Page 64 of The Lair

I’m alone at home, but maybe whoever is at the door doesn’t know it. I won’t make a sound, won’t?—

“Get it open, damn it,” a male voice says, as if he were talking to someone else.

The metallic click of the lock fills the apartment.They’re trying to get in.

With trembling fingers, I unlock my phone and dial nine-one-one, hoping that my dry throat allows me to speak. I crouch behind the couch, hiding in case they get in.

The man kicks at my door again as a voice on the other end of the line answers, “Nine-one-one, what’s your emergency?”

I don’t know how I manage to ignore it, how I tune everything and everyone out but this call. “T-There’s a man banging at my door. He’s trying to break in.”

“Okay, ma’am,” the woman answers in a calm voice. “What’s your address?” I tell her. “Police are on the way. Please stay on the line until they get there.”

“O-Okay,” I stammer, crouching lower behind the couch.

Another loud bang, and I flinch. “P-Please.” Tears prick the backs of my eyes, but I don’t want to cry right now. I need to stay calm and strong in case something happens. “P-Police.”

“They are almost there,” the dispatcher assures me, but I’m pretty sure it’s the standard answer. “Is anybody else with you?”

“No. I live alone,” I whisper, hoping the man or men outside don’t have some magical hearing.

The door rattles with another hit, and I shut my eyes, thinking this time it’s coming down for real. By some miracle, it stands still.

Travis’s lock.

It feels like a million years have passed when I finally hear, “Police!”

The relieved sigh I take next makes the tears come out, and I croak out, “I think the police are here.”

“Okay,” the woman answers. “Please stay on the phone until we make sure you are safe.”

I’m wiping the tears away with the sleeve of my hoodie when there’s a knock at my door, and the air whooshes out of my lungs again.

“Bannport Police,” a man calls out. “We received a call from this apartment.”

Still holding the phone to my ear, I check that it’s really the police out there. Once I thank the dispatcher and hang up, I open the door to the same two officers who investigated the break-in next door.

The next twenty minutes are a blur. They question me about tonight’s incident, and I spot at least another four officers making rounds up and down the hallway.

I knew it, yet my stomach still drops when they tell me there’s a very high chance that whoever tried to get inside my apartment tonight were the same people who targeted this building a few days ago.

“I don’t understand,” I tell the officers, my voice still shaky. “I was inside. It doesn’t make sense to break in when someone is inside, does it? D-Did they want to hurt me?”

They exchange a look that doesn’t make me feel better.

“We’ll send more patrol cars to the area and look up footage from all nearby cameras,” the female officer reassures me. “In the meantime, is there another place you could spend the night? Someone you could call? You might feel safer somewhere else for the time being.”

When they leave after saying-but-not-saying they can’t do anything about the break-ins right now, I’m left with a sense of raw fear.

I knew I had to move out of here, but this is different. Because now I can’t bring myself to spend one more second between these four walls that no longer form my safe place.

It’s ruined.

Everything is.

Angry tears roll down my cheeks before I can stop them. Police don’t seem to be in any hurry to find whoever is terrorizing this building. What if something happens before they find who has been breaking in?

What if someone tries to take me again?

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