Part 4
Her own heartbeat filled her ears.
The air conditioner whispered somewhere above her.
A distant siren passed far below on the street, too far away to matter.
Then—
A door clicked.
Not loud.
Not close.
But real.
Elena’s eyes widened.
Ronan saw it.
“Where?”
She could not speak.
“Elena, where?”
She lifted one finger and pointed toward the hallway.
Her hand shook so hard she could barely keep it raised.
Ronan’s face changed in a way she had never seen before.
All the polished calm left it.
Not in a burst. Not in anger.
It simply disappeared.
“Gideon,” he said.
“I heard.”
“Tell her what to do.”
“I am.”
“Elena,” Gideon said, “do not call out. Do not move unless you have to. Keep the phone against your body. Is there somewhere within arm’s reach you can pull yourself behind?”
Elena looked at the chair.
The carved legs were several feet away.
The sofa was farther.
The floor around her was open, white, exposed.
“No.”
“Can you reach the chair?”
“No.”
“Can you drag yourself?”
She tried to shift.
Pain flashed through her knee and up her side. A sound came out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Ronan closed his eyes for less than a second.
“Stop,” he said.
Elena looked at the phone.
“I have to move.”
“No.”
“I can’t stay here.”
“You can.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
His voice was calm again, but now it was a kind of command that made her angry.
“You don’t get to tell me that,” she whispered.
“No,” he said. “But I can tell you not to hurt yourself worse.”
“You don’t know what’s here.”
“Neither do you.”
The words landed between them.
Elena stared at him.
Ronan’s face tightened immediately. He had not meant to say it that way. She could see that. But he did not apologize.
Maybe he knew an apology would be another thing she had to carry.
Gideon spoke gently. “Elena, can you keep the phone low and angle it toward the hallway?”
She did.
The screen showed a blurred portion of the room: marble floor, the edge of a rug, the dark opening beyond. Nothing moved.
Gideon watched.
Ronan watched.
Elena watched the screen instead of the hallway itself because it felt easier to look at danger when it had been reduced to a rectangle.
Nothing.
No shadow.
No footstep.
No sound.
Then a soft scrape came from the other side of the room.
Elena nearly dropped the phone again.
Ronan said her name.
She pulled the phone to her chest.
“Please,” she whispered.
“I’m here.”
“Don’t say that.”
His face went still.
“You’re not here.”
“I know.”
“You’re not here.”
“I know.”
“You always say you are.”
Ronan swallowed.
The words seemed to strike him more deeply than she had intended. But there was no time to take them back. No strength to make them gentler.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
Elena laughed once, breathlessly.
“You said not to say that.”
“I know.”
The faint sound came again.
Closer.
Or perhaps she was only listening harder.
The orchids lay scattered around her. One white flower had drifted near the cane. Another was caught in the folds of her dress. A stem curved toward her wrist, trembling each time she breathed.
The cane had always seemed like an old man’s accessory, something theatrical and unnecessary. It was too dark for the room. Too heavy-looking. The curved handle shone faintly under the warm lights.
Tonight it looked different.
Not because it had moved.
Because she could not stop looking at it.
“Elena,” Gideon said, “tell me about the cane.”
Her eyes flicked toward the screen.
“What?”
“The cane beside the chair. Is it where it usually is?”
She stared at it.
“I think so.”
“Think.”
“I don’t know.”
“Was it there when you came in tonight?”
Her stomach tightened.
She could see herself entering the penthouse with the orchids in her arms. The flowers had been wrapped in white paper at first. She had set them on the counter. She had filled the vase. She had looked toward the chair.
The cane.
She could not remember.
“I don’t know,” she said.
Ronan’s voice was low. “Why are you asking her that?”
“Because it may matter.”
“It may not.”
“It may.”
The two men fell quiet.
Elena listened to them breathe through the phone.
The thought of them standing somewhere else, in two different rooms, both listening to her silence, made the penthouse feel even larger. There were too many walls. Too much glass. Too much air between her and anyone who could touch her hand.
She closed her eyes.
“Open them,” Ronan said immediately.
“I’m not asleep.”
“Open them anyway.”
She did.
Her vision had gone soft around the edges.
“Tell me something,” he said.
“What?”
“Anything.”
“What do you mean?”
“Tell me what you see.”
She stared at the ceiling.
“The lights.”
“Okay.”
“They’re too warm.”
“What else?”
“The city.”
“Okay.”
“The chair.”
“What about it?”
“It’s ugly.”
For the first time, something almost like a smile moved across Ronan’s face.
It vanished quickly.
“Elena,” he said, “that chair cost more than your first apartment.”
“I know.”
“You still hate it.”
“I hate the gold.”
“You told me the gold was the best part.”
“I lied.”
Ronan looked down.
The sadness in his face appeared and disappeared so quickly that she almost missed it.
She had not meant to say that either.
The room clicked again.
This time, Elena froze.
The sound had come from the hallway.
Not the settling of a building.
Not air moving through ducts.
A door.
Someone touching a door.
Her fingers tightened around the phone until her knuckles hurt.
Ronan’s expression changed.
“Don’t move,” he said.
“I wasn’t.”
“Don’t make a sound.”
She nodded.
Gideon said, “Elena, keep your breathing shallow.”
She wanted to laugh again. Shallow breathing was all she had left.
The hallway remained dark.
Her eyes fixed on it.
May you like
Seconds stretched.
The city outside continued its distant, careless movement. A plane blinked red between buildings. Somewhere below, a horn sounded once. The tall illuminated skyscraper across the river glowed white against the black sky.
