Page 85 of The Tenant

I feel like a jerk yelling at Elijah when that’s what this is all about. He’s worried about me.

“You need to stop following me,” I tell him. “Blake recognized you just now. If you keep doing it, he’s going to notice, and he’s going to freak out.”

“Okay.” That finally seems to get through to him. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry.”

It’s beginning to occur to me that while Elijah has been my greatest asset since I left home, he is also becoming quite a liability. He knows too much, and he worries too much. That’s a problem.

But it’s a problem that I need to put a pin in for now. I have other things to worry about.

56

I’min the living room, on the phone with Becky, and we are discussing what has become a favorite topic: Blake and whether he is losing his mind.

“I’m just worried about you, Krista,” Becky says.

But she’s not worried about me in the same way that Elijah is worried. She’s worried about me in exactly the way I want her to be worried about me.

“You shouldn’t worry.” I say it in a way that sounds like I’m reassuring her even though I’m actually worried. “Blake is…well, he’s definitely going through something, but he’ll be okay. He hasn’t… I mean, he isn’t threatening me. He’s never hit me.”

“Do you really want to wait for that to happen though?” Becky presses me.

Amanda comes in through the front door. She looks exhausted from work. She gives me a half-hearted wave, then stumbles up the steps to the second floor.

“If you want,” Becky says, “you are welcome to stay with me and Malcolm for as long as you want. We’ve got that extra bedroom…”

“That’s very sweet,” I tell her, “but you don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t you remember what that psychic said though? What if he really does stab you to death?”

I almost laugh out loud. “That won’t happen, Becky.”

Except I say it with a nervous edge to my voice. Like I think there’s a chance that Blake might hurt me.

Becky says something else, but I don’t hear it, because an ear-splitting scream suddenly rips through the air. I grip the phone tighter, looking up at the ceiling.

“Becky,” I say. “I have to go.”

“Okay,” she agrees. “But if Blake does anything violent, you get out of there ASAP. Malcolm has the car, and we can be over there to pick you up in five minutes.”

“Thank you,” I say tearfully. “You are a good friend, Becky.”

I hang up and then start up the steps to the third floor. Amanda hasn’t screamed again, but when I get closer to her room, I can hear her sobbing. What now?

I knock gently on the door. “Aman—er, Whitney?”

There’s a long pause before she answers, “What?”

“It’s Krista. Is everything okay?”

She yanks open the door. Her pretty face is streaked with tears, her eyes red and puffy.

“Whitney, what’s wrong?” I ask.

“Blake threw rotting fruit covered with maggots all over my bed,” she manages in a whimper. “That’s what your boyfriend did.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.Blakedid that? Wow, he really is losing it.

Maybe he’s not as harmless as I thought.