Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers) (8 page)

I had to park a couple of blocks away from the apartment. It was a short hike back to the security gate, and though I was feeling pretty freaked out about what I was starting to think of as my medical condition, I still kept my wits about me. It was two in the morning, time for the weirdos to be out and about. I had a moment when I wanted to chuckle, thinking I fit the description better than anyone else around. I seemed to be the only one hearing voices.

All was quiet as I made my way up to my apartment building. Lights were out in all of the apartment units except for a few that had the eerie blue glow of TV lights flickering here and there against darkened windows. I made as little noise as I could coming through the security gate, making sure it closed softly. I went upstairs to my apartment and thought about Ryder living next door. I wondered if he was already asleep.

I realized as I went upstairs that I was coming home to an empty apartment for the first time in over a year. Cynthia was always home, and she always left a light on for me on nights I had to work so late. Tonight, the apartment was dark, which gave me a moment of pause. I should have left a light on. Oh, well. I’d have to remember that for next time.

I touched key to lock, but the door just pushed open a crack, as though I’d never closed it. I stilled.

The hair rose on the back of my neck. A chill chased down my spine. You know that feeling when something really bad either could happen or did happen, but you aren’t sure which yet?

I knew I hadn’t forgotten to close my apartment door, so I wasn’t imagining things. I was sure it was locked when I left.

Goose bumps rose on my arms.

I backed away slowly, trying not to make a sound, and turned to hurry away, almost stumbling over my own feet in my quiet panic to find help. I quickly snuck along the outer corridor, ducking under Cynthia’s windowsill. Continuing around the corner, I knocked gently on Ryder’s door, not wanting to alert my possible intruder that I was around.

No answer.

My heart pounded. I knocked again.

C’mon
,
please!

Still no response.

I broke into a sweat as I thought frantically about what to do.
Should I call the police?

Footsteps echoed along the outer corridor, just out of sight. I spun around, looking in the direction I’d just come. My breath turned ragged with mounting anxiety. Someone was coming from my apartment. Where I’d just been standing. Had someone been behind me? Following me through the security gate?

Loud. Heavy. Deliberate footsteps had my heart jumping into my throat. I raised my keys, ready to stab someone with them.

“Who’s there?” Ryder’s cold, menacing voice made me think of the Dirty Harry movies, when Clint Eastwood was just about to shoot someone, and he’d taunt them in his raspy voice. Relief poured through me. I was so glad to hear his voice. “It’s me,” I squeaked.

Ryder loomed out of the shadows. He looked dark and dangerous, his jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed as he tried to see who was standing in the dark outside his door. Confirming who I was, he took a visibly deep breath, sticking something into the back waistband of his pants.

“Shit.” He tilted his head up to the sky, his eyes closed as though in silent prayer, then frowned at me and said, “Are you okay? It’s late. I wasn’t expecting you.”

My breath came out in a whoosh. I hadn’t even realized I was holding it in. “Ryder, I need help.”

“You’re shaking.” With growing concern, he reached out and rubbed the sides of my arms gently. “What’s wrong?”

In a low voice, I said, “I think someone’s in my apartment! I tried to unlock the door, but it was already open, and I tried to come get you, and I thought maybe I should call the police or something.” I said all this in a rush of relief that I wasn’t dealing with this alone.

He frowned, looking in the direction of my apartment, and pulled out his keys. “Come inside,” he instructed firmly as he unlocked the door. I followed him in. “Wait here,” he ordered. As he turned to leave, I saw what looked like a gun in that same waistband he’d shoved something into a moment ago.

Had he had a gun pointed at me in the dark? Holy shit! Who was this guy?

Before I could fully think through this new information, I found myself staring at his closed door as he stepped out and left me behind. I tried to listen but could hear nothing. He was being stealthy. After a few minutes, there still wasn’t any great ruckus, so I figured whoever had broken in hadn’t stayed. Was anything stolen? I’m not rich, and I don’t get help from family members, so everything in my apartment is hard earned.

Imagining that someone had gone in and just helped themselves to whatever they wanted was making me queasy and giving me a sense of despair. Knowing someone had been there felt, again, like being violated, and within a few moments, anger overrode my despair and displaced my fear. Twice in a day. First my car. Then my apartment. What. The. Hell.

