Knock three times, p.6
Knock Three Times, page 6
He taps his knuckles against the table.
Knock, knock, knock.
I wince.
“It’s the ex, isn’t it?” Mike clears his throat and pushes his glass away. “That was the unknown number. That’s who called.”
Not a question. Somehow, he knows. In the spirit of honesty, I take a deep breath and nod as he mutters something to himself that sounds like “too good to be true.”
“I appreciate your honesty, Remey.” He takes a swig of his drink and rests it on the table, pushing it away from him. “Hey, I should have known it was too soon when you told me you were moving after the split. I just—I had to ask you out when I saw you. I had to see you. It was selfish of me to rush you.”
He got all dressed up, put in all this thought and effort, and now I’ve ruined it. He thinks it’s his fault. I shake my head no, but he continues.
“Really, I get it. You don’t get over someone so easily. You can try. I thought, maybe she wants to try.” His voice softens toward the end as he continues, “Maybe I can help her.”
I rest my hand on my purse. “I really appreciate it, and if you’re willing, I’d like to try this again.”
He stares at the rose beside me and looks back up at me with a twinkle in his eye. “Whenever you’re ready, Remey. Since I first saw you, I had a feeling you’d be worth waiting for.”
I raise my brow as the server comes. How could he have known I’d be someone worth waiting for?
Mike asks the server for the bill. As the server leaves, I go to take my wallet out.
“No, this is on me,” he says, pulling out a few bills from his pocket. “And I know what you’re wondering. How could I have known you’d be single?”
It’s as if the pressure of trying to keep my composure on the date has melted away, and I can be myself. No pretenses. No force.
This time, I smile, and it’s genuine. “No. Actually, I wasn’t.”
Anyone who heard me talk about Logan, covering for his jealousy or his hot-and-cold moods, could have seen our split coming. Nicole had hoped for it.
It’s funny how my perspective changed so soon after we broke up. I realized all the excuses I was making for him were really for myself, because if I had to admit I was with a man who didn’t trust me, who liked to control me, and who took his anger out on me, it would have been harder to stay. It would have meant I was weak.
And I wanted to stay so badly because being with him seemed better than being alone. Because he always seemed to know better than me, until the night I heard those knocks.
I know I did, so how could I be so wrong?
“No?” Mike asks with a light huff of laughter. “Then tell me, Remey, what were you thinking just then?”
“I was wondering what you could have seen in me that day you asked me out. It felt like my life was falling apart. I was a mess…”
He shrugs, not seeming to mind that I couldn’t finish the thought. He gestures for us to leave. I stand, taking the rose. I lead us out of the restaurant, and he follows behind, past the other patrons, into the cold night air of the parking lot.
“So, I’m still wondering what would have made you think I’d be worth waiting for.” My breath puffs out as a cloud. I finish ordering a ride to the pharmacy to fill my prescription and turn to him. “Are you going to tell me?”
“Tell you what?” he asks playfully, taking a step toward me, closing the distance between us at the curb.
My ride is three minutes away.
I tuck my phone in my pocket and focus my attention back to him. “What made you think I was someone worth waiting for that day?”
He pulls each side of the flaps of his topcoat closed over his chest. “I knew you were sad, and I had an idea that whoever hurt you didn’t appreciate you. I had a feeling you didn’t have the support you deserved. I wanted a chance to show you something… better.”
“I see.” I nod, slightly disappointed his answer didn’t have anything to do with what he saw in me, but rather the empathy he seemed to feel for my situation. “My ride will be here in two minutes.”
“Then I guess that gives me enough time to tell you that I hope to see ‘Neighbour’ show up on my phone again. Someday.” He laughs, rubbing at the back of his neck. He takes a step away, shoving his hands in his pockets and avoiding eye contact with me.
I take a moment to smell the rose he brought me. “Thank you again for this.”
He smiles. “I hope you have a good night. Will you text me when you get back home, so I know you’re safe?”
