Storm warning, p.13
Storm Warning, page 13
Thirty-Five
9:19 p.m.
Out on the walkway, the rain lashes us. The wind keeps us off-balance the whole time we walk, making us stumble like a couple of drunks on Bourbon Street. If only…
“Shitfire,” Stanley says under his breath. I can barely hear him.
I yell at him over the wind. “Are we out of our minds?”
“Do you want to go back?”
I shake my head. “I couldn’t forgive myself if anything happened to Ethan. Not after Alaina.”
“Let’s head to the stairs at the south end. Closer to Ethan.”
“Okay.”
But Stanley doesn’t move. “I’m not trying to make trouble, Jake.” He’s still yelling. “Holding on to Lloyd’s gun. I just want to protect myself.”
“I know—”
“Besides, I am trained to use it. And I’m trained to do other things.”
“It’s okay, Stanley. Can we go now? The sooner we find Ethan, the sooner we get back.”
Stanley heads quickly toward the south stairs. Considering his age, he’s pretty spry. I worry he’s going to slip and fall. But he doesn’t.
When we reach the stairs Stanley starts dashing up them, but then immediately stops ahead of me. He stops so abruptly I almost run right into his back.
“What’s the matter?” I yell over the wind and rain. I can see only Stanley’s back. Nothing else.
Stanley steps to the side and points without a word.
Isaac sits on the seventh-floor walkway like a pudgy king. He shakes his head, trying to get water off his body, and lets out a long, plaintive meow at us.
I’ve been inside Ethan’s apartment only once. As soon as I walked in the door, Isaac ran away and hid in the bedroom. Ethan apologized on behalf of his cat, insisted Isaac wasn’t used to being around people, no matter how many times they came to the apartment.
But Isaac doesn’t run away from us now. He remains on the top step, still trying to shake himself dry.
“Well, there’s the damn cat,” Stanley says in a loud voice before he starts moving again, passing Isaac as if he isn’t there.
I stop when I reach the landing. Isaac looks up at me and meows again. He’s trembling.
Stanley urges me forward. “Come on, Jake.”
I yell up the stairs at Stanley. “Why is he out here? He’s an indoor cat.”
“How do I know?”
“It’s odd, right?”
“Do you want to ask him? Let’s get going.”
“We can’t just leave him here. Don’t you want to bring him to Ethan?”
“Ethan can get him.”
“Have a heart, Stanley.” I bend down and try to lift Isaac with one hand. He’s too fat, so I scoop him up with both hands. Isaac meows and fusses. I brace myself for a scratch or a bite, but he eventually relaxes, letting me hold him close to my body. I unzip my hoodie and slide him inside. “Okay, Isaac. You’re okay now. Let’s go find Ethan.”
Stanley rolls his eyes. “Are you ready now? I thought you were in such a hurry to get this over with.”
“I am. But…he’s like a drowned rat.”
“He is a drowned rat. Now, come on.”
Stanley continues up the stairs. Isaac is still against my body, quickly starting to purr.
The outline of the Glock bulges beneath the fabric of Stanley’s shirt. Its very presence makes me nervous, but I’m trusting Stanley—and Lloyd—to know what he’s doing.
We gain the seventh-floor walkway and start down. Ethan’s apartment is a third of the way along.
When we reach the door, Stanley knocks. No, he doesn’t knock. In order to be heard over the wind and rain, he pounds.
“Ethan? Open up.”
“Easy, Stanley. You’ll scare the crap out of the poor kid.”
“It’s urgent, Jake. He needs to know that.”
“He probably has a handle on that. Didn’t you tell him we were all hiding out together?”
“I did.”
“Well—did he get it?”
“He was scared, sure.”
“He’s a sensitive guy, Stanley.” I step closer to the door, Isaac suddenly squirming in my hoodie. “Ethan?” I say at the same time as I knock. I try to do it gently. But how do you knock gently and still manage to be heard over the sound of a hurricane? “Ethan?”