Just when I was ready to go storming over to see what had happened, Ryder came back, looking grim. “They’re gone. You’ll have to see if anything’s missing.”

I started for the door determinedly, but he stopped me with a hand on my arm and a cautionary look.

“It’s a real mess, Taylor. It’s all tossed. It’s like they were looking for something.”

With that warning, I went to my apartment. Ryder had turned on the lights, so I saw immediately the wreck that had been my living room. Cushions from the sofa were overturned and ripped open, with stuffing strewn everywhere. The sofa had been the first piece of furniture I’d saved for and purchased that wasn’t a thrift-store buy. Ruined.

Horror washed over me as I looked over the rest of the living room.

The small potted plants that I had lovingly nurtured, because I’m not allowed to have animals in the apartment, were smashed on the floor. Shards of colorful pottery mixed with dirt were ground into the rug. DVDs were tossed here and there. Framed prints that had once added warmth and touches of bold color to the walls now had splintered, spiderwebbed glass frames and were askew or even knocked on the floor.

“My bedroom...” I whispered, looking down the hallway. The sound of my breathing was heavy in the stillness of the room. My lungs burned with emotion.

“More of the same.”

“How could this happen? How could no one have seen or heard anything?” It was such a surreal moment. I never would have thought this would happen to me.

“I was out,” he said curtly, “but believe me, I wish I’d been here.” Ryder’s face looked cut from stone. He was angry on my behalf, and that allowed me to take a deep breath, steeling myself for what I was about to find. Somehow I knew he’d been looking out for me at the club again.

The closet and its contents had been thoroughly, rudely, disrespectfully tossed. Clothes were strewn about; my expensive shoes that I leave in boxes for added protection were dumped haphazardly. My most prized drawings, completed on a variety of textured papers, which I’d saved in a cardboard moving box under my bed over many years, were upturned and scattered about the room. Some were even ripped and crumpled, which brought a hot lump of sorrow to my throat. There wasn’t much I was truly proud of, but these fell into that category. I knelt down with shaking hands and tried to gently gather up and stack the pages, placing them back in the moving boxes they had come in.

Most were salvageable, but there was one that was in pieces. As soon as I saw the colors of the ripped bits, my heart hurt. I knew which it was. It was one I kept telling myself I’d one day frame. I’d completed an impressionist image of my mother holding me as a baby in her arms, using watercolors. It was my best work, inspired by one of the only photos my aunt had where my mother actually seemed to be looking at me lovingly, like we were normal. It had taken so long to complete. Would my aunt still have that photograph? Did I have the heart to do it again?

No. I didn’t. It was lost to me forever.

“Why?” I couldn’t help asking in pained disbelief. Tears spilled shamelessly down my cheeks in hot rivulets. “I have nothing worth taking.”

“I’m sorry, Taylor,” Ryder said gruffly, on a knee beside me. He added darkly, “I’m sorry I didn’t walk in on the motherfucker.” He picked up a charcoal drawing I’d done of a big oak tree, a high school art-class assignment I’d kept. Carefully, he placed it in the box with the others I’d saved.

I looked around the rest of my room. My nightstand had been swept clean as though by an angry swipe of a hand across its surface, leaving my alarm clock, books, notes and any jewelry I hadn’t put away smashed against the wall.

My jewelry box!

I tried to find it in the mess, not because I had any valuable jewelry, but because I had some items of sentimental value. After a frantic scan around the floor, I spotted it. Like everything else, it lay damaged, its contents spread like confetti. I started sifting through the debris, picking up and discarding necklaces and bracelets, searching and searching frantically.

I didn’t even know I was murmuring “Where is it, where is it?” until Ryder cupped my arm and gently turned me to face him. His intense, pale gaze caught me, stilling me. I don’t know how he did it, but everything in me paused as his...energy surrounded me. I couldn’t look away. I felt a surge of power that raced through my veins to my mind, and somehow I could feel his need to help me. It struck me as completely strange, but I was feeling too distraught to question.

“Tell me what you’re looking for. Let me help you.”

I nodded, swiping a hand over my cheek. “A picture. A charm bracelet.” It didn’t have valuable stones, so no one could be interested in it.