“It won’t be for a bit—I have to make a stop. But I will,” I promise. A black car that matches the plates on the app pulls up beside the curb. “This is me.”
He nods once and opens the door for me. I climb inside, taking my seat as I stare up at him. A true gentleman, even when things went south.
“Goodnight.”
“Goodnight, Neighbour.” His playful tone and intoxicating scent linger in the car after he closes the door.
He crosses around the front of the car and strides across the parking lot. My car pulls away, and suddenly, I wish I weren’t going back to a house to be alone with my thoughts. I want to be back with Mike, where I can distract myself from my life. Which is exactly why you need to go and be by yourself, Remey. I need to learn how to deal with my own issues.
And I need to try to reconcile what happened that Saturday night with Marlena, because what Logan says doesn’t make sense. Could the medical examiner have been wrong about her time of death? Or was Logan right all along? Was I hearing things that night? The way I was hearing things in the bathroom.
I don’t know why he’d lie to me. Still, it’s odd that he called me during my very first date since we broke up. How could he know I was on a date tonight? He’d know if he was watching…
I sink down into my seat, peering out the window at the surrounding cars in the lot. I don’t recognize his black car among them. I’m probably being paranoid. It could easily be a coincidence. I check my cell phone for missed calls or messages, willing Nicole’s name to appear. When it doesn’t, I consider texting her and asking her to come over when she’s done with her date. I need to talk to someone, and the only person who understands what I need to discuss is Logan.
I have the power to change that.
I need to tell Nicole about the knocking I hear, and the crying. I need to explain what the guilt and grief are doing to me. I need someone to tell me I’m not crazy or… or to help me if I am before I sink deeper into these feelings and they swallow me whole.
8
Speeding by each of the houses, a mile apart on the McCowns’ dead-end road, all the windows are dark. Everybody’s asleep or nobody’s home. That thought intensifies my unease. It’s such a dramatic shift, going from living in a place with people on top of each other to a place where you could scream bloody murder and no one would hear you.
We approach the field of sunflowers, shadows standing tall in the moonlight. I rest my hand on my seat belt, ready to hop out and get inside. I need to take off my bra, take my sleeping pills, and get these worries off my mind until I can talk to Nicole.
My driver stops on the road, in the middle of the end of the McCowns’ driveway. He couldn’t save me the walk up the driveway? I climb out of the SUV, grab my little white paper bag and my red rose, along with my purse, and thank him before shutting the door.
I turn around to a dark house, inside and out. I forgot to turn the lights on for myself.
Really, Remey? Way to end the night.
I walk up the driveway, my ankle boot heels clicking against the pavement as the car does a three-point turn using the driveway. As the headlights flash back down the road in the direction from which we came, I’m left in the darkness. The engine behind me revs and the SUV speeds back down the street.
I stride past the bushes, peering around them to make sure that water meter reader hasn’t come back. What a silly thought. Like he’s just going to jump out of the bushes at me with his clipboard and backpack? Come on, Remey.
There’s no light guiding me toward refuge, but something inside me shouts that when I’m inside, I’ll be safe. I scurry up the rest of the driveway to the path toward the front steps, slowing by the pillars in front of the door. An odd feeling of déjà vu comes over me as I pass them, and I’m back in the underground parking, walking between the cement pillars. The echo of my boots against the cement drowned out by sirens. The bang of the metal bar on the door as I slammed it. The plastic around my fingers, tight. I clutched those garbage bags in each of my fists as two police cars screeched to a stop. The sirens stopped, too, but the red-and-blue lights flashed. The small crowd gathered around the side of the dumpster, all looking into the opening of the small, sliding door. Marlena’s hand, reaching out for help. Reaching out to knock, knock, knock.
I stop at the front door, tense with the memory, and glance at the shadows, fussing in my purse to find my keychain. I pull it out, squinting in the dark to decipher which one is for the front door.
