Tangled In Strings

Chapter Fifteen

The door slams shut, creaking with resistance at the force of his drawback.

I hear Dixon's boots drift farther and farther away, and the panic surging within me sends me up onto my feet at an inhuman speed. My esophagus burns as I sprint for the window, waiting to see him exit the building. The moment he does, walking toward his police cruiser in confident strides, the call button on the wall ignites like an alarm.

I ignore it, my mind spinning at a million miles per hour. I try to locate the coherent thoughts, pushing past the ones that want to paralyze me, force me to actually recall and sit on what just happened. The part of me that wants to focus on how the nightmares, the distant memories that have consistently taken over my day-to-day thoughts, are actualized, once again.

Before I know it, I'm leaping through my apartment into my bedroom, snapping a hanger as I pull off a black zip-up raincoat and get it on fast. My fingers clumsily sift through hats with shaking fingers, and I place a black beret on my head, stuffing my platinum blonde locks beneath the tight material.

I zip to the table, where I snatch up sunglasses even though it's nearly midnight. With a scoop, I grab my purse and open the door, not thinking. I shut the door, not bothering to lock it. He has a key already.

By the time I get down the steps, Rog is halfway up them, his eyes wide with concern.

"He was here?"

"He was here." My voice struggles for volume. "I need the locks changed. He has a key. I need to use the back exit," I breathe, already heading for the hallway leading to it.

He stops by the desk, reaching for the phone. "I'm going to call the cops."

"No, I'm going there now. He'll just answer the call if you call it in."

"Okay. I'll ring you when I have the locks done!" he calls out as I push open the heavy door. The night is thick with humidity, preparing for a storm. I cut through an unkempt patch of weeds, so I end up on a different block. I zip up the jacket to my chin when I turn onto the vacant sidewalk, trying to push past the ultimate fear that he may be following me through the streets.

Shaded by the dark tint of the glasses, I peer around me nervously, relieved when I don't see a police cruiser in sight. There's a taxi that zooms by me, and I call out for it, waving my arm frantically, and it miraculously comes to a halt.

I throw open the door and slide inside, gulping in air. "Police station."

"Sure thing."

As soon as he pulls out from the curb, I dig into the contents of my purse, pulling out my cell phone. I'm not thinking clearly. If I were, I'd still be inside my apartment, devising a better plan. I dial Giovanni's number, chewing on my lip as I hear the rings pass with no answer.

It goes to voicemail. Fuck.

"Giovanni, please. I need you to call me when you get this. God, please don't be sleeping."

I hang up and pull off the sunglasses, now able to see how badly my body is responding to yet another blow to my existence, another complication with an attempt to destroy my world as I know it.

"Everything alright?"

My eyes flicker to the driver's, which are watching me carefully in the rearview mirror. I nod shortly, which is all I can muster up for him. By the time we reach the police station, I've called Giovanni three times.

I pay the driver and hop across the sidewalk. The sterile, cold room of the lobby is a place I remember well– a place I'd come to pick up Dixon for lunch, a place he'd tell me to come when he couldn't go the entire night shift without seeing me. The receptionist sees me, and her naturally drooped eyes widen slowly, clearly recognizing me beneath my makeshift disguise.