Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ruby

I love this movie, and I’ve seen it before. That’s a good thing because right now I’m doing a lousy job of paying attention. Even though we’re sitting at opposite ends of the sofa, I can’t help being distracted by Miguel’s presence.

There’s a man in my apartment. And, he’s not leaving anytime soon. In fact, he’ll be spending the night—maybe many nights.

I watch him out of the corner of my eye. He’s got the ankle of one foot casually propped up on his other knee. One arm is resting on the sofa arm. Even though we’re sitting several feet apart, I can feel his presence.

When a door slams down the hall from my apartment, I jump. I look at Miguel to see if he noticed, but his attention is on the TV screen.

He downs his sparkling water pretty quickly and sets the empty bottle on a coaster on the coffee table.

“Would you like another one?” I ask.

“Thanks, but no. I’m good.”

Pumpkin jumps up on the sofa to join us. He walks across my lap, then goes to check out Miguel. He ends up curling up on the sofa between us. I smile when I notice Miguel reaching over to rub Pumpkin’s belly.

The movie’s intense at times, keeping me on my toes. But I jump for real every time I hear a noise coming from outside my apartment. I hear people walking down the hall, voices, a dog barking in another apartment. These noises are typical, but for some reason, having Miguel here makes them seem a bit less threatening.

When the movie ends and the credits roll, Miguel says, “That was good.”

I cover my mouth when I yawn. “I’m glad you liked it.” I stand and collect our empty bottles. “It’s getting late. I guess I’ll head to bed.”

He stands and stretches, arching his back and extending his muscular arms with a deep groan. “Is there anything I can help with?”

I gesture toward the kitchen. “You could put these in the recycling bin, while I grab some bedding for the sofa.”

Miguel disposes of the empty bottles, then joins me at the linen closet, where I grab a pillow, sheets, and a blanket.

He takes them from me. “I’ll make up the bed.”

As I stand this close to him, he seems even taller than I remember. “If you need anything, just let me know.”

“I’ll be fine,” he says, giving me a gentle smile. “If you hear anything in the night, come get me, okay? That’s why I’m here.”

“Okay.” If something does happen, I’m glad I don’t have to deal with it alone. “If you get hungry—” I point toward the kitchen “—help yourself.”

He nods patiently. “Don’t worry, I will. Sleep well.”

“All right, then. Good night.” I nod toward my bedroom. “I guess I’ll hit the hay.”

To my surprise, I’m finding it hard to tear myself away from him. I’m not used to having company. Or companionship. Or even a friend. It feels… good.

As I walk away, he remains standing in the same spot, watching me go, as if it’s his job to be sure I make it to my bedroom okay.

After I make a pit stop in the bathroom to pee and brush my teeth, I head to my bedroom and change into my nightgown. Pumpkin’s already curled up at the foot of my bed. He lifts his head, one eye opening partway, then lies back down. As soon as I slide between the cool sheets, he gets up and resettles next to me, pressing against my side.

“G’night, Punkie.” When I scratch the back of his neck, he starts purring.

My bedroom is nearly pitch black at night thanks to the light-blocking drapes hanging in the window. They’re thick, heavy drapes designed to block out not just light but also sound. Sometimes the parking lot behind the building can get a bit noisy late at night, even into the wee hours, especially on weekends.

I reach over to open the top drawer of my nightstand and open my bottle of melatonin. I pop a cherry-flavored tablet into my mouth and let it dissolve under my tongue.

The apartment is quiet, and I wonder if Miguel is in bed yet. Is he one of those people who goes to bed early and gets up early, or is he a night owl?

The apartment is so quiet.

Is he reading?

On his phone?

Texting his friends about this weird new assignment of his?

Is he bored?

Does he regret agreeing to this job?

My mind races with lots of questions and concerns and zero answers.

I hope he can get comfortable on the sofa. I know it’s fine to sleep on because I’ve slept on it many times. I’m just worried because there’s no way he can stretch out fully—it’s not long enough for him.

I should have offered to let him use my bed, because I fit just fine on the sofa. I’ve slept on it on those nights when he keeps throwing pebbles at my window, and I can’t sleep.

I stroke Pumpkin’s back. “There’s a stranger sleeping on our sofa.”

Pumpkin stretches and lets out a chirping sound. I think he approves of our house guest.

“He seems nice,” I say. “You seemed to like him well enough.”

I thought I’d have a harder time having someone in my apartment, but Miguel’s so nice, he’s easy to have around. There’s something about him. He seems to exude an air of quiet confidence, and that’s really an attractive trait in a man.

I start in on my breathing exercises in an effort to calm my pulse and relax so I can sleep.

I repeat my mantra to myself, over and over.

It’s okay.

Everything’s okay.

You’re safe.

And it works. I feel my pulse gradually slowing and my muscles relaxing. My eyelids start to grow heavy.