Stanley grunts impatience next to me. He takes hold of the doorknob, twisting it to the right.
And Ethan’s door swings wide-open.
Thirty-Six
The apartment smells like stale cigarette smoke.
It’s like opening the door to my grandparents’ house when I was a kid. I nearly gag.
Everything is completely dark. Not even a candle glows.
Stanley lifts his flashlight and clicks it on, sending a cone of light into the room from the door. We take in the stained carpet, a full ashtray on the table, a few fast-food wrappers and plastic Coke bottles. A stack of magazines and some paperback fantasy novels…
“He must have left, Jake.”
“And gone where? Out into the storm? Ethan doesn’t go outside when the weather’s perfect.”
“You said you saw him downstairs.”
Isaac purrs against my chest again. “He was supposed to be trying to get Isaac out from under the bed. That’s what you told me. Well, here’s Isaac. Where’s Ethan?”
“I don’t know. Maybe Isaac ran away, and the kid’s out looking for him.”
“You did talk to him, right? You came up here, knocked on his door, and spoke to him?”
Stanley turns to me, his face indignant. “Are you calling me a liar, Jake? Why would I lie about that?”
“Then he must be here….”
“If he’s in there, why isn’t he answering?”
“Ethan? It’s Jake and Stanley. You okay, man? I have Isaac. I think he misses you.”
No response. Just the purring of the cat and the howling of the wind and rain.
“I’m going in,” I say to Stanley. “Shine that beam ahead so I don’t fall.”
Stanley taps my arm, the Glock in his outstretched hand. “Take it, Jake.”
“No way, Stanley. We don’t need anyone getting shot.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
“Just—let’s just be careful. Okay?”
“You have your family to think about, Jake. They’re right downstairs. Maybe we should go back down. If Ethan doesn’t want to come with us…that’s his call.”
“Stanley, you’re the one that wanted to come up here in the first place. Now that we’re here, I’m going in. You can go back downstairs if you want, but I wish you’d stay, because I’m scared out of my fucking mind. I can’t make you—”
“Okay, okay. Go ahead.”
I take a deep breath. Maybe Stanley’s right. Maybe I’m a fool.
Maybe Ethan is fine.
For all I know, he’s downstairs with the others by now.
I think of how anxious and troubled he seemed earlier. I blew him off, focusing on my own issues. If I’d stayed to listen, would things be different now?
“I’m coming in, Ethan. Stanley’s with me. And so is Isaac.”
I move into the apartment, stepping like a man walking over quicksand.
Stanley hovers behind me, the flashlight beam guiding my way. It sweeps around the living room, revealing more clutter. On a large table to the right sits Ethan’s workspace—two computer monitors, a tangle of cables, a printer. Dirty dishes litter the kitchen counters.
I reach the hallway leading to the bedroom. “Ethan?”
I wait, my head tilted to one side.
“Did you say something, Stanley?”
“No.”
“Did you hear that?”
“I didn’t hear anything besides the blood pumping in my ears.”
The noise reaches me again. It’s faint. Almost like a whimpering.
“Ethan? Is that you?”
“Jake, I think you’re—”
“Shh. Listen.”
I strain my ears and hear it again. A barely audible noise coming from the bedroom.
I rush for the bedroom door.
“Jake, wait—”
But I don’t listen. I’m in the room a second later, Stanley behind me with the flashlight.
The bed is unmade, the covers strewn across the mattress. A pair of old loafers, some pants, and a pair of boxers litter the floor. I bend down, look under the bed. Stanley shines his light.
“Nothing, Jake.”
But now I smell something.
Cigarettes. Someone’s smoking in here. More accurately, someone’s smoking in the—
I cross the room to the closet door and throw it open. I push the hanging clothes aside to reveal Ethan, sitting as far back in the corner as he can go, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, his knees pulled up to his chest like he’s a child.