Why didn’t I turn the outside lights on? Did I really not leave any on inside, either?
The old apartment key is the only gold one on the chain. I linger on it—cold, jagged—before flipping past it to get to the spare the McCowns made for me.
I should get rid of the key—let it go, as Nicole says.
A gust of wind blows a smokey, autumn smell through the air and chills descend my spine. I slide the key in the lock and twist it, eager to escape the outside world and the sensation of being watched. I step inside, into the warm reprieve of shelter, and twist the lock behind me. A welcome shiver washes over me with the calm silence of the house, and I set my purse and keys on the sofa table by the door, grabbing my cell phone, the white bag, and the rose. I turn to the large, shadowy foyer.
My first night here, and I didn’t think about how weird it would feel to come back to a dark house that isn’t mine, alone at night. Those things, I should have known. But I couldn’t have known how much I’d wish for the feeling of safety after Logan’s call.
Logan sounded so desperate to talk to me—to give me the news. How could he have thought it would make me feel any better? The more I think about it, the more I feel like he was just trying to get me to talk to him. If he was, he’ll do it again, even though I told him in no uncertain terms not to call me again.
And what might he say next time? Another lie? Unless he’s not lying.
I tug my boots off, and the ribbon from my ponytail slips past my shoulder, onto the tile. I grab it before I stand and walk to the kitchen, the cold tile permeating my thin socks. I turn the corner, flick the light on, and round the island counter to the fridge. I set my pills, the ribbon, and the rose on the countertop. A hollow clunking makes me jump, and I swivel around as it echoes, finishing with a little chipping noise coming from the fridge. Just the ice maker.
I open the door and peer in, grabbing a can of fizzy water.
But… huh. Didn’t I leave the kitchen lights on when I left? It was just after the meter reader left, and I could have sworn…
The hairs on my neck raise, and I twist round quickly, as if I’ll catch something behind me that was using the ice-clunking noise as a distraction or taking advantage of its convenient cover.
The kitchen is empty, or at least, I think it is. I could swear I left this kitchen light on. But I couldn’t have. I locked all the doors, but someone could have broken in through a window. The bathroom window… I closed it, didn’t I? Yes, I closed and locked it. But… how can I be sure? The urge to run down the hallway and check is thwarted by my fear of what could linger in the darkness there.
This isn’t me. I’m spiraling. Why am I so nervous—so paranoid?
Because I’m hearing things, a little voice inside me says.
I set the can on the island and step cautiously past it to the wooden table by the opening to the hallway, and grab the back of one of the chairs, staring at the bright foyer. I’m in a new place I’ve never spent the night at before, and I’m alone. I need to relax. I need to take my pill—
Knock, knock, knock.
I frown ahead at the front door, but my head instinctively tilts toward the living room at the front of the house where the faint, hollow noise came from. That sounded like glass—the front bay window?
I walk through the opening from the kitchen to the living room, between the coffee table and couch, approaching the window with a clear view of the front property. No one stands before it. No shadows linger around, save for the bare branches of the lilac bush and cedars, scattered across the lawn. The branches of a bush tap against the windowpane in the wind.
Tap, tap, tap.
Was that what I heard? It must have been.
But why did it sound like Marlena’s knocks—faint but deliberate?
Still, I approach the front window, crossing my arms over my chest, and scan the front property for a vehicle or any sign of someone’s presence. With the driveway and road empty, I turn to go back to the kitchen for my pills. I’ve never needed them more than I do right now. Even that first night after my doctor dispensed a sample, I was more focused on discovering her body. The image of her in the dumpster…
A beam of light catches my eye out front, in the distance. I turn back and lean closer to the window. A steady beam of bright light rolls across the road in the distance. Is that coming from the sunflower field? No. The headlights of a car shine brightly as it appears from behind one of the cedars out front on the left. The dark-coloured car creeps down the road going less than twenty, I’m sure. It’s dark, but I can’t make out the kind. It’s too far away.
