Read on Inkitt.

Chapter 10

Twenty minutes later and I was still planted on the couch. But I had taken the time to stash a few kitchen knives around me. Behind a cushion, under the couch, and in a planter that held an extra blanket for when I came over. Also, tucked in my sports bra was a small tactical butterfly knife Alijah had given me when I graduated high school.

Running my damp palms down my black leggings, the air turned heavy. Breathing was becoming increasingly difficult. The air in the room seemed to stiffen with anticipation. I contemplated taking off my oversized hoodie. Instead I just pushed the sleeves up past my elbows opting to remain shrouded in comfort.

Closing my eyes, I took a few deep breaths. Concentrating on the couch cushion I blindly grabbed and was hugging to my chest. The one thing that I had convinced Alijah was a frill but also a necessity. A black pillow that was so soft I was certain it was woven from angel wings. The color perfectly matched the others that came with the couch. But those were scratchy and stiff. This one was solely for my comfort. That was probably all I had to say to convince Alijah to keep it. Instead I had spent nearly fifteen minutes arguing my case before arriving at that point.

Fifteen minutes well spent.

The apartment was silent. The kitchen too secluded to hear the hum of appliances. Too cool for the air conditioning to kick on. Not cold enough for the heat. I wished he had had some sort of plant life in this place instead of the plastic monstrosity in the corner. A relic left by the former tenant to hide the botched patch job they attempted on the dry wall.

Being surrounded completely by man made structures was impeding any clarity I desperately sought. I itched for some sort of sign of life other than myself. It felt like the walls were closing in. Without any thing to help ground myself, I was powerless to stop them.

Without warning I was back in the apartment. The one I shared with Baylor. The closet was always so dark and nearly soundproof. The mattress Baylor propped against the thin door helped ensure that. The only thing in there with me was a small blanket. Not that Baylor let me have it for comfort. He just didn’t want me to make a mess on the floor if I had to be left in there for an extended period of time.

The blanket was scratchy and stiff. Nothing like the pillow in my arms.

The pillow.

I honed my senses to the plush, over stuffed square. Digging my clenched fingers deeper into the angelic fabric not caring if my nails tore through. Feeling the clumps of stuffing that had formed over the years of my grabbing onto it. The fabric, utter divine softness.

Cutting off my sense of smell and hearing as best I could, reaching for the feeling of reassuring squishiness against my chest. Lush fabric padding my exposed forearms.

A pounding sounded at the corner of my dampened hearing. It was the same as when someone knocked on the door at the apartment when I was being sequestered. In the beginning, every knock had been a thud of hope. Each person who entered the apartment was an opportunity for the truth to be discovered.

Still, I remained in the closet.

Another pounding sounded.

“Noa? Noa Falaichte?”

“Alijah,” I uttered emerging from the depths of that closet. Blinking my eyes, there was light. I was not met with darkness. I was no longer locked away from the world because of my actions.

My heart thudded, echoing rhythm of the fist pounding on the door. Breaths shallow, coming too fast.

“Miss Falaichte, are you in there? It’s Detective Delany.”

Releasing the hold on my sense, I stood on shaky legs. The familiar smell of Alijah surrounded me.

“Open the door, Miss Falaichte.”

Obeying without a thought, I found a stranger on the other side of the door. A man in gray slacks and a navy button-down shirt. A detective’s badge hooked onto his belt.

“Detective Delany?” I asked with what little air had crept into my lungs.

He nodded, hands on his hips impatiently. The detective was tall and clearly fit if the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders and chest was any indication. Neatly trimmed dark hair and a beard made of scruff. If I had to guess I would have said he was in his early thirties. The crinkled skin on the edges of his brown eyes proclaimed the stress of those short years.

There was something about him that I couldn’t quite place. He smelled of fresh pine, similar to the figure from the other night. The only thing that stopped me from lunging for one of the hidden knives was another smell, underneath the pine. It was the freshness of a mountain spring. I only identified the scent from when Alijah and I would spend some time just outside of town in a cabin deeply nestled in the woods. There was a small creek running just beyond the cabin.

“Everything alright?” he asked peering over my head into the apartment. His eyes scanning. Tilting his head, he took a few quick breaths through his nose. Clearly finished with his initial assessment, he peered down at me before pushing passed.

Closing the door behind him, I watched as he stood, hands still on his hips, looking around.

“You said you were calling about your brother,” he said back facing me.

“Yes,” I answered through my closed throat.

“When was the last time you saw him?”

“Sunday, um, sir. I mean officer. Detective?” What the hell was wrong with me? Yes, the man before me was intimidating. The glare in his eyes cautioned me. More than that, there was something in his presence. It held a certain – power. A power that prevented my heart from slowing and lungs regaining some sort of normal function.

“Have you heard from him since?”

I felt his eyes following me as I walked around him into the living room.

“He left town for a few days for work,” I informed him.

“When did he leave?”

“I don’t know.” That wasn’t necessarily true but I couldn’t think clearly.

