He was sound asleep underneath his Paw Patrol sheets. Not having the heart to awaken him, I adjusted the blanket he’d kicked off and tiptoed from his room.

  Passing by mine and Ryan’s bedroom door, I contemplated trying to catch some sleep, willing myself to believe Ryan simply had a few too many drinks and had passed out on the couch in his office. I was worried over nothing. All I needed to do was wait until the morning and Ryan would open the front door and everything would be perfectly okay.

  I laughed at my ludicrous thoughts. First off, there was no way I’d be able to relax enough to fall into slumber. And secondly, even if Ryan had too much alcohol, he would’ve called me to come and get him. Or he would’ve had a friend bring him home. Or he would’ve called for an Uber. He wouldn’t have left me hanging in a state of limbo. He just wouldn’t have.

  My mind focused once again on the best course of action. After checking my unanswered texts, emails and phone messages, I considered my parents. They lived less than fifteen minutes away. Perhaps I could call them to come and stay with Adam while I went and searched for Ryan. A quick look at the time reminded me it wouldn’t bode well to wake my parents. They’d both have a heart attack if the phone rang at this ungodly hour. And too, there was the possibility my husband was passed out drunk somewhere. If so, I most definitely didn’t want my parents being privy to such substandard behavior. I could just hear my mom giving me all kinds of marital advice.

  At the bottom of the stairs, I turned left, away from the living room windows and headed for our tiny, outdated kitchen. Using a pod through a Keurig, I brewed a cup of herbal tea, hoping it would help relax my frayed nerves. And once more, my finger mashed Ryan’s contact number.

  “Ryan, please, please, call me. I’m going crazy,” I relayed into his voicemail.

  Seated at a small dinette table, I blew on my hot tea and took a small sip. It blistered my tongue and burned the back of my throat. Pushing the cup aside, I peered at the kitchen wall clock, listening to it grind away, one slow second at a time. Taking in deep breaths, I willed the front door to open and for Ryan to appear, safe and sound.

  In my heart though, I had already given up. It had been ten long hours since Ryan and I had last spoken. A million ghastly things could have gone wrong by now. My trips to the window were no longer hoping for Ryan’s car, but instead waiting for red and blue flashing lights and officers to come and deliver the bad news. Mentally, I tried preparing myself for the worst, knowing my baby boy wouldn’t understand my lapse in composure. Adam would need to see me as being strong.

  Eventually I poured the cup of lukewarm tea down the drain and returned to the living room window yet again. I contemplated another call to the bar, thinking Ryan might have been in the restroom during my first page. This time, I noted the place closed in thirty minutes more. If Ryan closed the place down, he’d be home at a quarter after two. I’d wait that long. If he wasn’t home by then, undoubtedly something was terribly wrong.

  Lying down on the couch and pulling a crocheted blanket over my feet, I watched the time inchworm by, waiting on pins and needles for two-fifteen to arrive in the early morning hours, hoping for my husband to appear through the front door.

  Chapter Two

  Ryan

  Ryan’s eyes were matted together. His head was pounding like a bass drum. His stomach felt woozy, and his mouth tasted of soured alcohol. Forcing an eyelid open, he tried to focus through the squint of one eye. The room was mostly dark, with just the dimmest of light coming from down a hallway.

  He pried the other lid open and blinked a few times, letting his vision adjust to the darkened conditions. Finally, he made out the shape of an unfamiliar chair over in the far corner of the room. Over one of the arms, he saw a slinky, glittery dress in a silver tone. It was the form-fitting kind that hugged the hell out of a woman’s body. It seemed familiar to him, but he couldn’t recall why. Draped across the back of the chair he recognized his suit jacket.

  A dresser was next to the chair, cluttered with perfume bottles, a curling iron and several containers of jewelry. Gazing upward, he noticed a black lacy bra hanging from the top of the mirror.

  His eyes drifted to the floor, finding his dress pants were crumpled in a heap between the bed and the chair. A few feet away, he noted the shape of his socks. Strewn closer to the door, he saw one of his shoes, then the other. At the entrance to the room, he saw a pair of spiked heels, also in a silver tone. Moving his gaze closer to the bed, he noted his underwear was next to a teensy black thong. Suddenly, fuzzy images registered on his addled brain, causing his eyes to pop wide open and send his heart thumping wildly in his chest. Unable to believe what he was seeing, he reached a hand under the covers and checked for clothing. Naked. He was butt naked. And he wasn’t in his and Hailey’s bed.

  With a suffocating gasp, he pushed up and rolled over on his side, only to confirm his worst fears. His eyes bugged out of his head when he saw naked boobs staring back at him, the big melon kind that no man could resist glaring at. Blonde hair flowed around the face of his female companion. And it wasn’t Hailey. His wife wasn’t next to him. Instead, it was Shannon Lowry.

  “No,” he cried low under his breath.

  Shannon was soundly sleeping, and he didn’t intend to wake her. Slipping ever so quietly from underneath the covers, he placed his right foot on the floor, then the left. It took him a moment to climb to his feet because his head was spinning like a top and so was the room. He stumbled around and managed to pull on his underwear, but he gathered the rest of his belongings into a bundle and quickly left the room.

  He’d never been here before, so nothing looked familiar. A light shone down the hallway, telling him the exit was that way. Sure enough, after passing by some photos of unknown people hanging on the wa
ll, he emerged into a small entrance next to the front door.

  Pausing long enough, he pulled his pants and shirt on, swung his arms into his jacket and stuffed his socks in a pocket. Slipping his bare feet into his shoes, he checked to make sure he had his phone, wallet and keys. But then again, was his car even here?

  Flipping the deadbolt and gently cracking the door, he stuck his head out only to find himself in an interior hallway. Several doors away, he saw a couple of elevators. Softly closing the door behind him, he hurried to the lift and pressed the CALL button.

  Riding two floors down to the lobby level, he made his way past a welcoming desk manned by an elderly, gray-haired man whose head was down in a book. Quickening his stride to a set of double glass entry doors, he headed out into the dark, brisk morning air. In prior weeks, the weather had been frigid, one of the coldest April’s on the record books for this time of year around these parts. A few days ago, the sun had finally made its presence known, breaking through a long string of cloudy, mist-filled days. That being the case, Ryan hadn’t taken a coat with him to work the preceding day. But now, in the predawn morning he found his balls were freezing off and he wished for his long woolen coat.

  He blew out a cold vapor as he walked around the parking lot, using his car fob to check around for his vehicle. When he didn’t find it anywhere, he walked a block to the nearest street sign to figure out his location. Pulling his phone out, he noticed it had been turned off, which was something he never did. Powering it back on, he used an app to order a car service.

  After entering the requested criteria for an Uber driver, Ryan leaned against a mailbox and checked his phone, fearing what he’d find. Sure enough, Hailey had left multiple voices messages, dozens of texts, and even some emails. All of them escalating in frenzied panic as the night had worn on. What was he going to tell her? Sorry, honey, instead of coming home, I slept with Shannon Lowry. No, he’d sooner cut out his own tongue.