by Lydia Reeves
Aside from the previous night, it was more words than he’d ever spoken to me. “You realize the intruder came in through my window, not the door,” I pointed out, raising my eyebrows. “You’re the one that broke down my door.”
His voice was gruff. “Yeah, and if I could, someone else could. Lock your door. And it goes without saying that you shouldn’t leave your window open in a first-floor apartment.”
I eyed him. “I guess it doesn’t go without saying.”
He gave a faint huff of amusement. “I guess not. I can replace the lock on your window, too.”
“You don’t need to. The lock works fine when I use it.”
We lapsed into silence for another short stretch, and I couldn’t help but sneak a glance over at him. He was wearing a thin gray t-shirt, and it pulled tight across his biceps where he had them propped over his knees. His hair was sleep-tousled, and I was reminded again of my first view of him, moving in two years ago, and how attractive I’d found him. It was really too bad his personality didn’t match his looks. I wondered again why he was here, sitting with me in the dim hallway. Had he really just heard me crying and wanted to make sure I was okay? It seemed so out of character based on the way he’d treated me for years now.
As if he could read my thoughts, he finally spoke up again. “Are you okay? I can recommend a therapist, or—”
“No, no.” I tilted my head back to lean against the wall, my hands twisting together in my lap. “I’ll be okay. I just…” I squeezed my eyes shut. “I can’t stop thinking about what would have happened if you hadn’t been there.” I heard my voice catch and struggled to keep it smooth. “What…what he was after. What he might have done.” I’d been fine all day, crafting and work a welcome distraction from any negative thoughts or worries. But alone in my bed, the darkness pressing in all around and every sound magnified to my over-sensitive ears…well, it had been harder to keep myself together.
Levi glanced up at my words, his eyes focusing on me like he’d just remembered something.
“He wasn’t after you,” he told me quickly. “I haven’t had a chance to tell you. And it wasn’t a robbery.” My head came up off the wall and I looked over at him. Of course, he’d been in to work while I’d been out today, he would surely know more about what happened.
“Is he…is he still locked up?” I asked.
He hesitated for a split second before shaking his head, and I felt myself tense up. “No, he was released on bail. But the guy wasn’t trying to hurt you, at least not intentionally. He thought it was his apartment.”
Levi explained what the chief had told him, and what Officer Jansen had found out after the intruder had sobered up. My mouth dropped open as I listened.
“He…thought it was his apartment?” I repeated in disbelief. I blew out a breath. “How dumb do you have to be…”
“I think it’s more how drunk do you have to be,” he said with the barest hint of a smile, more of a smile than I’d ever seen on his face before, and I felt the corners of my own mouth pulling up in response, the tense lines of my face beginning to relax.
His ice blue eyes were intense on mine, that same intensity he seemed to carry with him always, the gruff seriousness he wore around himself like a cloak, and I suddenly felt self-conscious. Why was he being nice to me? He didn’t like me, he’d made that clear enough in the past, and if he was just doing his job, he would have waited until I came to the station to file a report. He wouldn’t have replaced my door with whatever ridiculous steel contraption was on there now. He wouldn’t have knocked on the door in the middle of the night just because he heard me crying. He wouldn’t be sitting here with me in the hallway, so close I could feel his warmth all along my side, asking if I was okay. Especially after he’d been in my apartment last night, and seen…well, seen what a mess I really was.
I stiffened again, the embarrassment returning, and lifted my arms to wrap them around my torso. I felt more than saw him stiffen next to me as well, and I glanced over, but his gaze was fixed on my arm rather than on my face.
“What’s that?”
His voice came out in a growl, and I looked down in surprise. “What? Oh…that.” I lifted my other hand to wrap around my arm and cover the marks, but his hand was already there, gently lifting my arm so he could see more clearly.
The rough, warm feeling of the pads of his fingers on my skin was a jarring contrast to the murderous look on his face.
