Page 70 of Protected in Darkness
“Good evening, Mr. Murphy.”
His attention turned to her, visually assessing her from head to toe. “Are you working tonight, dear?”
“Yes, Mr. Murphy. I am.” She smiled kindly as she relayed the information for the hundredth time since she’d moved into this building all those months ago. “It’s Friday, remember?”
“It is, yes.” The elderly man flashed teeth a tad too large for his mouth. Whoever he’d gone to for his recent denture upgrade hadn’t done him a great service. Unless he’daskedfor the beaver edition, which she doubted.
“But you’ve been gone a lot lately. I thought it changed.”
A lotin Mr. Murphy’s book being the equivalent to two days, mind you.
“It hasn’t. I’ve just been … staying with a friend,” Penelope explained when it was obvious he was waiting for more. “I came back real quick to get ready.”
And already she was missing Obsidian immensely. The coldness had started to make her bones ache from the minute she’d stepped out of the hotel, growing stronger with every mile she’d put between them. An overwhelming sadness was making her chest tight, but now that she knew what it was, she could force it down. The longer she was away from him, the more she understood the disappointment he’d felt when she insisted she returned to her apartment. Obsidian had fought tooth and nail, but finally, he’d relented. Clearly not without just cause.
The thought of him aching with longing the way she was didn’t sit well.
Honestly, she’d expected him to come with her, but at the last minute, he’d said he had something he needed to take care of.
“Sorry then.” Mr. Murphy’s eighty-seven-year-old smoker’s lungs took a brief moment to hack before his lips pulled back in another toothy grin.
“Sorry for what?”
“I told your friends you’d be back soon.”
Penelope pivoted to face him more fully. “My friends?”
“Three gentlemen.” His dark gaze bounced toward her door. “Stopped by a couple of hours ago.”
She glanced over her shoulder at her apartment door, a warning tingle dancing along her spine. “Did they happen to mention who they were?”
Mr. Murphy shook his head. “Not too friendly. I asked, but they refused to answer my questions.” His bushy brows lowered. “In fact, they didn’t utter a word. Rather unpleasant fellows.”
Since Penelope didn’t have a single friend who had ever come to visit her here—Obsidian being the exception—the entire conversation was moot. “Thanks, Mr. Murphy.”
“Anytime, young lady. But you really should tell them to keep the noise to a minimum when they visit.”
“Did they go inside?”
Her elderly neighbor nodded, his fuzzy gray hair waving. “They did. Stayed for about thirty minutes. Like I said, you should tell them to keep it down.”
Concerned as to what was going on, Penelope nodded. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
His door closed with a gentle click, and she angled her way across the wide hall. Based on the appearance of her door, there was no sign anyone had been here. Or if they had, they hadn’t forced their way inside. Good news was, it wasn’t damaged.
But it was unlocked.
Maintaining her position outside, she pushed the door open, allowed it to hit the wall with a thud.
That was when the good news ended.
“Son of a bitch,” she grumbled, taking in the destruction.
Remembering the outcome of the dumb girl in nearly every horror movie ever made, Penelope paused, listened. There were no sounds coming from inside, other than the loud hum from the cattywampus refrigerator.
“What the hell?” she mumbled as she stepped inside, glass crunching beneath her feet.
The devastation was endless. Her apartment was in shambles. The red sofa with white piping had been shredded, cushions tossed around, bleeding stuffing all over the floor. The lamp that had once curved over the sofa was lying on its side, the brass shade crushed. Her television had joined the lamp, tossed on its face, while the stand that had once been its home was splintered into dozens of pieces.