His eyes caught on something protruding from under a filmy, floral scarf and he picked it up. “Is this the picture?”

I couldn’t help the smile that trembled on my lips or the fresh tears of relief that bubbled over my cheeks once again. It was old and faded. The colors had washed out a great deal, which was why I kept it out of the sun in a special place.

“Yes,” I breathed, and my heart slowed. It was the picture in which my mom and I were at the fair, standing behind one of those goofy mock-up boards where you stick your head in the hole. She was a cow with large milk udders, and I was a fuzzy baby chick. “My mom. It’s my only picture of her.”

I stared at the familiar picture, absently running my finger over the lines of her face. “You look like her.” Ryder studied it impassively. “Where is she?”

I remembered the moment the picture was taken. “I don’t know where she is. Now I just need to find the bracelet. It’s her charm bracelet.”

“Is this it?” He had reached over and flipped the jewelry box right side up to unveil the bracelet. Being heavier than my other jewelry, it hadn’t been flung out.

I hadn’t even looked. I’d been so busy looking through the piles on the floor, I’d missed the most obvious place it could still be. It was tarnished from being set aside so long, but with a good polishing, the silver would shine again. Each charm had a meaning, and my mother had explained each to me patiently that day, that one special day at the fair. I never forgot. It had been, simultaneously, the best and worst day ever.

With a quick survey of the room and glance at his wristwatch, Ryder said, “Taylor, you can’t stay here. Why don’t you come back to my place? Tomorrow we can do what we need to do in here. Do you have renter’s insurance or something like that?”

With a self-deprecating snort, I shook my head. “I figured it was a waste of money, believing it was a long shot that anything like this would happen in a gated building. I thought the money would be put to better use on my day-to-day stuff.”

“It doesn’t look like anything was broken. The lock was picked, not stripped. They were probably trying to keep quiet. We can take a look at replacing it with something stronger in the morning. Maybe call the landlord?”

“I guess I’m supposed to call the police too, but you’re right. Tomorrow is soon enough. I’m too tired right now. Listen, I really want to thank you for helping me out. This has been a nightmare, but having you here has kept me from really flipping out.” It truly had. I could feel myself calming, my tears drying up. This would have been so much worse to go through alone. Added to that, my mom’s stuff was safe.

“I’m glad I was here. We also need to talk, but it’s late.”

“About what?” I put the bracelet on my wrist, carefully, figuring it was the safest place for it.

“Tomorrow.”

“Are you sure? About me staying over? I don’t want to impose.” Our eyes met and held. Whispers of sexual energy suddenly kissed the air.

“I want to make sure you’re safe. You have somewhere else to go?” he asked brusquely.

I thought about the other tenants, and while I was friendly with many of them, I wasn’t wake-them-up-at-three-in-the-morning kind of friendly. Looking around the junk piles that some faceless thug had created in my room, I knew I didn’t want to sleep in my bed. “No.”

“C’mon. It’s not pretty, but it’s safe.”

I locked up (like it really did that much good, right?) and trailed him over to his place. This time around, I noticed more of his furnishings. Either he hadn’t finished moving in or he didn’t own much. He was worse off than I was, if this room was anything to go by. He had a couple of stuffed chairs that looked like the ones Shep had used to have. Shep had probably left them behind, unable to afford moving them or housing them. An old wooden table—small, bistro size—was next to the kitchen with two beat-up wooden chairs, and the walls were empty of anything.

“You can sleep in here,” he said, and he led the way down the hall that mirrored the hall in my apartment. He pushed open the door, and I saw that his bedroom wasn’t any more furnished than the rest of his place. There was a mattress made up with a set of clean-looking sheets pushed up to the wall on the dingy, gray carpet. It was the same nondescript, need-to-end-its-tragic-existence carpet as I had in my room, on the opposite side of the wall.

There was no other furniture, though a built-in closet on an adjacent wall was open. It housed clothing folded in an organized fashion within a somewhat-dilapidated plywood shelving unit, making me suddenly wake up and question who this guy was and whether it was really a good idea to be spending the night here. Alone. What did I really know about him except that he was...freaking hot. And an amazing kisser. And, like, eye candy in his rough-looking boots and jeans, which outlined his muscular thighs just right.