Shattered Trust

Chapter 8: Mr. Carlson's Witness

The morning air was crisp and cold, laced with the smell of rain that had fallen overnight. James lingered by his window, nursing a mug of black coffee as he tried to shake off the unsettling feeling that had settled over him since Maya's visit to the apartment. Emma had gone, and Maya's probing questions had left him feeling raw and exposed.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts. He hesitated, setting down his mug and crossing the room. Opening the door, he found Mr. Carlson standing there, his hand resting on the doorframe. His eyes gleamed with a peculiar mix of curiosity and amusement.

"Ah, James," Mr. Carlson greeted him with an unnervingly wide smile. "Hope I'm not disturbing you."

James forced a polite smile. "Morning, Mr. Carlson. Can I help you with something?"

Mr. Carlson's eyes flickered to the empty apartment, taking in the boxes and the bare walls. "Looks like you're packing up. A lot of changes happening here, huh?"

James felt his jaw clench. "Yeah, just... some personal stuff. Needed to make adjustments."

Mr. Carlson's grin widened, as though he found James's discomfort entertaining. "I've noticed. Quite the stir around here with Emma leaving and that, uh... gym buddy of yours dropping by at all hours."

James's stomach twisted, his face flushing as he tried to keep his voice steady. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm not saying anything," Mr. Carlson replied with a shrug, but his gaze remained unblinking, pinning James with a knowing stare. "It's just that this place is usually quiet, but lately, it's felt more like a soap opera. Like that young man—Tyler, right? Interesting fellow. Kept showing up at strange times. And, well, I'm an old man. I notice things."

James swallowed, his pulse racing as he tried to gauge Mr. Carlson's intentions. "It's... complicated. You know how relationships can be," he said, hoping the explanation would be enough to satisfy his neighbor.

Mr. Carlson chuckled, a low, dry sound. "Oh, I understand. Complicated, yes." He leaned a little closer, his voice dropping to a murmur. "Thing is, though, people don't usually like those kinds of... complications, especially in a nice building like this. Makes folks uncomfortable."

James felt a prickle of unease at the implication. "Are you suggesting something, Mr. Carlson?"

"Suggesting?" Mr. Carlson's smile faded, his face turning serious. "Oh, not at all. I'm just sharing my perspective as a concerned neighbor. But you know, James, there are certain... benefits to being discreet in these matters."

James's throat tightened as he understood what Mr. Carlson was getting at. "What do you want?"

Mr. Carlson's eyes lit up with satisfaction, as though he'd been waiting for that exact question. "Nothing too extravagant, just a little... consideration. Perhaps a bit of help around the building. I'm getting older, you know. I could use some help with carrying my groceries, the odd repair. And I'll keep this little secret of yours between us."

James's stomach sank. This wasn't just an offer—it was a threat, thinly veiled as neighborly advice. "You're saying that if I don't... help you, you'll tell people?"

Mr. Carlson's expression didn't change, but his silence said it all. "A little consideration goes a long way, son. People talk, and I wouldn't want to see you put in an uncomfortable situation because of a small slip in discretion."

James felt a surge of anger but kept it in check, his mind racing with a mix of fear and resentment. "Fine," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll help you, but don't think you can just push me around."

Mr. Carlson's smile returned, this time with a patronizing pat on the shoulder. "Good man. We're neighbors, after all, and neighbors help each other out. I'll see you tomorrow morning, then? I have a few boxes to bring up from my car."

James nodded stiffly, and as Mr. Carlson turned to leave, a cold feeling settled over him. He closed the door, sinking into his couch, trying to process what had just happened. The walls felt like they were closing in on him, his secret crumbling piece by piece as the people around him began to discover the truth.

He'd known the risk of what he was doing, but he'd never anticipated this—a nosy neighbor holding his secret like a weapon, poised to strike if he didn't comply. And if Mr. Carlson knew, it was only a matter of time before others did, too.