Someone had photoshopped my name on a tombstone picture and left it in my mailbox.
I almost dropped the piece of paper.
It could have been a coincidence. It could have been some mass mailing about the death of hope with a follow-up about the saviour who could save us. But somehow, I didn't think so.
After the near death thing, plus Ryan's paranoia, plus the weird phone calls, seeing my name on a tombstone made me really glad he was staying tonight. And it made me wonder what the hell was going on.
As Ryan pointed out, the name on my mailbox is H. Sze, not Hope Sze. So if this was personal, someone deduced my first name and where I lived in order to send me a picture a tombstone with my name on it.
Who did it?
Only one way to find out. I walked to the kitchen for a Ziploc bag.
"What's going on?" said Ryan.
"I don't know, but I'll let the police figure it out," I said, sealing the bag. "They can check it for fingerprints. Where did you find this?"
He ran a hand through his hair, exasperated. "Tucked in your mail, with your phone bill and the KFC and Pizza Hut flyers. You can look for yourself. But the weird thing is, I swear I've seen that picture before."
I rifled through the flyers from Bell Canada, Videotron (my Net provider), and a notice from McGill. Everything else looked official, like it was from Canada Post, who has the contract to deliver junk mail. I was trying to remember if I'd seen the piece of paper tucked in with the rest when I took it out of my mailbox. I thought so, but I couldn't be sure.
"How the hell did someone do this? Break open your mailbox?" asked Ryan.
I sighed. "Actually..."
He snapped his head back to glare at me. "Don't tell me."
"My mailbox doesn't latch properly. The mailman left a note about it, but the concièrge didn't do anything to fix it, and I thought, well, it's just mail."
"So anyone could get into your mail."
I didn't answer.
"This place is a disaster."
I hadn't considered it paradise, but through Ryan's eyes, I had to admit it was appearing worse and worse. I tried to make a joke. "You should have seen the place I didn't take, with the two little dogs. The woman let the dogs poop on the balcony and we almost tripped over a vegetable rolling in the middle of the hallway."
He reached for my shoulders. "Hope, this is not a joke."
I twisted away from him before he could make contact. "I know that! But I'm too pissed off to be scared." As soon as I said it, I realized it was true, and anger felt a lot better than a panic attack. My heart was still racing, but the fear was no longer crushing me. I almost smiled.
That made Ryan even madder. "What is wrong with you? You like getting strangled and having people sending you death threats in the mail?"
"You know I don't."
"Then, for heaven's sake, get out of here! You can transfer to Ottawa, right?"
My head jerked up. We stared at each other. We were both breathing hard. Somehow, I hadn't realized that was where he was going with this.
Ryan drew himself up, watching my face carefully. "I mean...that's home. You'd be safer around your family. And, well, I'd like to see you."
Not exactly the world's greatest declaration of love, but still much more than I'd expected from a random encounter with my ex-boyfriend. I didn't know what to say.
My ancient refrigerator began to buzz, breaking the silence. Then footsteps creaked in the apartment overhead.
Finally, I recovered my tongue. "Ryan. It's not that simple. I actually applied to Ottawa's family med program and didn't match there."
He waved his hand. "I bet that if you explained the circumstances, they'd let you in."
I wasn't so sure. An inter-provincial switch might be hard to manage. But home definitely had its appeal. My mom's cooking. Watching movies with my dad. Hanging out with my little brother, Kevin. And Ryan, whatever we had together. Past. Present. Future.
He touched my cheek. "You don't have to decide now. Just think about it, okay?"
I nodded mutely, leaning into his hand. Sometimes, I ached to be held. As if sensing this, he checked my eyes for permission, then folded me in his arms. I breathed him in. He smelled like sandalwood, clean laundry, and himself, that clean tang I had loved and lost. I buried my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder and blinked back tears. "Oh, Ryan."
"Hope." He stroked my hair, his voice low and sad. "You don't have to do this alone. You break my heart."
And then he kissed me. At first his lips were gentle, but as soon as mine parted, he pulled me closer. His tongue swept into my mouth. His arms tightened around me. I lifted myself on tip-toe to press my hips against him and he ground back against me, one hand raising to bury itself in my wet hair.
I lifted my left leg and hooked it around his. He groaned and lifted me up so I could wind both legs around his waist while we kissed and kissed and kissed, an extravagance of longing.
He pushed me against the wall. We were kissing so hard, I felt the moisture from my skin transfer to his cheeks and mouth, wherever we made contact. He ripped my shirt up and caressed my naked sides. When I arched away from him, my shoulders and head toward the wall and my pelvis against his, he slipped his hands around to my stomach. He nipped my ear, sliding his tongue around it and biting it again. I stifled a scream. "I could eat you alive," he muttered through gritted teeth.
One of the things I'd always loved about him was, no matter how buttoned-down and orderly and law-abiding he was on the surface, he was an animal in the bedroom.
In answer, I slid my hand down the neckline of his shirt, feeling his delectable brown skin and the few wiry black hairs sprinkled across his chest.
He tensed and slowly lowered me down to the ground, pressing every inch of his front against mine. I stared into his dilated eyes and ground my hips against his, silently laughing at his agony, until he shoved his hand under my bra and teased my breasts with his thumb and forefinger until I could hardly see.
He opened my bra one-handed. It made me laugh against his mouth, remembering how he'd practiced that move on me, until his lips descended to my collarbones and moved south.
If anything, he was better than I remembered. He was sublime.
Zero to one hundred in sixty seconds.
His lips moved from my left breast to my right.
One hundred and twenty.
BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!
I collapsed against Ryan and groaned.
"What is that?" he said, pulling me closer.
I rested my head against his shoulder. "My pager."
"You're still on call?"
"Yeah."
He checked his watch. "I thought you said home call usually ended after the evening shift. It's after midnight."
"Yeah, well." I didn't go into medicine for the lifestyle. Ryan's eyebrows drew together and his body tensed, but not in a good way. I shifted away from him. "Once in a while, it's just a quick Tylenol order or something."
"Is that likely?"
For a guy I hadn't seen in over a year, he knew the system too well. Or maybe it was me he knew too well. I shrugged and tried not to look at my backpack.
He sighed and yanked it down for me. "Here."
"Thanks."
I don't think any other guy could have gotten me so heated so fast. But probably no one else could have me verging on a fight already, too.
I unzipped the front compartment and dug out my pager without meeting Ryan's eyes. He was standing too far away, arms crossed.
I checked the number and frowned. I'd almost rather see another number four or a hang-up. It was a hospital extension, but not emerg. "I'll just be a second."
I used the phone in my room after I closed the door. "Hi, this is Dr. Hope Sze, for psychiatry. Did someone page me?"
"This is Dr. See?" said a guy's voice, not butchering my name too badly, but still, a bad sign.
"Yes, that's right."
"Good. I'm glad I gotcha. Case room wants you. You got a woman in labour."