Never trust a beautiful person.
–Georgia Hardstark
My Favorite Murder minisode 74
Bethany
A bang reverberates through my dreams, jolting awareness into my sleep-addled brain. The overhead light is on. I blink drowsiness from my eyes, my tired mind rushing to register what’s happening around me.
My nose is numb with cold. It’s freezing.
The window is open.
It’s March. There was a nor’easter last week. I did not leave the window open before I fell asleep.
Was I sleepwalking? Not something I’ve ever done before.
I rush to the window, clicking it shut and twisting the lock. Then I glance around my living room, rubbing warmth back into my arms. I blink at the illuminated ceiling light and then over at the switch on the wall.
Someone turned it on. Someone opened my window.
This is not normal. This is not my imagination. This is not rats. Rats can’t open windows or turn on lights. They don’t have thumbs.
My heart thumps in my chest, trying to break out of the cage of my lungs.
There’s an overnight bag on the small chair in the corner, left there from all the other nights I’ve bailed and gone to Marc and Gwen’s. Can’t go there now, but I can’t be here either.
My instincts push at me.
Get out.
I grab the bag from the chair, then my purse from the counter. I rush out into the hall, locking the door behind me.
Now where to? I pull out my phone. I don’t know anyone and I’m not staying with Steven.
I check the time. And I’ve only been asleep for an hour.
Motherfucker.
A hotel is out of the picture. I paid my rent and then I had to pay Mom’s utilities for the month, which barely leaves enough for food for either of us.
There’s only one place I can think of to stay for free.
I splurge on an Uber to Park Avenue. What choice do I have? The office stays open all hours for late work nights.
“Stan. Can you do me a solid?”
Stan’s eyes are kind and concerned. “What’s happening, Ms. B? Shouldn’t you be home in bed? Or out at the disco or whatever you young people do these days?”
“I’m having a little issue with my apartment. I need somewhere to sleep. Just for tonight. So I was going to use the couch in Marc’s old office. Please don’t tell anyone,” I beg.
Maybe more than a night since this crap isn’t getting any better. If anything, it’s getting worse.
“I don’t know, maybe I should call Mr. Crawford. I’m sure he would put you up somewhere.”
“It’s just one night, Stan. I promise, I’ll talk to him in the morning.”
I’m not telling that old bastard anything.
Stan finally relents and I head up the elevator.
The office is quiet and full of shadows. I pass my vacant desk and groan at the voicemail light, shining in the dark.
Not thinking about it till tomorrow.
Marc’s office is almost exactly like my apartment, except bigger. There’s a mini fridge and a couch and he has his own private bathroom with a shower.
I put my bag on the chair and glance around the dim office. I don’t come in here very much. A picture on the desk catches my eye. It’s Marc and Brent with their parents. Their mother is laughing, and even Mr. Cranky Crawford is smiling. Brent still has those dimples. I put the frame back down next to a prescription pill container.
What’s this?
B. Crawford.
Some kind of football injury? I put it back down. None of my business.
In the bathroom, I smile at another sticky note from Marc. He left this one on the back of the door.
If you’re hiding from Dad in here, just picture flushing him down the toilet.
After peeing, I get out my stuff for the morning. I’ll have to get dressed and sneak over to the office before Mr. Crawford gets here. Shouldn’t be too hard. He’s notoriously late.
I’m pulling my mousse can out of my bag when I hear something.
Noises out in the office.
I almost groan out loud. Not here, too. I can’t deal anymore.
But it doesn’t sound like anything supernatural. There’s a cough. The shuffle of footsteps.
The cleaning crew is done for the night. No one would come into Marc’s office right now. What if someone followed me from my apartment?
No. No physical person could be in here. Stan wouldn’t let them in. Maybe it really is a ghost. Maybe I accidently opened a hellmouth and now the spirits have awakened and will follow me everywhere I go and I’ll have to find the graves to salt and burn the bones and escape their evil clutches.
I grab the only weapon I can find. The can of mousse I just put on the counter.
Great, Bethany, what are you going to do? Style the intruder to death?
Maybe I can throw it as a distraction and then make a run for it.
I fling open the door, give some kind of strangled karate yell and toss the can at the dark figure hulking around the desk.
They catch it smoothly in one hand.
It’s not a ghost or bandit of any kind.
It’s Brent.
“Hey.” He sets the mousse down and holds up both hands in a gesture of innocence. “It’s just me. I forgot something. What are you doing here?” He glances at the can he just set down. “And did you just throw hair product at me?”
I sag against the wall, a soupy mixture of relief and embarrassment. My chest heaves from the adrenaline and my skin prickles in mortification. I sink to the floor, taking deep breaths to calm myself. I hold up a hand. “Just give me a second.”
I am such an idiot. Of course he came back for those pills. I just saw them and read his name on them. It makes sense he might actually need them. What is wrong with me? The lack of sleep is making me lose my mind.
