Page 57 of Voices

Tall guy: You don’t live in this building, do you?

I bite the corner of my lip and answer while still looking down at my phone.

“No. I’m in the one before this but I can walk. Thanks again.”

I try opening the door but it won’t budge. I pull the handle again and push my shoulder into the door. Nothing.

The truck shifts right before Asher slams his door, making me jump. He’s outside my door before I even realize what’s happening. He reaches through the open window and pulls on the handle by my leg. He grabs the top of the door frame with his other hand and pulls. The door opens with a loud screech as he steps to the side so I can get out, slamming the door closed behind me.

“Thank you, Asher.”

He nods and gets back in behind the wheel and drives away.

I change his contact name to his actual name as I walk to my building with my head down and get on the elevator. As I’mstepping off the elevator on my floor my phone pings twice with two new texts.

Asher: We have morning practice on Mondays and Wednesdays and weights in the afternoons. Tuesdays and Thursdays we have afternoon practices. Fridays and Saturdays are game days.

Asher: When you come the game. Gates open at 5:30 and the puck drops at seven. All our tickets are behind the benches, go to the ticket booth and give them your name. They will have your ticket with your seat number.

Me: Ok. Thanks

I wonder if Shane asked him to text me or if Asher is the silent big brother of their group? Unlocking my door, I know something is different as soon as I walk in.

I set my keys on the kitchen island as I pass it heading to the living room. It doesn’t look like anything is missing but…where are all my couch blankets? And why has my couch been moved away from the wall where I always have it?

Did Shane move them yesterday? My memory of yesterday is hazy, but I remember eating on the couch. Was it moved then? I rub a hand through my hair as I turn toward my room not wanting to give myself a headache trying to remember.

But when I open my door, I stop breathing. The pile of blankets are gone and it’s been cleaned. Like Marie, our cleaning lady from home came through and scrubbed every surface. My sheets are the same navy-blue color but they are brand new along with the pillow. It’s puffy and no longer has a crease in it from my head.

I look under my bed for the mess that always ends up under it but there’s not even a speck of dust on the floor.

What the fuck is happening?

I slowly walk to the bathroom door like there’s a bomb on the other side. It wasn’t that messy, but it had everything I needed in it. I push the door open and hold my breath as the room comes into view.

My black towel has been replaced with a light grey one along with the rug I keep by the shower. I don’t care that much about those but as I get closer to the vanity, my mouth goes dry making it hard to swallow. My heart starts beating against my chest so hard that it’s like it’s trying to escape.

I lift a shaky hand to the cabinet and slowly open it. I let out a huge sigh of relief at the sight of all the orange bottles on the shelf. I pick up the Xanax bottle and almost drop it when I see that it’s full.

How?

The others are filled as well, even the two I leave empty for the pills Pete gives me are now filled with weed.

What the fuck?

Closing the cabinet, I stare at myself in the mirror trying to figure out how this could happen. Lily is the only other person with a key.

My mother is the only one who knows about the pills, but she doesn’t have a key. And I haven’t seen her on my birthday in over five years so why would she leave Benji to come here? It doesn’t make sense.

My art!

I nearly fall on my face as I spin on my heel and run to my art room. I would normally lock it when I know she’s coming but there’s no reason for her to have been here yesterday.

The door is open, which is my first indication that someone was in it. My heartbeat is whooshing in my ears as I push the door open. Then it stops altogether when I see the sketch I drew yesterday. Of Shane. It now has a big black X through it with an arrow pointing to Shane’s face.

As I step closer on shaky legs, I see words written in my mother’s unmistakable handwriting.

Who is this?

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