Page 22 of The Unraveling

I leave a few minutes later, wandering out onto the streets listlessly. I didn’t bring gym clothes, so I can’t go there to keep myself busy. The stores are in the midst of their after-Christmas sales, and I stare into a cute shop window, considering going in. But I don’t need anything. It would just be a way to pass time. So I head home. Near the entrance of my building, my gaze catches on a couple kissing; they’re locked in each other’s embrace. The man’s hands cup her cheeks; hers are tangled in his dark hair. Passion.

I feel a tug of envy inside me as I ride the elevator up to my apartment. But when I arrive at my door and find it slightly ajar, a very different feeling takes over: Fear. I freeze, physically paralyzed as my mind races through a million different scenarios.

A man with a mask has a knife.

A patient—one I treated at the psychiatric hospital years ago—has gotten out. He blames me for being institutionalized and wants revenge.

A burglar.

Worse, a rapist.

I lost my key not too long ago. What if someone picked it up and followed me home?

I should run, flee as fast as I can. Get a police officer to come back with me.

But I can’t move. I literally can’t move. My breaths come in shallow spurts, and my head feels like I’m spinning, yet my legs are paralyzed.

So I do the only thing I can and listen. I hold my breath, waiting to hear footsteps or a crash, maybe the sound of my couch pillows being split open by a knife-wielding deranged person. But the only thing I hear is the rush of blood swooshing through my own ears.

Eventually, I can’t take it anymore. I lean in and push the door open, enough to see inside. It’s dark, though I always leave the hallway light on and it’s enough to make out that no one is there, and nothing appears out of place. So I swallow and lean my head over the threshold.

“Hello? Is someone here?”

Silence.

I yell louder the second time. “Hello? Is someone here?”

A noise makes me jump, sends my heart shooting up to my throat. But it’s only my neighbor unlocking his door.

“Meredith? Is everything okay?” Mr. Hank has to be eighty, but he feels like Superman coming to rescue me at the moment.

I let out a big breath. “My door was unlocked when I came home just now. I’m afraid someone could be inside.”

He disappears briefly and comes back with a baseball bat. “You wait in my apartment. I’ll take a look.”

“Oh, I can’t let you do that.”

“I insist.” He steps into the hallway and gestures to his open door. “Now, come inside.”

“I’d feel better if I went in with you.”

He shrugs. “Okay, but stay a few feet behind me. Because if I swing, I don’t want to hit you in the head with the bat.”

I nodded. “I will. Thank you.”

Mr. Hank lifts the bat to his shoulder and tiptoes into my apartment. We both look around the living room and kitchen before venturing down the hall. All of the doors are closed, which is how I normally leave things. Mr. Hank opens each one, taking his time to check the closets while I look under the beds. After all the rooms are cleared, he lowers the bat from his shoulder.

“Sometimes my key turns in the lock,” he says. “But it doesn’t catch the bolt. So I think it’s locked, but it isn’t. I have to jiggle the handle to check.”

“I haven’t had that problem.”

“Maybe you were just in a hurry, then, and forgot to lock it. It happens.”

My head has been in the clouds lately. So I suppose either is possible. Yet I don’t feel entirely settled just because no one was inside. I nod and smile anyway. “That must be it. Thank you so much for checking things out for me.”

“No problem. Anytime. You just knock if you ever need anything.”

“I really appreciate that. Thanks again, Mr. Hank.”

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