I press my arms against my chest in an attempt to comfort myself with the realization that they were coming from the left—the dead end. There’s nothing else down there.
Could someone have knocked on the window, run across the front lawn, and gotten back in their car hidden in that dead end turn-around? I think I got to the window in time to see them running, but I guess it’s possible they’d disappeared by then.
Tap, tap, tap.
The branches tap the glass beside me, and I jump, clutching my hand to my chest.
It is possible someone knocked and ran. But why would anyone do that? Maybe it’s a teen in the area, bored on a Saturday night.
Saturday night… The last time I heard those knocks from Marlena was a Saturday.
The car disappears behind the front cedars and reappears again. I can make out the colour as it nears the streetlight further down. It’s black—for sure. Then it disappears from sight.
Logan’s car is black. But I’d have recognized that the first time around, wouldn’t I?
I’m taking everything for way more than it’s worth, and I’ll torture myself if I keep doing this. I need to get some sleep. I walk into the hallway and stride back into the kitchen.
An odd, creaking sound comes from above and I freeze, slowly scanning the ceiling in the hallway just outside the kitchen, where I’m sure the noise originated. I hold my breath, waiting to hear the sound again, but my heartbeat thuds in my ears.
Did I hear it in the first place, or did I imagine it? What I’m really wondering is if I heard the knocking or imagined it.
Your imagination, running away from you.
A creaking comes again from the attic above. Is someone up there? Could that noise just be the house?
I’m not going to investigate like the girl in the movie tonight. It’s time to call Nicole.
I walk to the front door slowly and grab my keychain, the cool metal pressing into my hand. I can’t stay in here—not with these noises—
Knock, knock, knock.
I jump at the loud noise in front of me.
I didn’t imagine that.
Someone’s here.
9
It takes all the courage I have to creep toward the eyehole and look through at the dark, empty porch on the other side. I hover my finger over the emergency call button on my cell phone as I flick on the porch lights with my other hand. Nothing. I peer out onto either side. Nothing.
That water meter reader. He was weird, wasn’t he? There was something off about him. What if he’s lurking? He came out of nowhere the first time. What do I do?
I glance over my shoulder into the house where the attic noise came from and stare at the front door, clenching my keys in my fist. I take a deep breath and open the door, step outside, and close it behind me. I tap Nicole’s name on my screen, and as it rings, I glance behind me at the front window, waiting for a shadow to cross it, or some light to reflect against it. The ringing continues, and I realize she’s probably still at the movie theatre and likely has it turned off as the voicemail message begins.
“Hi, you’ve reached Nicole McCown…”
Was it a coincidence the meter reader came right after Nicole left, when I was on my own?
After the beep, I hesitate. “Hey, Nic, I just got back from my date. It was… well… I’ll tell you about it when you call me back. Could you call me back soon? I’m feeling a little paranoid. Just hearing noises at the house and… someone knocked on the door.” Did they? “I looked right away.” Did I? “There wasn’t anyone there.” Was there? “Just call me back, please.”
I end the call and turn back to the house. Minutes ago, it felt like my only safe place. I don’t think I can go back inside—not alone. Not with those noises.
I take a step down and sit on the stairs, keeping a wide vantage point of the property lines on either side of the house. The view should give me enough time to get back inside if anyone approaches.
Crickets chirp around me. I start scrolling through my phone, looking for someone to help.
Logan is still a contact—only to make sure I recognize the number I blocked if it ever comes through. Apparently, I don’t need that anymore, now that he’s found other ways to reach me.
I scroll through to Nic. I already left her a message. She’ll get back to me as soon as she can.
I scroll back up to find “McCown” but stop short by a bit, landing on “Mike” instead. Would it be weird if I called Mike? What would I say? I’m scared—come save me. Nope. I don’t want him to come over. Never mind the rule—I don’t even know him, really, but I don’t have anyone else to call, except…