“I thought you said he didn’t hurt you.”
I cleared my throat. “They’re only bruises.” Five of them, dark purple against my fair skin, where the intruder’s fingers had grasped me in a vise-like grip. I gently freed my arm. “It’s not like I need a hospital for some bruises. I’m fine.”
“Yes, but—”
“Besides, I think I got him better than he got me,” I said with a sideways glance, and like I’d hoped, he relented, his murderous expression lightening as he suppressed a snort.
“That you did. Knitting needles, seriously?”
After another pause, he added, “Thanks for the…flowers. Or whatever they were. You didn’t need to do that.”
“Oh,” I said in faint surprise. “You’re welcome. Thank you for saving my life. Hardly seems like a fair trade.”
He just grunted, a more familiar response, but I chose to interpret it as a ‘you’re welcome’ as well. “Just doing my j—”
“They were origami.” I cut him off, suddenly desperate that he not finish his sentence, that he not say he was just doing his job. It was likely true, he would have reacted the same to any screaming neighbor in the middle of the night, but I didn’t want him to put words to it, to erase whatever progress we’d made here, in turning him from my scary, grumpy neighbor who hated me into a maybe-almost-sort-of friend.
“What?” He looked confused.
“The flowers. They were origami. Folded paper. I used to make them with my mom.” I was so shocked that the words had come out of my mouth I didn’t even know how to react, and I stuttered to a stop. I never mentioned my mom. And I certainly never talked about her hobbies or us crafting together. But Levi didn’t seem to notice the mini-breakdown happening next to him.
“Oh yeah?” he said. “My mom used to be into crafts as well.”
I went still. “Used to?” I asked, keeping my voice neutral, though it took some effort. Did we have something in common after all? God, I hoped not. Not that, anyway.
“Yeah.” He tipped his head back against the wall and looked up at the ceiling, seemingly unaware of my held breath. “She used to make these mosaic coasters and picture frames, stuff like that. She quit when my dad left and she needed the money for me and my brother. I got a job as soon as I was old enough, so things weren’t so tight, but she never got back into it.”
I let my held breath flow out in a trickle of relief. So, his mom was okay. His statement just made me more curious though. Why had his dad left? He had a brother? What was his family like? I bit my tongue though, keeping the questions inside, and we lapsed into silence again. It wasn’t uncomfortable or strained though, and slowly, in his company, my stress began to ease.
I rested my head back against the wall again, and tipped it to the side so I could see the window at the far end of the hallway. Outside the window the branches of a tree swayed in a gentle breeze, its leaves sending dappled shadows across the floor. I stared, mesmerized, my eyes tracing the moving shadows as I relaxed into the feeling of Levi’s solid warmth only inches away from my side. His solid weight was more reassuring than I would have guessed, like some immovable object standing between me and the rest of the world, protecting me, even if it was only because he was paid to do so.
“Marian?” His voice was low, and I hadn’t even realized my heavy eyes had started to drift shut. I slowly rolled my head in his direction.
“I’m awake.”
He chuckled softly, but still didn’t break a smile. I wondered vaguely if he ever smiled. I’d always assumed he ju
st never smiled at me, but now I wondered if he was even capable of the expression.
“No, you’re not. Come on, let’s get you back to bed. I think you can sleep now.” His warm hand came under my elbow, helping me rise to my feet, and when I’d regained my balance I didn’t pull away, letting him steer me drowsily toward my door. But it was only when he opened the door and made to step inside that I realized he intended to walk me in, and I came fully awake in an instant.
“No! I mean, um, thank you.” I pulled my elbow out of his grip and pushed ahead of him, sliding through the narrow opening, leaving no room for him to follow. I quickly turned back, feeling slightly panicky. His face was expressionless as I forced a smile. “Thank you,” I said again. “I’ll see you in the…well…I’ll see you.”
