Page 51 of Stay Awake
He picks up the box of groceries and crosses the street, herding me along with him, until we’re standing by a counter tiled with old-fashioned brown ceramic tiles.
“Good afternoon, Miss Reese,” says the doorman, standing up from behind the counter to greet me. “I have your key here for you.”
He hands me a key ring. My name and an apartment number are written on the tag in my own handwriting. The doorman gestures for me to enter a waiting elevator. It feels as if I’m being sucked into a vacuum as I step into the dimly lit elevator. I turn and stare helplessly at the doorman. I don’t know which floor number to press.
He leans in and presses the button for the basement, unfazed bymy confusion. It’s almost as if he expects me not to know where to go. The doors slide shut and the elevator heaves down with a sudden jolt, taking me with it.
When the doors slide open with a rattle, I step out into a long poorly lit corridor. The ceiling is low and the walls are yellowing with age. A rancid smell of cooking fumes hangs in the air mixed with a faint tinge of mildew. I walk down the long corridor looking for the apartment that corresponds with the number on the key ring.
I find the apartment at the end of the hall. There’s an envelope on the doorstep. It’s an electricity bill and it’s addressed to me.
Chapter
Thirty
Two Years Earlier
My red boxing gloves are tied together and slung over my shoulders like a necklace as Amy and I walk home after kickboxing class. I have never been so exhausted in all my life. Amy might have a great bedside manner when she’s seeing patients at the hospital, but when she puts on her boxing gloves she gives a heck of a wallop.
I was so beat after class that I slumped on a bench in the locker room with a wet towel over my head and told Amy I wasn’t physically capable of moving. She jokingly offered to order an Uber for the five-minute ride home. In the end, it was Amy’s lighthearted mockery that gave me the push I needed to get up and walk back with her in the stifling morning heat.
When we reach the landing, we both see a special delivery outside our front door. Amy picks up an enormous bundle of bloodred roses wrapped in frothy paper. A gold box of expensive chocolate truffles is tied to the flowers with an enormous matching gold bow. It’s the sort of grand romantic gesture that’s typical of Brett. He loves spoiling Amy.
“Brett said he was arranging a surprise for me because he had to leave the restaurant early the other night. This must have cost him a fortune.” Amy cradles the bouquet in her arms as we go inside.
Amy’s cell phone rings. From the muffled conversation that ensues, I gather it’s a call from the hospital. When Amy finishes the call, she asks me to put the roses in a vase for her.
“They’ve called me into work. I have to get changed quickly. My Uber will be here in ten minutes.”
While Amy takes a quick shower, I go over to the dinner table where she’s left the flower arrangement. The gold ribbon tied around the roses is tightly knotted. Shawna jumps onto the table and meows furiously as I ease the knot open with my nails.
Something sharp pricks my finger. I screech “Ouch” so loudly that the cat jumps down in panic and glares at me with her pale green eyes as if to say: “I told you so.” A trickle of blood runs down my hand.
“Are you all right?” Amy rushes out of her bedroom, freshly showered and dressed for work. She grabs her purse and keys.
“I must have cut it on something.” I clutch my finger tightly. It’s throbbing like mad.
“There’s a bottle of disinfectant in the bathroom medicine cabinet. Put some on. I’ll take a look when I get back.” The front door closes behind her as she leaves.
I wrap a Kleenex around my finger and then open the bouquet and spill the roses into a pile. There’s a small envelope among the stems. I tear open the envelope and read the gift card inside. The flowers weren’t sent anonymously. I’m surprised to discover the name on the envelope is not Amy’s name. It’s mine.
Tearing open the envelope, I pull out a generic florist’s card with a brief message.
“To L.” It’s followed by a heart.
I’m moved by Marco’s sweet gesture. I take the gold lid off the chocolate box. Inside are a dozen truffles, each individually decoratedwith swirls of contrasting colored chocolate drizzle. I call Marco to thank him for the thoughtful gift, but there’s no answer, so I text him instead.
Roses AND chocolates! You’re spoiling me!!
I pop a truffle into my mouth and savor the heady taste of chocolate and liqueur as I lie on the sofa and relax with a magazine. As I flick through the glossy pages, my eyes get heavy and I drift off, the magazine falling onto my lap.
I’m woken by a beep from my cell phone lying on a sofa cushion next to me. My eyes are so blurred I struggle to read the hazy message on the screen. It’s from Marco.
I can’t take the credit for your flowers. You must have a secret admirer!
A stab of fear pierces me as I remember my discussion with the police about stalking. I try to get up, but I’m overcome by a paralyzing exhaustion. The front door opens. Through the drowsiness that envelops me, I wonder what brought Amy back so quickly. I try to ask her but my tongue is too thick to form words.
A shadow appears on the living room wall. It’s too tall to be Amy. It’s someone else. I try to lift my head to see who it is, but my muscles don’t cooperate. Sleep overwhelms me. The shadow disappears into a black mist.