Thirty-Seven
I crouch in front of Ethan. It’s almost impossible to squeeze my body into the cramped space of the closet.
Hanging clothes brush my face, and I push them away.
Ethan winces, backs away from me like I’m radioactive. Or like I mean to do him harm.
“Easy, Ethan. It’s just Stanley and me. Are you hurt?”
He doesn’t respond. He takes a long drag on the cigarette, which is almost burned down to the filter.
“And look here.” I open my hoodie. “It’s Isaac. He’s fine. We found him on the steps.”
Ethan’s eyes widen. He puts the cigarette out against the wall, leaving a long, dark smear of ash on the fading white paint. He reaches for the cat.
I’m more than happy to hand Isaac back.
But not as happy as Ethan, who clutches his pet tightly to his chest. Isaac’s purring grows loud enough for all of us to hear.
“Ethan, did you hear me? Did something happen? Why are you hiding?”
He strokes the cat, his eyes averted from mine. It’s as if he’s been rendered speechless by shock.
“Let’s get him out of here, Jake.”
“Can you walk, Ethan? We’re all in Lloyd’s apartment. It’s the safest place in the building. He said you can bring Isaac.”
Some of the tension goes out of Ethan’s body. For the first time, he looks at me. His bloodshot eyes appear haunted. I’m not sure if he’s spooked about the storm, Isaac, or something else entirely.
I think back to when I saw him downstairs, lurking around the parking garage. His words come back to me. I’m not a bad guy, am I, Jake?
Why would someone as harmless as Ethan ask such a question?
But there’s no time to sort through that now.
“Ethan, you need to get up. The storm’s about to make landfall, and then it’s only going to get worse. You’re too high up here. Let’s get you and Isaac down to Lloyd’s. We’re going to barricade ourselves in and ride this thing out.”
Ethan stirs. He shifts his weight like he’s about to stand up.
We’re moving in the right direction. I stand, hold out my hand to Ethan, his clothes brushing against my back.
Just as I start to feel optimistic, Ethan sinks back against the wall, clutching Isaac even more tightly to his chest.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Maybe we should go, Jake. He’s in the closet. He’s with the cat. He’s safe. Maybe this is what he wants. Maybe he doesn’t want to leave.”
“Bullshit, Stanley. He should be downstairs. For a lot of reasons. And you know what they are.” I turn back to Ethan. “Come on, man. Please.”
“I’m too scared.”
“We’re all scared, Ethan. Shit, I’m fucking terrified. That’s why we need to be together. We can share the load.”
“I’m scared of him,” he says.
“Who?”
Ethan clams up, clutches Isaac so tightly the cat makes a mewling protest.
“He’s crazy, Jake. Let’s go. I’m scared of this storm.”
“Who are you scared of, Ethan?” He doesn’t respond, and I can’t help myself. I shake him the tiniest bit. “Who?”
Ethan looks past me. I can’t tell if he’s trying to indicate something outside of the apartment or if he means—
“Stanley? Are you scared of Stanley?”
“That’s asinine, Jake. He’s out of his mind—”
Ethan shakes his head. “Not Stanley, no. I’m scared of the guy who came into the apartment. He came into the apartment when it was completely dark.” Ethan looks right into my eyes. “He tried to kill me.”
Thirty-Eight
It takes a few minutes, but we manage to coax Ethan out of the closet.
We assure him there’s no one else in the apartment, that the two of us just went through the whole place and didn’t see anyone else.
Ethan sits on the edge of the unmade bed with Isaac still clutched against his chest. Isaac looks content, the exact opposite of Ethan, who somehow manages to hold on to the cat while his hands light another cigarette. The glow from our flashlights makes everyone’s features look harsh and stark.
“Why don’t we go downstairs, Ethan?” I ask. “You can tell us the rest of the story once we’re down there.”
Ethan shakes his head. “No, no, that would be too much for me, man. I don’t think I can leave here.”
“Are you sure someone tried to kill you?” Stanley asks. “I mean, come on.”
