Page 78 of Callan

How long has she known who I was?

I don’t have time to mull over that as I turn around and do the last thing I thought I’d do.

12

MACKENZIE

Earlier

Luckily,the superintendent is home.

After stumbling through a stupid story about why I've locked myself out––I stepped out to check on my neighbor’s cat because I’d heard her meowing on the floor––the super gives me a distrustful look and helps me get back into my apartment.

A sigh drifts out of my chest as I lock the door behind me and move my gaze around the room.

I’m suddenly resentful. There’s no need to be obsessed with this man.He’s upstairs. So what?

I push off the door and stride to the kitchen.

I keep myself busy, drinking coffee and eating a sandwich before taking a shower.

A few good minutes pass as I blow dry my hair and put on new clothes as if getting ready to go outside or have some guests, which almost never happens.

I don’t know what my plan is, or if there is a plan, but Ibrush my hair, put on some mascara and a dab of lipgloss, and try to forget about Callan.

The TV is on mute, and no matter how often I change the channel, I can’t find anything to hold my attention.

Eventually, I give up pretending that I’mnotfocused on what’s happening upstairs.

I don’t even know what’s worse.

The thought that Callan is upstairs with Carmen, the noise booming in her apartment, or the jerks zipping up the stairs like there’s a fire somewhere.

Normally, this thing should be in my report. But since he’s here, there’s nothing to report to him.

Sighing with frustration, I put my headphones on and listen to music while absently watching TV.

Despite my efforts, the music can’t cancel out the noise upstairs. The vibrations sweeping through the walls make me yank my headphones off and tilt my eyes to the ceiling.

I’d go out if it weren’t so late.

The other problem is that I’m not close to anything that’s open at this hour.

The restaurants and my favorite bookstore are a good twenty-minute walk away from here. Besides, it’s late to get out and wander on the streets.

A soft knock on my door makes me turn to stone.

My place is silent, the upstairs apartment beaming with voices and the irritating noise of shuffling steps.

I shift my eyes to the door.

A firm knock follows.

I zip up, my heart pulsing in my throat.

“Who is it?” I bellow out, trying to muster some courage.

This can’t be good.

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