I ducked back and swiftly pulled the door shut, my heart pounding. Logically, I knew he’d been inside before, but still…I just couldn’t. Remembering his words, I set the deadbolt, then paused, unlocked it again, and cracked the door open. He still stood there in the hallway, staring at the door I’d slammed in his face.
“I, uh, I set the deadbolt,” I informed him.
His mouth twisted into an expression I couldn’t quite identify. Pity? Disgust? It seemed I’d undone any progress we’d made. But all he said was, “Set the chain, too.”
I closed the door again, and did as he instructed.
* * *
To my intense relief, I didn’t have any trouble falling asleep after that, and though I was still a little short on sleep, I awoke the next morning feeling cautiously optimistic. I really wanted to be able to put the break-in behind me and move on. It had only lasted mere minutes, I hadn’t been hurt, and it didn’t seem fair that something so short and quickly resolved should have a lasting effect on my mental well-being. Though I knew from firsthand experience that it only takes a second for something to utterly disrupt your life for years to come.
But I didn’t dwell on that this morning, focusing instead on the bright sunshine outside the window and the good mood I’d unexpectedly found myself in. One step at a time.
I knew I still needed to file a police report, so I did that first.
On any other day I would have avoided the police station like the plague, terrified I might run into Levi and be subjected to one of his frowning glares. But today I found myself more nervous than afraid, both hoping I might run into him and that I wouldn’t. If I did, would he frown and grunt a monosyllabic greeting, or even worse, ignore me altogether? Or was there a chance he might look at me now like I was something more than a bug he’d accidentally squashed underfoot and had to scrape off his good shoes? A human, perhaps? Maybe almost a friend? Someone worth speaking to in words, possibly complete sentences?
I didn’t get a chance to find out, because to both my relief and disappointment, he wasn’t there. Officer Jansen was though, and he took my statement and helped me file a report. Reliving the experience wasn’t enjoyable, but at least he made it as quick and painless as possible.
After my visit to the police station I had to work, one of my last few half-day shifts, and so it was the following morning before I got a chance to go to the craft store.
The sky was dark when I awoke, after a somewhat more fitful night of rest than the one before—with no midnight-hallway conversation to ease me into sleep—and a steady drizzle was falling when I made my way outside. Not the best day to be walking back and forth from the craft store with bags on my arm, but I couldn’t help it. I’d been thinking about what Levi had said about his mom, and her mosaic coasters and picture frames. I’d never tried mosaics before, but a quick online search and some time spent watching tutorial videos convinced me it couldn’t be that hard.
I was sure I’d get an earful from Sherry coming back so soon after my last visit—usually I tried not to go more than once or twice in a week, and it had only been two days—but when I ducked under the awning in front of the store, shaking my umbrella as I pulled on the handle, the door wouldn’t budge. Surprised, I looked up, and the yellow sign on the door immediately caught my eye.
Closed.
What? It was—I checked my phone—just after nine-thirty in the morning. They should have been open for about half an hour now. And the lights were on. What was going on?
I hunched and peered through the glass, and caught sight of Sherry, her back to me as she spoke with another employee who was gesticulating with her hands as she talked. I stood up straight, thinking I should just leave and come back later, maybe the next day, when Sherry turned and caught sight of me through the window.
Gesturing to the other employee, she came and unlocked the front door, stepping out to join me under the awning.
“Hey, honey, I’m sorry, I can’t let you in right now,” she said, her lined face apologetic.
“Sherry, what’s going on? Is everything okay?”
She glanced back toward the store, then lowered her voice. “We were robbed.”
Chapter 8
LEVI
I was halfway to the station when I got diverted. Another break-in, and once again, only blocks away from where I lived. It wasn’t the most comforting feeling. I swung the car around in the opposite direction though, and put on my lights, if not the sirens.