“Where did he go?”

“I don’t know.”

“When was he supposed to return?”

“I don’t know.”

Our bodies now only a foot apart as he loomed over me. His scent washed over me like static charged air. The hairs on my arms and nape rose.

“What exactly do you know, Miss Falaichte?”

The force of his tone pushed me back a step. Backs of my knees hitting the couch, I sat heavily on the cushions. The force causing the angel-soft pillow to lean into me. Absently, my hand reached for its cloud-like fluffiness. Unable to tear my eyes from his annoyed glare, I dragged the pillow onto my lap.

My pillow.

I was sitting on Alijah’s couch clutching my pillow. I wasn’t being cloistered in a dark closet by some sadist. And this man, no matter how imposing, and intimidating, was not Baylor. He was here because I called him. He was here to aid me.

Setting the pillow aside, I stood. Detective Delany took a step back, crossing his arms over his chest impatiently.

“I know enough to understand that something is not right,” I said slowly putting as much vibrato as I could behind each word.

Wherever this wave of strength came from, I didn’t care. I just latched on and dug in. My heart slowed to a steady beat. My lungs worked languidly. Filling me with an unfamiliar confidence.

“I know that my brother was supposed to be traveling for work, yet all his travel accessories are neatly stored away in this apartment as well as his suitcase. I know a colleague of his was concerned enough to call after him.”

Feeling myself owning the control I was gaining, I took a step forward, pulling my shoulders back. The air that was stifling moments ago loosened. Almost as if a light breeze swept through the room.

“I also know that I called you for help and you have done nothing but try to railroad over me.”

Detective Delany’s eyes widened slightly and his shoulders stiffened.

Pulling every ounce of energy I felt pulsing around me, I wove it through my words.

“How about you stop treating me like a suspect and tell me what you know,” I demanded, voice echoing in the room more than I thought natural. My ears rang from an unknown pressure – probably adrenaline. I had never stood up to anyone as I was with this detective.

“How do you know Alijah?” I asked feeling a bit lightheaded. My skin hummed and tingled. Each beat of my heart felt measured and heavy. I prayed this spike of adrenaline wasn’t wearing off too quickly.

Squeezing his eyes tight, Detective Delany shook his head slightly. Dropping his hands to his sides he stared at me like he was trying to figure something out.

“Do you know where he could be?” I asked. A tightness pulled across my chest. The tips of my fingers exploded in sensation, like the tail end of pins-and-needles.

“Answer me.” As I spoke the words, a veil of tranquility came over me. All the sensations I had been experiencing didn’t fade exactly. They melded into one. Landing me in a state of complete control and composure. I reached a level of physical understanding, balance.

It was my mind that had no idea what it was supposed to comprehend. Not wanting to risk losing myself in front of the detective, I just went with it. I would allow myself to breakdown later. As soon as the adrenaline wore off I was certain I would be balled up in the corner of the couch. But not now. Now I needed to maintain this assurance.

“How do you know Alijah?” I asked again. This time my voice was strong, authoritative.

Detective Delany placed a hand to his chest and rubbed its center. Shoulders deflating slightly.

“He’s worked with us for years,” he said through gritted teeth.

“As what?”

“An informant of sorts.”

Not that that tidbit of information quelled all my fears but it did help abate a few.

“Do you know where he could be?”

Rubbing his hands down his face, Delany blew out a heavy breath.

“Do you know where he could be?” I asked again. This time speaking slowly and pushing as much of myself as I could into the question.

Taking a step back, hunching like he had been punched in the chest, the detective rested his hands on his knees. I bit my bottom lip, concern on the tip of my tongue. Right now, I cared more about finding Alijah so I remained silent.

“Paper,” he wheezed, shakily pointing to the torn paper on the side table. Making no mention that his office number scribbled at the bottom.

Handing him the paper and a pen, I took a step away, giving him some space. Remaining hunched, using his left hand as a makeshift table, Detective Delany wrote something with a shaky hand. Leaning his forearm on one knee and his hand holding the pen on the other, he took a few deep breaths. Sweat glistening on his forehead.

“Can you take another step back, please?” His strangled voice startled me.

Was he having a heart attack while I was demanding information? Guilt washed over me replacing all sense of composure. It felt as if a bucket of cool water had been internally poured through me. With it returned a wave of dizziness. My skin erupted in goosebumps. Shakily, I took another step back and sat down on the couch, drained.

Detective Delany stood to his full height. Stretching himself as if he had been in a confining position for far too long. Lumbering forward, he dropped the piece of paper onto the coffee table.

“That’s where you might be able to find some answers,” he said tightly.

“Thank you.”

Reaching into his back pocket, he pulled something out and dropped it next to the paper.

“My personal cell number. Use it only in an actual emergency,” he demanded sternly.

Putting a hand to his lower lumbar, he stretched and groaned as he headed toward the door. Muttering under his breath as he closed it behind him.

Picking up the paper, I read the trembling words.

An address.