Touch

41

Instead of checking the mailbox, I end up pacing across the living room floor, trying to decide whether or not to call my parents and ask them to come home.

I'm dialing my dad's number when I hear a car door slam in front of the house. A second later, there's a knock on the door, a hardfisted bang, followed by the sound of the doorbell ringing.

Too afraid to go to the door, I grab a pottery bowl and position myself behind the buffet, away from the windows so no one can see me.

Meanwhile the doorbell continues and so does the banging. I take a deep breath, trying to stop the tightening sensation inside my chest. The outer door swings open.

The doorknob jiggles back and forth. I click the phone on, prepared to dial 911.

But then the banging stops, just like that.

The outer door closes, too. A few seconds later, I hear the car door slam again. Slowly I move from behind the buffet to look out the window. A small dark car peels away with a screech.

But then the doorbell rings again. Shaking, I walk toward the door. "April?" a male voice calls from just behind it. I peer through the peephole. It's Zayn. And he's holding a pizza.

I unlock the door and whisk it open, having completely forgotten I ordered dinner. There's a huge grin across his face. "Did you order a large cheese with mushroom? You owe me fifteen bucks, by the way."

"You scared me."

"I can see that." He gestures toward the pottery bowl, still gripped in my hand. The mailbox is in full view now, just behind him, with the flag pointed upward. I close my eyes a moment, still able to hear the caller's voice in my mind's ear, telling me to look inside.

"What is it?" Zayn asks. I motion to the mailbox. "Do you want me to check?" I shake my head and step outside, wondering if I'm being watched.

But I don't see anyone, and nothing looks unusual. "What's wrong?" He takes a step closer to me. I inhale the cool night air and let it filter out slowly in one long and visible puff.

Aside from the screeching of Tony Miller's electric guitar at the end of the street, it's eerily quiet. I glance around, spotting Zayn's motorcycle parked on the corner.

"Did you just get here?" He nods. "Are you sure?" I ask, almost positive I would have heard the motor rumble his arrival. "Why would I lie?"

"I don't know," I say, meeting his eye. "Are you saying you don't trust me?" His dark eyes narrow. I ignore the question and look away, back toward the mailbox.

With trembling fingers I open it up.

There's a large manila envelope inside with my name written on the front. "Another photo," I say, recognizing the red lettering. I take the envelope, lead Zayn inside, and then lock the door. "Let me open it," he says.

"If he recently left it, it may still have his energy. I might be able to sense something." We sit opposite one another at the kitchen island. Zayn brushes his fingers over the surface of the envelope. "Do you feel anything?" I ask.

He closes his eyes to concentrate. The muscles in his forearms pulse. "Soon," he whispers, letting out a giant breath.

"Soon what?" Instead of answering, he opens the flap and reaches inside. He pulls out a bunch of cut-up photos. I take a closer look, noticing how they appear to be part of a whole.

Zayn flips through them, running his fingers over the edges. "It's a puzzle, isn't it?" I say. Zayn spreads the pieces flat on the marble surface and begins to put the image together.

The bright red letters scrawled across the photo's surface makes it easier. It's only a matter of seconds before the message becomes clear.

"Time's almost up," I whisper, reading the words aloud.

It's a picture of me glancing down at my watch. "It was taken today," I say, noting that my clothes and hair are the same. "On my way to Knead." Zayn turns to me. A strand of his dark, wavy hair falls into his eyes.

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you," he says.

"Promise?"

He reaches for my hand, but then stops just shy of it. His fingers tremble, like he wants to touch me but can't.

Please, I scream inside my head. There's an aching inside me so strong my head feels suddenly dizzy.

Zayn grazes my thumb with his finger. I wonder if he can read my mind- and this is all he can manage for now. "I promise," he says.

"But right now we need to keep focused."

"Right," I agree, glancing back at the photo and the message scribbled across it. "Because there isn't much time." And my life depends on it.

· · ·

This is some deep shit I'm writing omfg.

~ Malum