Hyde, an Urban Fantasy (3 page)

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Eden stormed into her apartment and locked the deadbolt behind her. For once, the tiny, two-bedroom, one-bath apartment didn’t make her feel claustrophobic. The walls that usually felt as if they were closing in on her were exactly what she needed. Something small and familiar to surround her with a sense of safety, regardless of the truth of it. This place had never been her
home
, though she’d tried to make it one for her and Carter. The cheap, second-hand furniture in various shades of greenish-brown and the appliances in 1970’s almond-yellow were a comfort compared to the modern chic she’d just left. The devil-you-know sort of thing. The devil-you-don’t-wake-up-naked-next-to sort of thing.

After a quick glance at the door to Carter’s room, she ran through the kitchen to the bathroom. Carter wouldn’t be home for another two weeks, but she still shut the door before ripping off her clothes and tossing them into the trash. Despite the scalding hot water pouring down on her, she shivered, scrubbing her body clean.

She took the showerhead off its clip, turned the spray from “rain” to “pounding”, and aimed it between her legs. The water punished that sensitive area
he’d
been inside of. What had she done to end up at a stranger’s house with no memory of any of it?

The sleepwalking had started when Eden was thirteen and disappeared by seventeen. So much of it was lost in her subconscious. Even back then, what she supposedly did or said bothered her, but ultimately didn’t matter. It wasn’t as if she killed people in her sleep.

She knew it had started again, but this? No. Six years. It had been six years with no more waking up in the kitchen with crumbs on her pajamas, surrounded by food that would normally have made her gag. Six years of knowing she’d still be in her bed in the morning and not in another room. And the entire twenty-three years of her existence of never waking up with anyone. While the life she’d
thought
she was living crumbled around her, she remembered what it used to be.

Good times, good times.
Four foster homes. A group home. Lots of tears. Confusion. Dread. She’d started sleepwalking in foster home number two. Or was it three? Shortly after it had become a regular component of her nights, her state-assigned social worker sent her to a therapist. The shrink had said that her particular sleep disorder usually occurred in younger children and disappeared by adolescence. Therefore, his theory was that Eden’s issues involved something deep and dark from her past. Apparently, by thirteen, kids in the system were supposed to have worked all that stuff out and be
normal
. Yeah, right. Eden had confessed that the deep and dark thing was probably the sound of her foster father slipping into her room after everyone else in the house went to bed.

The therapist had cut the session short to make a phone call. Eden hadn’t even gotten to the ‘it’s all my psycho mother’s fault’ discussion. Isn’t that what one was supposed to tell a shrink—true or not? Granted, in Eden’s case, it was undoubtedly part of it.

Eden had been placed in a different home immediately, but the sleepwalking came with her. Then, one more foster home and two group homes later, it just stopped.

Until now.

A few days before, she’d woken up fully dressed, the front door part-way open, mud on her shoes. It had scared the living heck out of her, but nothing in comparison to this.

God, when will Carter come home?
She slumped down against the edge of the bathtub and slid the rest of the way, curling her legs to her chest as the water shot up toward the ceiling. She didn’t even bother to wipe the wet strands of hair from her eyes.

How could she tell him what she’d done? Their relationship wasn’t a romantic one, but for some reason she still felt as if she’d cheated on him. The idea that Carter had been with other women didn’t bother her at all—it was totally understandable. She had no claim on him, no reason to expect his fidelity. Of course, she’d never had any proof that he was sleeping with or dating anyone. He kept that part of his life to himself. They’d been ‘together’ for years as best friends, roommates, co-dependents, but she’d have to be completely delusional to think he was celibate. Like she used to be. Did it count if she hadn’t done it knowingly?

She climbed to her feet and turned off the water. Wrapping a towel around herself, she trudged into her bedroom and put on some clothes. A turtleneck and long pants in the summer, as if covering her body would lessen her vulnerability.

Carter might not answer his phone, but hearing his voice on the voicemail recording would be something. Something to reconnect her to reality. He picked up on the third ring.

“Hey, babe.” His voice felt like a blanket, a warm, thick cover to hide under.

“Carter? Can you talk?” The shaking started again, forcing her to hold the phone tighter to her ear.

“What’s up? Are you okay?”

“I am now. I—I need to talk to you about something.”

“I only have about two minutes. We’re heading into class. What’s wrong?”

Two minutes to bare her soul, put some of this weight onto his shoulders and let him obsess about it until he got home . . . or decided not to come home at all. Pass the Crime Tech exam and stay in Key West. “I’m not sure you want to know. When are you coming back?”

“A week and a half more of classes, and then we have the wrap-up sessions. I come home on a Monday, I think. Then I’ll be prepping for the forensics’ exam and hopefully be doing some slave-labor interning at the station in Ft. Lauderdale. My flight info is on the calendar. Is everything okay?”

“Ye—No.”

“What is it? You sound upset.”

She couldn’t lie to him, the feeling of nausea she’d had since this morning gaining strength. “I’m having sleep issues.”
Well, that’s the understatement of the year.

“Oh, crap. That sucks.” Relief filled his voice and she hated the sound of it, knowing that once she told him everything, she’d never hear it again. “Well, stop eating all of my ice cream before bed. Too much sugar isn’t good for you.”

She didn’t think it was possible to smile again, but she felt the corners of her mouth lifting. “I only had a little.”

“And no caffeine after noon. Maybe a warm glass of milk before bed would help you sleep.”

“I need to get more. The ones we had went bad.”

“Both of them? Are you sure?”

“I’m a smart girl, Carter. I’m pretty sure milk shouldn’t be chunky.”

 In the background, metal met metal and a voice called out, “Carter! Hand-to-hand training. Let’s—” The voice sounded muffled as if Carter had covered the phone.

“Carter?”

“I gotta go, Eden.
Class is starting.”

 “They teach hand-to-hand training to forensic students?”

“Um . . . yeah. That’s what we call protocols for Chain of Evidence. You know, a cop’s hand to my hand to a lawyer’s hand.”

“Oh. That’s—”

“Listen, I’ll try to call you tomorrow. You sure you’re alright?”

“I will be. No worries.” Her belly tightened painfully. Maybe after she’d fallen asleep last night, and before having boatloads of sex, she’d stopped off for bad sushi.