* * *

When I wake up, I check the time. It’s just after seven-thirty. It’s the first time I slept through the night in a long time. I didn’t hear a sound. Not the ping of a pebble hitting my window. No thump of something heavy hitting my apartment door. Nothing.

I can’t remember the last time I had a quiet, uneventful night.

I wonder what Miguel thinks. I’m so afraid he’ll think it’s all in my head.

I sit up and turn on the bedside lamp. Pumpkin squints at me and rolls onto his back, stretching his torso.

“I actually slept through the night,” I say. Pumpkin jumps off the bed and walks to the door. “I know, I know. You want breakfast. Just a minute.”

I listen carefully for any signs that Miguel is up, but I don’t hear anything. I need to visit the bathroom, but I’d hate to wake him up if he’s still asleep. That’s the downside to sleeping on the sofa—you have no privacy at all.

But my bladder is insistent, so I get out of bed, throw on my robe, and quietly let myself out of my room. As soon as I step out of my bedroom, I see there’s a light on in the living room. I walk in that direction and find Miguel dressed and sitting on the chair by the sofa. He’s back to reading his book.

“Good morning,” I say.

He glances. “Good morning. I hope you slept well.”

“Actually, I did. It was a quiet night.”

After I get washed up and dressed, I return to the living room to find Miguel in the kitchen making coffee.

I feed Pumpkin, who’s meowing eagerly as he winds himself around my ankles. “I’m making scrambled eggs and toast for breakfast. Would you like some?”

“Yes, please,” he says.

While I make breakfast, I can’t help wondering what he’s thinking about. Last night was a perfectly normal, perfectly quiet night. Nothing went bump in the night. I wonder if he’s starting to doubt my claims.

As I carry our food to the table, Miguel opens the balcony drapes. “Do you mind if I open the door?”

“Go right ahead.”

As soon as he slides the door open, I feel a slight breeze and hear the birds chirping in the trees across the parking lot.

Miguel brings the coffee pot to the table and pours us each a cup. “How do you like your coffee?”

“Sugar and cream. Sugar’s on the table. Creamer’s in the fridge. I’ll get it.”

Miguel sits and takes a bite of his scrambled eggs. “These are good.”

I nod as I pour some French vanilla creamer into my coffee and offer him the bottle, but he declines.

“I drink it black, thanks.” He watches me for a moment. “You’re awfully quiet this morning. Is everything okay?”

I nod as I take a sip of my coffee. I can still feel his gaze on me. “Nothing happened last night.”

He nods as he takes another bite of food. After he swallows, he says, “Is that a good thing or bad?”

“I’m just wondering what you’re thinking.”

“About what?”

“The stalker. I’m afraid you’ll think I made it up.”

He sets his coffee mug down. “No, I don’t think you made it up. I really don’t have an opinion yet.”

I realize I have nothing to show for my claims, not one shred of evidence. In hindsight, I wish I’d kept the notes, but at the time they creeped me out and I just wanted to get rid of them. As for the dead animals, I could have showed the roadkill to Darren before I had him throw them away. Then I’d have a witness. I’ve been so stupid. I missed so many opportunities to gather evidence. And now when I have someone here, someone willing to believe me, I have nothing to show him.

“Ruby?”

Startled, I glance at Miguel. “I’m sorry, what?”

“I asked you, what’s wrong?”

“I just realized that I should have kept the notes and taken pictures of the roadkill. Then I’d have proof. Or, I could have shown it to Darren. Then I’d have a witness. But instead I have nothing.”

“Hey, it’s okay. People generally don’t think about things like that when they’re scared. Don’t worry. We’ll get the evidence.”

I wish I was as optimistic as he is.

After breakfast, Miguel demonstrates how to arm and disarm the new security system. The security code is my birthday, which makes it easy.

“The alarm is tied in to a twenty-four-seven call center at McIntyre Security. If it goes off, they’ll call you to ask if everything’s okay. Honestly, most alarm events are simply accidents. Just give them your code word—pumpkin—and they’ll cancel the alarm. If you don’t answer their call, or if you don’t give them the correct code word, they’ll summon the police immediately. If you’re under duress—if there’s someone in here with you—give the call center an incorrect code word. That will tip them off that you need help.”

He makes me practice arming and disarming the system a few times. Then he installs an app on my phone and shows me how to use it to control the system remotely—like from my bedroom.

“Will you be all right on your own for a little while?” he asks. “I’d like to go talk to your building manager about putting cameras in the hallway.”

“Sure, I’ll be fine. I need to get to work anyway.”

“Where can I find him?”

“Either in the office or in the maintenance room. Both are on the ground floor.”

I nod. “I won’t be gone long,” he says, and then he lets himself out the door.

I lock up after him and head to my studio.