“I . . . thought you were a bad guy,” I say finally.
“I kind of picked up on that.” He moves closer and crouches down in front of me. His blue eyes are dark in the dim light, and his brows are creased. “What are you doing here so late?”
“I’m just,” I shrug with attempted nonchalance, crossing my arms over my chest, “you know, working really really hard for your dad.”
A brow lifts.
I look up at the ceiling for inspiration. “I’m protecting the company assets.”
The other brow rises to meet it.
“Cleaning the,” I glance around, “counters?”
He nods, the corner of his lips twitching in amusement. “It’s possible you’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
I slouch even lower, defeated. “Ugh. I know. It’s so inconvenient. My life would be so much easier if I could spew crap like everyone else.”
“Besides, no one works in their PJs. Are you sleeping here?” He eyes my pants.
I’m wearing my Supernatural pants. They have little Sam and Dean faces all over them.
This is not embarrassing at all.
I cross my legs. “Why do you ask?”
He counters with another question. “Is there something wrong with Gwen’s? Is that why you stayed at our apartment the other night?”
I can see he’s not going to let this go.
Sigh.
“If I tell you, you can’t laugh. And you have to promise to believe me.”
“We’ve already established you’re a crap liar.”
“I know, but it sounds crazy. Even to me and I’m the one experiencing it.” I rub a finger over a seam in the carpet and glance at the windows. The city lights twinkle back. When I find the courage to bring my gaze back to Brent, he’s watching me. His gaze is open and full of concern. I can’t believe he cares. Although, his eyes also look a little red and hazy. It’s late. He must be tired and now he has to deal with my crap and he’s pretending he gives a shit so he can go home to a supermodel or something.
Better to just blurt it all out before I lose my nerve. “It started a few weeks ago. I woke up to strange sounds in the middle of the night. Nothing scary, just a weird tapping sound. It would be fine for a night or two and then start up again. Then it got worse. Louder. Banging in the walls. At first, I thought it was just, you know, normal noises for the city. Thin apartment walls, et cetera, but when I mentioned it to one of my neighbors, he never hears anything odd and they live right next door. I emailed Gwen. She never had anything like it when she lived there. I haven’t been sleeping. That’s why I was staying at Marc’s most nights, but only when the noises were bad. But then tonight . . .” I bite my lip.
“It’s okay. You can tell me.” He puts a hand over mine.
I stare down at our hands. He’s so warm. His fingers are long and his palm is wide. He has strong hands. Capable. I don’t think I’ve ever had such large hands over mine.
I swallow. Brent isn’t dangerous. I know his brother. Gwen even dated him for a few months. He’s safe. “When I went to bed, everything was fine. Then I woke up with the light on and the window open. I can’t sleep like that. I prefer solid darkness and I get cold in ninety-degree heat. Someone else had to have opened my window and turned my lights on, but no one was there. I panicked and came here.”
He doesn’t say anything and I risk a glance at his face. His blue eyes are intent and serious. He’s not laughing, so that’s something. “Maybe there’s a plausible explanation.”
“There probably is. But I’m not really feeling like I want to find the answers in the dead of night by myself.”
“Have you tried talking to the super?”
“Yeah. He thought maybe it was air in the pipes or something. He had it checked out and said the pipes are fine and I must be crazy.”
“Your super said you were crazy?”
“He didn’t use those words per se, but he sure looked at me like I belonged in Bellevue.”
He cracks a smile. “It’s late. Come stay at Marc’s. You can have his bed.” His hand tightens over mine.
“Bed?” The word is almost a squeak.
“Yeah. You know. Sleep in a real bed and not on Marc’s couch in a dusty office.”
“That’s a really nice offer, but . . .”
“But what?”
His gaze is innocent, his voice sincere. He wants to help me.
Can’t be trusted.
“I’m not going to sleep with you,” I blurt.
He frowns. “I just said you can sleep in Marc’s bed. I’ll sleep in mine. No hanky-panky.”
I snort out a laugh and my nerves ease somewhat. “Did you just say hanky-panky?
He sits back, removing the connection of our hands. “What’s wrong with that?”
“What are you? Eighty?” I laugh, teasing him. I slap my knee. “Okay, I’m not worried about you making the moves now. No real playboy uses the term hanky-panky. Phew, thanks for that.”
“I’ll have you know I get all the hanky—I mean women I want.”
Sheesh, someone’s sensitive. He must get the fragile ego from his father. Why is it that the most beautiful people are always the most insecure?
I roll my eyes. “I’m sure you do, Casanova.” I pat him on the shoulder. “I’m not doubting it, I’m just saying I don’t want to be one of the many.”
“Well you don’t have to worry about it.” He stands and grabs his pills from Marc’s desk with a hard snap. “Ready to go?”
I tamp down the simmer of disappointment. Why would I expect anything different from a guy like him? He’s just another hot guy whose giant ego can’t take a tiny joke.