5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Talia

I'm pacing the aisles of the 24-hour grocery store, trying to think of my next move. I can't go back to the club to retrieve my belongings, so I have to make my way back to the apartment. Behind the counter is a young guy with a nose piercing and a neck tattoo. Taking a deep breath, I steady my nerves.

"Excuse me," I say politely. "My purse was stolen when I left work. My cell phone and money were in it. May I use your phone to call my sister?" I give my best damsel in distress look, and it seems to work.

Ring, ring, ring, ring. Chewing on my lower lip, I silently beg the universe to help me. Come on, Sandy, answer your phone. She never picks up calls from unknown numbers; as my luck would have it, she doesn't pick up this time either. I make a flash decision not to leave a message since the clerk is staring at me…well, at my boobs…and I don't want him to hear what I have to tell her.

I know I must leave the store to return to the apartment, but my paranoia seems to get the best of me. It's trying to convince me that the minute I step out of the store, that killer is going to put a bullet in my head. Circling my tattoo with my thumb, I think back to when I got it. Sandy planned to move to New York and wanted me to go with her. I had just started my job at the Rum Room in San Francisco. I wasn't ready to leave the city, so after a night of lousy tequila and tacos, she dragged me to a crappy little tattoo shop to get matching tattoos. I got this tiny black bird sitting on a wire, and she got a small black bird with wings spread wide soaring across the sky. She said she'd always be with me, looking out for me, no matter where her wings took her. And she has kept that promise. Now, I need her more than ever, and I don't know how to reach her.

You can do this. Pumping myself up with confidence, I exit the store, looking up and down the street for signs of the killer. The only people I see at this late hour are a young couple holding hands heading into a bar across the street and a group of girls giggling in front of a coffee shop.

Walking briskly, I stick close to the buildings, my instincts telling me it's safer than being out in the open. I rub my arms to warm up, then wrap them around my body. I made it down the street safely, but now I must cross the open intersection. The crosswalk signal blinks, letting me know it's safe to cross. Halfway across, my feet freeze in place. There's a man half a block away walking toward me. It's him, I know it is. It looks just like him.

Oh my god, he's going to kill me. My heart is pounding so loudly in my chest that I don't hear the car horn beeping at me to get out of the way. I can't move or scream; I'm just frozen in the middle of the intersection. The car swerves around me, an older man cursing at me as he whizzes by. The man across the street is running toward me now. I can't breathe as he gets closer and closer. Running into the street, he grabs me by the wrist and pulls me onto the sidewalk.

"Are you okay?" he asks, checking me to see if I'm hurt.

Blinking rapidly, I regain focus. Realizing it's not the killer and just a man that saved me from getting run over, I suck in a deep breath. "I'm okay. I couldn't breathe for a minute, but I'm okay now. Thank you for helping me." Turning away from him, I hastily walk down the street, leaving him there shaking his head in dismay.

I travel ten more streets before ducking into a laundromat. Two college kids are making out while their clothes spin around and around in the washing machine. Sitting in the corner, I pull off my high heels and rub my sore feet. I just need a minute to rest, warm up, and collect myself. My anxiety is off the charts, and if I don't calm down, I won't make it to the apartment.

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as I sit huddled in the corner. Being surrounded by the steady hum of washing machines and occasionally clinking coins in dryers gives me temporary sanctuary. Clutching my belly protectively, I attempt to steady my pounding heart that continues to race with fear and adrenaline. Witnessing a murder, a cold-blooded act of violence, shattered my sense of safety.

The streets outside are dark and deserted, and my tiny apartment seems impossibly far away. A shadow falls across the laundromat's glass door as I collect my thoughts. My breath catches in my throat. Peering cautiously over the top of a folding table piled high with clothes, I see a man silhouetted against the dimly lit street.

My heart is racing now. Is it him? Has he tracked me here? I duck down, heart pounding in my ears. Every instinct told me to stay hidden, to wait until the man outside moved on. But time was slipping away, and I couldn't stay in this laundromat forever.

Summoning my courage, I edge toward the door, my steps slow and deliberate. I strain to see through the glass, my heart thudding painfully. The figure outside lingers, peering in as if searching for someone.

Suddenly, the man's phone rings, breaking the silence. I freeze, my breath catching. The man answers the call with a casual tone that sends relief washing over me like a cool breeze. It isn't the shooter.

Just then, my stomach rumbles, indicating I need something to eat—or should I say, the baby needs something to eat? "It's okay, baby," I whisper to my belly. Mama will get you something to eat soon. Everything is going to be alright."

Gathering my newfound strength, I carefully exit the laundromat and walk eight more streets to the apartment. I climb the stairs to the third floor and retrieve the key hidden in the dirt of the potted plant next to the front door. Unlocking the door, I slipped inside and quickly shut the door behind me. Planting my palms on either side of the peephole, I peeked outside. I don't think I was followed, but checking again makes me feel better. Thankfully, I made it home. I kicked off my high heels and entered the kitchen to get the cordless phone. Punching in Sandy's number, I held my breath until she answered.

"Hello?" Sandy asks tentatively.

"Oh, thank God!" I blurted. "I need you to come home right now. Please hurry, sis."

"Talia, slow down. What's going on? Is it the baby?" she asks, her voice getting higher with concern.

"No, the baby is fine. But I saw something at work, and now he's after me. At least, I think he is. But he'll find me; I know he will." A silent tear rolls down my cheek as I plop onto the kitchen chair.

"Who will find you? What happened?" she demands.

I can hear people talking in the background. It sounds like she's at a restaurant or a bar. In the commotion, I forgot about her date with Nick. "I saw a man get killed tonight while I was working the VIP room. A man shot another man, and I saw it happen," I whisper, choking on a sob. I relay the details until she knows everything. Sandy is silent, and the background noise grows quieter. I hear a door bang and then street noise. "Sis?"

"Talia, are you okay?"

"Yes. But I need you to come home."

"Lock the door and close all the blinds. Stay in the apartment and don't open the door for anyone. I'm going to stop by the club to get your things. I'll quietly ask some of the girls if they know anything about the man who got killed or the killer. Then we can figure out what to do."

She hangs up, and I breathe a sigh of relief. I do as she said, bolting the door and closing the blinds. Taking off my work uniform, I rummaged through my dresser drawers until I find my soft grey t-shirt and black jeans. As I got dressed, I decided it was a good idea to pack a bag. No matter the plan Sandy comes up with, I don't think I should stick around here. I need to lay low for a while until I'm sure that man isn't looking for me.

Opening all my dresser drawers, I start pulling out clothes and dropping them into my dark green suitcase. Then I collect my toiletries from the bathroom and put them in the suitcase too.

Returning to the living room, I'm too wound up to sit. I pace back and forth a few times before peeking through the closed blinds. I don't see anyone lurking outside. Then, I double-check the locks on the door.

In the kitchen, I pour myself a glass of water and drink it in one gulp before I realize my stomach is rumbling again. "Okay," I mumble to my belly. After a handful of crackers and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, my stomach finally settles.

Forcing myself to go sit on the couch, I curl up in the corner, pulling a soft quilt over my legs. Now, all I must do is wait.