Red

Part 27

Mallery

When Bucky dropped me off, I almost turned right back around and invited him up. But I knew I needed some time alone, to think about how things had gone today and to be alone with my thoughts. I said hello to Sam, talking with him for a few minutes.

"Melinda May is running our exterior security tonight," he tells me, showing me her photo. "She's an experienced guard, and her skills might be better than mine."

"Sounds good to me, Sam." I give him a little wave as I head to the elevators and make my way up to my floor. When I enter my apartment, something seems off. I drop my stuff by the door and slowly walk around the unit. I don't see anything odd or out of place, but I can't shake the feeling that someone other than me has been inside recently.

Grabbing my bags, I unpack and take a shower, washing off the day, the tears, the pain, the exhaustion. I'm debating what to order for dinner when I swear I hear the front door open. Peeking my head around the shower curtain, I call out, "Bucky? Steve?"

I get no answer, so I finish up quickly, jumping out to wrap my robe around me and wandering out to the living room. My door is locked and no one is there; I'm getting frustrated and confused.

Grabbing my phone, I call down to Sam and tell him what's going on. "I'll check the cameras and sweep the floors. Sit tight inside, and I'll call you when I'm finished." He's brusque, so unlike his normal, jovial tone, but this is work.

I dry off, pulling on sweatpants, a sports bra, and a long sleeve shirt. I grab some socks and begin pulling those on when Bucky texts me to tell me he's leaving the gym and offers one more time to come over. I contemplate asking him to come but think better of it and tell him to go home. Sam will find nothing, and I'll be fine.

About thirty minutes later, Sam finally calls me back. "I didn't find anything. Rumlow did tell me that they've been finding some animals here and there. Maybe that's what you heard?"

"Yeah, probably. Might be time to call an exterminator, Sam," I say, forcing a laugh. I know what I heard; there is no animal large enough in this building to make those sounds.

"I'll let the boss know. Call if you need anything." Sam disconnects, and I pace around the apartment for a little bit before calming myself down. I make some ramen and put on reruns of some sitcom, willing myself to settle in for the night. My mail is sitting on my coffee table, and I reach over to sift through it. I actually get a little excited because my final license paperwork has come through, and I'm now not only legally licensed to carry a handgun, but the .22 in my bedside drawer is fully registered to me.

Texting Tash a picture of the paperwork, I get no response, but I don't expect one until tomorrow. Finally, cleaning up the kitchen and checking the door to make sure it's locked and the chain is in place, I go to bed, tossing and turning for a while before Bucky texts me good night. I still don't tell him how uncomfortable I am, but I chalk up these feelings to anxiety over the case.

I reach into the bedside drawer and unlock the case, drawing out the .22 and holding it in my palm. I don't love the idea of the gun; I probably never will. But, with the safety on, I slide it under my pillow, my hand still curled loosely around it, and it doesn't take long for me to fall asleep.

It feels like not long after I've drifted off that I'm awoken to a hollow tapping sound. I sit up hazily, trying to figure out where the sound could be coming from. The hardest thing to get used to here is the utter silence, so hearing a steady noise now has the hair on the back of my neck standing at full attention. I glance at my phone to see it's about 2:17 in the morning. My hand pulls the .22 instinctively with me as I climb out of bed. Tash taught me how to holster it in my waistband.