Only minutes later I pulled up in front of Fairfield Hobby and Craft. It took me longer than it should have to recognize the small figure with auburn hair who was standing outside, her arm wrapped around a slightly stooped older woman with short, curly gray hair. They were huddled together under the awning, and I ducked under as well, shaking the rain off my shoulders.
“Marian?”
She spun at my voice, and I looked between the two women. Marian clutched a brightly-colored umbrella in her free hand, but her hair was still slightly damp, water droplets glinting on the strands as she turned. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed surprised to see me as well. The older lady cleared her throat, and I swung my attention to her. She wore an employee nametag pinned to a blue vest, so I addressed my question to her.
“Everything okay here? I got a call about a break-in.”
The older woman nodded. “I’m Sherry,” she introduced herself. “It must have happened overnight. There’s an alarm system, but it looks like it wasn’t set, because the back door was open when I got here.”
“Alright. Let’s go in and you can show me.” I glanced back to Marian, who shifted her weight before turning back to Sherry and reaching up to give the older woman a quick hug.
“You take care, okay?” she said. “I’ll come visit you in the hospital.”
Sherry squeezed her back before opening the door and ushering me through. I caught a quick flash of color as Marian opened her umbrella before scampering off into the rain. I wondered briefly about the relationship between the two women. Were they relatives? Or just friends? It seemed a bit of an odd friendship—Marian had to be decades younger than the craft store employee. But then again, Marian seemed to be friends with absolutely everyone. Except me, that was. I thought back to our strange night in the hallway, and wondered if that was changing. Likely not. She’d been just as eager to keep me out of her apartment that night as the one before. And for an understandable reason, I reminded myself.
I turned my attention to Sherry again as she led me through the store.
“Hospital?” I inquired politely. “Is everything alright? Were you here when it happened?”
She shook her head and flashed me a smile. “Just surgery. I get a new hip next week. This one’s about done putting up with me.”
“Ah.” Now that she’d called attention to it, I noticed she walked with a limp, favoring her left side. “Best of luck with that.”
“Thank you. This is Jenny,” she said, as another woman appeared by the door at the back of the store marked “Employees Only.” The new woman looked to be in her mid-forties, and was tall with dark hair and thick glasses.
“Officer Mathes,” I introduced myself, and the women nodded in greeting.
&n
bsp; “We both start our shifts at nine when the store opens,” Sherry explained, leading us through the storeroom, “but I arrived first and found this door open.” We’d arrived at the back entryway, where a heavy metal door led out to an alley.
“Is this where you came in?” I asked, checking the door. The lock was intact, with no marks or scrapes around the latch.
“No, I came in the front,” Sherry said.
“No one ever comes in the back,” Jenny put in. “I don’t think anyone ever uses this door.”
“How did you know it was open, then? You said the alarm didn’t go off?”
Sherry nodded. “I’ll show you.” She turned and started limping back toward the front of the store. I followed, with Jenny bringing up the rear, and Sherry explained on the way. “Someone had clearly been in the store, and gotten into the register. And since the front door was still locked, I checked the back, and found it open.”
“Does the door not shut on its own?” I asked.
“No, you have to pull it shut. That’s one of the reasons we never use it,” Jenny said. “If the door doesn’t shut, the alarm won’t activate. It might have been open all night for all we know.”
That seemed like negligence more than foul play to me. I wondered who was going to get in trouble for not checking the back door before they left.
Sherry showed me the register—an older model—that had clearly been forcibly opened. According to Jenny, who it seemed had been the last one in the night before, only four hundred dollars had been inside, and after a walk-through of the store, we determined that nothing else had been stolen.
I sat down with the two women and got as much additional info as I could—which wasn’t much. Apparently, the store was owned by a widower named John McNeill who owned three other similar craft stores around Indiana. Jenny, who had called the police, had called him as well, but he was currently visiting family in Colorado and would not return until late the following week. She had apparently also notified the manager, a woman named Carla, who was on her way in. I decided to wait and talk to her as well, just in case she had any other useful information for me.
