Page 19 of Closer Than You Think
I'm just closing my apartment door when the echo of that earlier sensation hits me again. It's like fingertips grazing the base of my neck—prickling my skin, sending a jolt straight to my core. I've been brushing off these feelings for too long, dismissing them as residual nerves from Teddy's untimely death. But now,with each shadow that flits by my peripheral vision, I can't help but think there's more at play.
“Teddy knew something,” I murmur to myself, thumbing the absent space where his tablet should be. My mind races with possibilities—coded messages, secret meetings, threats lurking behind each encrypted byte. What if his accident wasn't accidental at all? A shudder rolls through me, not from the cool air seeping in from the half-open window, but from the weight of suspicion anchoring itself to my thoughts.
“Dammit,” I chastise under my breath, “you need to find that tablet.” My resolve hardens like ice over a winter lake; I will delve into the shadows of Teddy's life, no matter how deep they may run.
My footsteps are quiet against the carpeted hallway, but my pulse is a thunderous drum in my ears. The flickering light above me buzzes intermittently, casting an uneven glow on the closed doors lining the corridor.
And then, there he is.
“Evening, Hallie,” Silas greets, his voice a low rumble that vibrates through the small space between us. His presence alone seems to absorb the weak light, heightening the contrast of dark and light around us.
“Silas,” I reply, my voice steadier than I feel. Our eyes lock, and it's as if the rest of the world falls away. There's recognition there—an unspoken acknowledgment of the charged air that crackles around us.
“Everything alright?” he asks, his gaze piercing through me with an intensity that both alarms and captivates me.
“Fine,” I lie, but the quick glance I dart down the hallway betrays my unease. His eyes follow mine briefly before returning to mine, a silent question lingering within their green depths.
“Be careful,” he says, a statement so unexpected and loaded with implications that it roots me to the spot. Then, withoutanother word, he strides past me, leaving a trail of mystery in his wake.
“Wait,” I blurt out before I can stop myself, turning to face his retreating back. “Do you ever . . . feel like you're being watched?”
Silas pauses, his silhouette framed against the stairwell's faint illumination. He turns, and the look he gives me is one of measured caution. “All the time.”
The air shifts, heavy with our shared understanding, and I'm left grappling with a whirlpool of confusion and intrigue. He knows something—I’m probably going crazy, but I swear, I can tell he knows something. But what?
“Goodnight, Miss St. James,” he calls, breaking our silent communion as he disappears down the stairway.
“Goodnight, Silas,” I whisper to the empty corridor, my heart thudding against my ribs.
I barely have one foot out of the stairwell when I spot it—a small, nondescript package sitting on my doorstep. My pulse picks up an erratic beat. It's not fear that dances up my spine this time; it's curiosity, sharp and insistent.
“Odd,” I murmur, bending to retrieve the box. The cardboard feels unnervingly cold beneath my fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth of the overly-vented hallway. I turn it over, searching for a sender’s name, but find none. Just a plain box with my name scrawled across the top in unfamiliar handwriting.
Inside my apartment, the comforting scent of jasmine from my flower arrangement does little to ease the tightnessclenching my chest. I drop my keys on the counter and carefully unwrap the package.
A rosary. Its beads are dark and glossy, spilling through my fingers like drops of ink. Something about its simplicity sends shivers down my arms. My eyes are drawn next to a slip of paper folded neatly underneath. I unfold it, the paper crackling softly in the quiet of the room.
“Stay safe.”
That's all it says, but the message screams in my mind, echoing against the walls of my skull. Who sent this? Why? Questions swirl, leaving me dizzy with speculation.
“Stay safe from what?” I whisper to the empty room, the cryptic warning resonating like a premonition. Could this be related to Teddy? Or is it just some random act meant to scare me?
I’m not religious—never have been. Teddy wasn’t either, as far I as I know. So why the hell would someone send me a rosary?
My hair stands on end as the feeling of being watched returns. I don’t have anyone to turn to. My mom lives outside of the city now, but there’s no way I could bring this danger to her doorstep.
I look at the wall separating my apartment from my new neighbor’s. It’s reckless. I don’t know anything about him. But I feel safe in his presence. Can I confide in him? That’s probably a stupid idea.
I hesitate. Trusting Silas means peeling back layers of my own guarded life, exposing vulnerabilities I've kept hidden even from myself. But I could at least ask him if he saw anyone drop off the package.
“Damn it.” The words come out as a frustrated exhale. I'm a schoolteacher, not some character in a thriller novel. This isn't my world, yet here I am, knee-deep in intrigue.
The rosary still in hand, I walk to the window and peer down at the bustling street below. Alcott City moves along, oblivious to the secrets it harbors. I know I can't ignore the warning, but neither can I rush headlong into confiding in Silas without considering the risks.
The next evening, I return from work still as confused as ever. The stairwell echoes with the solitude that clings to its walls. My footsteps are a steady thump against the carpet, a rhythm interrupted only by the erratic thumps of my own heart. My fingers trace the cool metal railing, and I ascend the final flight to my floor, the rosary's beads now a reassuring weight in my pocket.
“Safe,” I whisper to myself, a mantra against the dread that coils in my stomach. But safety feels like a foreign concept ever since the package arrived, an intruder in the quiet sanctuary of my life.
