“Forget about it,” I said quickly.
Blinking, she watched me curiously and gave a nervous smile. Her lips were swollen from crying. “Alright.”
Wanting to escape the moment, I turned for the door. I said, “Bad dreams happen to everyone. Do you want me to... to get you anything?”
Her smile touched her eyes. “Could you leave the door cracked for me? The hallway light makes me feel better. I know, it sounds stupid.”
A weird flutter hit my belly. “Are you scared of the dark?”
“No.” She looked at the window. “It's not that. Could you just do it? Please?”
Deciding not to pry, I ducked my head and inched out the door. I left it partly open, big enough for a hand to fit through. “See you in the morning, Marina.”
Behind me, her voice was soft. “Goodnight, Kite.”
The floorboards were colder than usual. My body was heavy, limbs not holding warmth. All the blood had gone to my head, flooding and choking my brain.
I had a suspicion about why Marina wanted the door open. It was something so ridiculous, so bizarre...
And I was sure I was right.
Marina had told the truth, she wasn't scared of the dark. She could have opened her blinds and flooded the room with the city if that was the issue. What she had wanted was an opening. Something that connected her to another human.
In this case... to me.
Sitting on my bed, I put my forehead in my hands. If she thinks that being closer to me makes her safer, that I'm a source of protection from whatever her nightmares are, she's wrong.
I couldn't bring Marina comfort.
Only tragedy.
- Chapter 8 -
Jacob
––––––––
The sun was still down when the knock came.
Moving from the front room's window, I walked through the blueish shadows. I hadn't turned any lights on yet. With the city back-lighting me, I didn't need to.
Through the peephole, I saw Kite's face. He looked just as grim when I opened the door. “Didn't think you'd be awake so soon,” I said.
He tossed something at me; my car keys jingled, the edge digging into my closed fist. “Thought you'd want those back.”
“And you thought I needed them now?” I asked. “What if I'd been sleeping.”
Arching an eyebrow, he scanned me from head to toe. “It doesn't look like you even tried. Did you even change clothes?”
Touching the front of my dark green shirt, I scowled. “Of course I changed.”
“But you didn't sleep.”
I allowed a cracked smile to spread. “No, I didn't sleep. Come inside.”
He started to, then froze on the threshold. “Actually, I was going to suggest something.”
That was when I saw the bloodshot stains in his eyes. “You didn't sleep either.”
“Not a wink,” he admitted.
Lifting my chin, I squeezed my car keys tight. “Tell me where we need to go. I'll drive.”
Kite shook his head, moving so I could enter the silent hallway. “No,” he whispered. “Where I want to go, your car has already been in the recent hours. Taking mine will be less suspicious.”
And then I knew. “Her apartment. Is she sleeping right now?”
“She was when I checked on her. I think we can risk a brief excursion without her wondering where I am, if she does wake up.”
We took the stairs, jogging down without speaking. It wasn't until we were safely in the confines of Kite's Mercedes that I resumed the conversation. “You went there last night with her. Did you see anything?”
He sped through the relatively quiet streets of the city. “No. I couldn't check much, she was right there. I didn't see her pack anything suspicious.”
“Hopefully we find it in her apartment, then.” My sigh was loud. “Otherwise we have to accept she hid it somewhere. Maybe with a friend.”
Kite pushed the gas harder. “I don't think so. I checked her phone, Jacob. She had no one in there.”
I sat up straighter, glancing at him and his subtle frown. “That's strange. Good for us, though. Makes the chances of someone reporting her missing less likely.”
He went quiet.
We pulled down the street from Marina's complex. It was getting light enough out that leaving such an expensive car in the parking lot of a run down apartment was too conspicuous.
Together, we walked; long strides that carried us to the front door. Our hands wore matching gloves, insuring we'd leave no fingerprints.
I slid a long metal pin from my pocket. Picking a lock was a simple task. “Hm,” I mumbled. “This one is a little sticky.” I twisted the pick back and forth. Finally, I heard the metallic bang of the bolt shifting. “Bad craftsmanship,” I explained.
Standing, I turned the knob and let us inside. Something crunched under my foot. Looking down, I saw the sheets of paper and wrinkled magazines. Stacks of empty soda bottles had gathered in a crate by the door.
“Messier than your place,” I chuckled.