Page 59 of The Tenant
“I’m not sure what you’re capable of. You’re constantly flying into uncontrollable rages over nothing. You’re extremely paranoid. You’ve basicallythreatenedme. And any hour I come home during the night, I find you wandering the house like you’re in a trance. God only knows what you’re up to.”
Is that true? I don’t wander the house all night long. Yes, my sleep has been shit. But it’s notthatbad.
Is it?
No, it’s not. Whitney is trying to get to me. She’s trying to make me think I’m losing it. She’s even making me wonder if I could somehow be responsible for what happened to my neighbor, even though I know I’m not. She’s an evil person.
All of a sudden, the overwhelming urge comes over me to reach out and wrap my fingers around Whitney’s skinny little neck. I’m much stronger than she is. All I would have to do is squeeze hard enough, and I would never have to look at her taunting smile ever again.
It would be so easy…
I can’t help but think of that psychic woman who came to our house before we found Whitney. She seemed so certain that I would stab somebody in this very living room. She said she saw me crouching over Krista’s dead body. The fear in her eyes was real—real enough that she told Krista to make a run for it. At the time, I thought the whole thing was bullshit.
But what if she got it right? Or at least part of it?
What if her vision was real, but it was the girl on the floor that she got wrong?
I take a step back, shocked by my own thoughts. I’d never stab someone to death. It’s out of the question. What is Whitney doing to me?
“I…I’m going to bed,” I mutter under my breath.
I’m not tired, but I’ve got to get out of here. I’ve got to get away from Whitney before I do something I’ll regret.
I race up the steps as fast I can, feeling Whitney’s eyes on my back the entire time.
35
The next morning,I’ve got a terrible hangover.
My head is throbbing like it used to when I had too much to drink in my early twenties. I haven’t had a hangover like this in years, and I used to drink a lot more back then. Since I’ve been with Krista, I have had no desire to go binge drinking with friends.
I hope she comes back soon.
I’m lying in bed when the doorbell rings. I grab the pillow next to me and put it over my face, hoping whoever is at the door will go away, or else maybe Whitney will answer it. But when the doorbell rings a second time, I realize that’s not going to happen. Plus, I’ve got to get to work. I’m already not Kenny’s favorite person.
I finally stumble out of bed, which only makes my headache worse. My mouth feels like it’s glued shut. I don’t know how I’m going to make it to work today. I might have to call in sick, which I hate doing. I used to be so proud of my work ethic.
As I leave my room, voices float up to the second floor from downstairs. Sounds like Whitney answered the door after all, and apparently, it’s somebody she knows. Now that I’m off the hook to answer the door, I hit the bathroom and piss for about five minutes straight.
This time, I put on a pair of sweatpants before I go downstairs. If Whitney has company, I would rather not be in my underwear. Although it’s weird, because sheneverhas company. She’s gone out a few times, but she’s never invited anyone here. Not even once. I don’t think she has one friend—none that I’ve seen anyway. Isn’t that a sign of a sociopath?
When I get halfway down the stairs, I can see Whitney talking quietly to somebody in the living room. She touches their arm. It takes me a second to figure out who it is, and I have to blink a few times, because I’m not sure I’m seeing right.
It’s Malcolm.
He’s dressed in a suit and tie, presumably on his way to another busy day at Coble & Roy, doing the job that should have been mine. I sprint down the rest of the steps, ignoring my throbbing head. Why is he here? Is he here to talk to me about Krista? Or does it have to do with Coble & Roy? And why is he talking to Whitney like they’re old friends?
Before they see me, I hover in the staircase, straining to hear what they’re talking about. But I can’t make it out. I take one step closer, holding my breath as I attempt to be as quiet as possible.
“Blake!” Malcolm calls to me. “Hey hey hey!”
Busted.
“Hey.” I make it down the rest of the steps, unable to even plaster a fake smile on my face. “What’s going on?”
Malcolm and Whitney exchange looks, which I find very strange. Whitney shoves her hands into the pockets of her jacket, flashes Malcolm a smile, and heads toward the door. “I better get to work,” she says. “I’ll let you talk to Blake.”
What was that all about?
