The Ill-fated Lovers

Chapter 11

It was like all the air and color had drained from the universe as I stood on the sidewalk and stared up the tall faded yellow building on the corner of the street, letting out shallow breaths as my chest heaved up and down and tears mixed with rainwater rolled down my cheeks. I had just stormed out of Nick's office and took a cab to Marianne's address.

Inhaling sharply and trying to get my rampant breathing under control I wiped my nose and eyes, stood up straight, and squared my shoulders as a feeble attempt of a mask.

I walked into the building and looked at the squashed note in my hand once more to ensure the correct room number before stuffing the paper into my back pocket.

The inside of the building was well kept compared to the shithole I called home, dark brown carpets made an interesting contrast with beige walls, green leafy plants crowded corners.

The people were elderly and looked far friendlier and sane than the people who resided in my building. I took the lift up to the fourth floor. I leaned back on the railing and watched the numbers slowly go up.

I didn't know why I was so hooked by what an old lady had told me. Had I become that desperate and crazy for logical answers for my illogical problems.

Sitting in the cab on the journey to the apartment building I had two minds about it. But something in me didn't want to abort my mission and have regrets.

I'd hear her out. The lift dinged and I walked down the hallway staring at the door tops looking for apartment eight. I found it at the end of the hallway.

I rapped on the door with my knuckles and heard shuffling and what sounded like locks being turned before the door was yanked open. Marianne stood in front of me with a crutch in hand. "I knew you'd come," she said and opened the door wider and gestured with her head for me to come in.

I walked into the apartment and it was homely it reminded me of visiting my grandparents. My mother's parents. Brown couches with doyleys on the back and armrests, nick nacks and doodads crowding the small tv stand.

"Please make yourself at home," Marianne said walking up from behind me. I shuffled awkwardly to an armchair in the corner of the room and took a seat across from her. She sat in front of me, a coffee table between us with a glass of water on it. "Can I get you anything to drink? You look like you had quite the day," she said sitting forward in her seat.

I tucked my hair behind my ear. "No thank you. I was just curious about something you said yesterday. You said death is stalking me. What did you mean?" I asked, impatient for answers.

Marianne reached for the glass on the table. "I can sense it," she said taking a sip of water.

"What do you mean?" I wished she'd stop being cryptic and just spit it out.

She leaned towards me and I wondered why she was being so quiet when we were alone in the apartment or so I thought we were unless someone else was home.

"It means someone's cursed you to die and you will die." A shiver stung my spine, leaving all my nerves on end.

I took in a sharp intake of air. "What?" I yelled and she recoiled in her seat. I knew I had made a mistake.

I stood up unable to believe my own stupidity to actually make the trip to hear such a load. "Valerie please hear me out," she said and I shook my head.

I was freaked out.

"How do you know this?" I asked. "What proof do you have?"

She put her hands together, aligning her fingertips. "I was born with a certain ability," she answered stiffly.