Page 22 of Only for Him

I know he’s here.

Hewantsme to come out so that he can see me.

A car door slams, somewhere behind me, and I whirl, gun up, finger curled. It’s just a taxi, the driver emerging with a cigarette and a thousand-yard stare. He glances at me holding the pistol, and then looks away. Just another predawn in New York City.

I turn in a full circle, scanning every doorway, every alley, every car. Still nothing. Just the quiet, and the heavy stare of a world that doesn’t care if I live another minute.

“You don’t scare me,” I shout. The words sound ridiculous under the sky starting to turn bright, but I say them anyway.

I want to believe them.

I stand there, waiting. I know he’s watching.

Sunrise edges out the darkness, and sunrise slowly gives way to daylight.

Maybe he’s gone. Maybe he’s still here.

Doesn’t matter. I’m here too.

When I get backto the apartment, the world is on fast-forward. At first, everything is as I left it: the threadbare rug, the unmade futon, the picture turned away, the cardboard box just inside the doorway.

But then I feel the breeze caressing my face like a lover’s hand, and I see that the living room window is wide open. The curtains are pulled aside.

He was in here!

The realization hits me low in the gut, like a punch that drives all strength from my knees. I force myself to move, sweeping the apartment a second time. This time, every shadow comes alive. I check under the bed, the shower, the cabinet under the kitchen sink, every inch that a human might fit.

Nothing.

Nothing.

Nothing.

I come back to the window and search the sill for scratches, footprints, or any other sign of forced entry. But all I find ismorning chill and the smell of something faintly sweet, like a bakery.

I slam the window shut, drop the latch, and triple-check the lock.

Goddamn it!

My blue-eyed shadow was here. I know he was.

He clings to me like the smell of smoke. He wants something from me, but I don’t think he wants my fear or my life. I don’t think he even really wants my body.

Or, at least, notonlymy body.

He wants my soul.

I put my gun on the kitchen counter, next to the phone. The only thing I want to do right now is to make the world make sense again. Sighing, I go to the bathroom to finish what I started.

And for the second time in less than a week, my world spins away from under my feet.

Serena’s earrings are gone.

My hands hover over the swan-shaped dish with its naked neck bent elegantly over the bowl. Cold panic flares in my chest.

The earrings aren’t there, but the dish isn’t empty.

There’s a single red rose lying diagonally where my sister’s earrings used to be. The stem juts out over the sink and it’s pointing straight at the window like he wants to mock me about how easily he came in and out.