The Secret Songs of D.C. Silverenn

| 18

Emi and I trudge up the metal stairs leading to our apartment. Our shoes clang on the metal stairs, a conversation between the soles of our feet rather than a verbal one. Emi hasn't spoken a word to me since leaving the venue.

I don't blame her. Honestly, I'm starting to doubt whether there truly was a threat at the classical music gala. Maybe I'm just super jumpy since that night on the street. I might've just killed our nearly ten year friendship over a non-existent threat.

It was going to happen sooner or later. Emi has always been more stable, a grounding force that kept me sane. If not for her, I wouldn't have graduated college because I would never have studied, never turned in any papers, never read my textbook or attended lectures. She is the reason I am where I am today. And I blew it. I should've listened to her.

A warm breeze whispers over my skin, plucks at my straight hair lying around my shoulders. It would've been the perfect evening. I hadn't enjoyed playing this much in a long time. The music just felt right, and the people around me seemed to like it, too. We might've even been offered to do another gig if we hadn't left. Guilt swells inside me along with tears.

It's too late to salvage. It's all over.

The end of our five-story climb is in sight. Our apartment sits just one more flight of stairs above us. I take another step when Emi's hand lands on the sleeve of my black sweater.

"I thought we left the light on."

My gaze drifts up to our apartment, right by the stairs. She's right; the window blends into the night. I sigh. Another problem to deal with. "The bulb must've burned. I'll buy a replacement first thing tomorrow."

Emi scoffs. "With what money?"

"With whatever I've earned..." I trail off. "You know what, you can have the gig money. I'll... come up with something."

Emi looks up at the apartment. In the streetlight below, I can make out her face, creased in thought.

I inhale a deep breath. Better to do damage control earlier rather than later. "Look, Emi, I'm so—"

She holds up her hand. Oh boy. She's really mad. Emi ascends the stairs quickly and quietly, managing only a few soft thuds on the stairs. I follow suit. At the door, Emi pauses, craning her ear.

There's nothing at first. All I can hear is blood rushing in my ears, my heart hammering in my chest. The doorknob is inches away, but my hand is stuck at my side. They refuse to move to my keys because there's something off. The light is always on when we get home. Sure, the bulb might've blown, but if not... someone must've tampered with it. I inhale a deep breath, trying to expel my anxiety. I'm not one for breathing techniques, but a slow exhale never hurts.

Right now, it doesn't really help, either.

Air rustles behind the door. I freeze, my eyes widening. I turn to Emi, who's equally motionless. Fear paralyzes her features.

I tune my ears to the silence, searching for a slightest noise that might disturb it. This is nonsense. You're just paranoid. The stillness is drawn tighter. I'm acutely aware of the twitches in my fingers and legs. And then I hear it, the softest breaths, in and out, in and out. Panic rises inside me, as does adrenaline. My heart beat rises in tempo against my chest.

There's a slight shuffling behind the door, and the faintest whisper reaches us. For the first time, I'm both grateful for and terrified of the thin apartment walls.

"...ought... be here... now."

"...know but..."

The rest is unintelligible.