I gaze at Stanley and he gazes back at me. We both know what happened to Dallas. I don’t think Ethan even knows about that. So it’s not impossible to believe that someone—maybe the same person who killed Dallas—came into Ethan’s apartment and tried to hurt him.
“What happened, Ethan?” I ask.
“Stanley came by, trying to get me to go downstairs with everybody else. And I told him I couldn’t leave without Isaac. He was hiding under the bed. The storm was really freaking him out. The building keeps creaking. Have you heard that?”
“We have.”
“It sounds pretty bad,” Ethan says. “Worse than I’ve ever heard it. Anyway, I was down on the floor, trying to get Isaac to come out. I had just gotten my hands on him, and that’s when the power went out. Complete blackout, right?”
“Sure.”
“When that happened, Isaac slipped out of my hands. I got up to find my phone, to use the flashlight. When I did that, I realized— Look, I don’t know what happened. Either I didn’t shut the door all the way when Stanley left or maybe the wind blew it open, but someone was in the apartment with me.” He takes two quick puffs on the cigarette. “I could just feel them, you know? Feel them in here with me. I’m incredibly empathic.”
“Okay, so you felt someone in here with you.”
“I thought maybe it was Stanley. Coming back to get me.”
“It wasn’t me,” Stanley says.
“I know that now, but I said your name. And the guy didn’t answer. Instead, he came after me. He grabbed at me, and we went to the floor. I was trying to get him off me, and we started fighting. I’m scrawny, but I can fight pretty good if I have to. I managed to get out from under him. I ran back to the bedroom and went to the closet. I should have run out the door, but I wasn’t thinking straight. Anyway, it sounded like the guy rooted around for a while, like he was looking for something, and then he left.” Ethan pulls Isaac even closer to his chest. “I feel terrible.”
“Are you hurt?” Stanley asks.
“No. I feel terrible that I left Isaac alone out here. I should have grabbed him, but I ran away like a little baby. He must have gotten out when the guy left.”
“Did you get a look at this guy?”
“It was too dark to see.”
“Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. What do you think he wanted?”
“We don’t know,” I say. “Possibly he was a looter.”
Ethan’s eyes move back and forth between Stanley and me. “What are you not telling me?”
Stanley and I exchange another look.
“What is it? I know you’re hiding something. I told you, I’m empathic as shit.”
Ethan’s too smart to let us get away with not telling him. And he’s going to find out as soon as he gets downstairs anyway. Maybe this will motivate him to vacate his apartment.
“Okay, Ethan, you better prepare yourself for some bad news.” I then tell him about Dallas and how maybe—probably—the same guy who came into Ethan’s apartment and attacked him might have killed Dallas. “You have a lot of expensive computer equipment in here. Maybe he knew that. Let’s face it—most of us don’t have anything like this. At most, we have phones or TVs. Maybe a little jewelry. But your stuff looks like it might be worth a lot.”
Even in the pale beam of the flashlight, Ethan’s skin blanches. He swallows hard. “That guy killed Dallas. And he meant to kill me.”
“Well, maybe…but, listen—you’re okay. You were lucky. And it didn’t look like anything is missing.”
“That’s weird, right?” Stanley asks. “You said you could hear the guy rooting around, but it doesn’t look like anything is missing. I’ve seen your setup more than once. He didn’t grab any of the computer gear.”
I jump in. “Maybe he couldn’t carry it. There are a lot of cables and things. It wouldn’t make sense to carry all that out into a hurricane.”
“Yeah,” Ethan says. “I guess so….”
“Why don’t we get downstairs before things get worse?” I ask. “Bring Isaac with you.”
Ethan nods. He looks childlike as he pushes himself off the bed and starts to move to the living room, Stanley’s beam leading the way. We walk behind him. Stanley shines the light over Ethan’s desk and workstation.
“Nothing’s missing that I can see,” Ethan says. “Some of the papers are moved around, is all.”
