Chapter One
Phoebe
“Well. I’m not sure what to say, Phoebe. You did say you wanted extra shifts and here I am offering them to you.”
I gnaw at my lip, glancing at the clock, and try to calculate how much sleep I can get before I have to go back to work.
“It’s just… It’s the first day off I’ve had in over a week,” I hear myself say, not wanting to sound so whiny and failing.
I can almost hear my boss shrugging, loud scratching sounds too. A thick pencil line through my name and all my other shifts for the next week, I’m sure of it.
I’ve seen him do it to other people all the time.
“Alright, alright,” I gasp. “I’ll do it.”
Feeling the knot in my stomach starting to ball up tighter, I’m wondering if I’m not jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire, but I do need the extra money.
Graveyard shifts at the box factory don’t pay great, but it’s better than waitressing, hairdressing, or the dozen other crappy things I’ve done to get myself to where I am.
And where is that exactly?
Don’t say it Phoebes. Don’t do this to yourself.
Blowing air out of puffed cheeks, I sign off with my boss and hang up. Scanning the threadbare apartment I bust my hump every week to afford and still manage to always be behind.
Maybe it had its heyday early in the last century, but the crumbling façade of the complex matches the withered interior. And don’t even get me started on the plumbing.
Not to mention last month’s paycheck got chewed up when I had several new locks put on my front door.
I thought the past was behind me, but then the strange phone calls started. Even stuff in my locker at work.
Then finally the notes under the door.
I jump involuntarily, but it’s only Trixie sniffing at my feet.
Bending down I scoop up my baby. My one and only true friend in the whole world.
Not long after moving a second time, I went to the animal shelter to get a guard dog.
As soon as I saw Trixie though, all that changed.
My little fur baby was there waiting for me, shivering and tiny. Lonely and scared.
We were a perfect match from the first second we saw each other.
Two souls who needed each other when nobody else would have them.
She’s a guard dog of sorts, but mainly warding off my negative emotions more than frightening actual stalkers or prowlers.
She makes a face, reading my mind as I press my own into her fur before she grunts with satisfaction.
Saving my emotions for the hundredth time in one day already.
The volunteers at the shelter didn’t like to use the word, but Trixie is a mutt, through and through. A tiny, shaggy, and scrappy bundle of fur. But what she lacks in size and beauty, she makes up for with heart and she sure stole mine. That first day and every hour ever since.
“Alright baby?” I ask her, sensing she knows I’m fretting. And not just about having to go back to work either.
She suddenly lets out a low growl and a shrill bark, making me jump.
Turning in time I see the thin yellow envelope sliding under the front door and my heart stops and then starts to beat rapidly.
It’s another note. Another message.
I set Trixie down, commanding her to stay, determined to find out just who’s behind all this once and for all.
I leave the note, don’t even need to pick it up or open it to know what’s inside.
It’s just more of the same.
Taking a deep breath at the door, I swing it open and launch myself out into the hallway, sure I’ll catch whoever’s been stalking me in the act.
But the hallway is empty.
My heart is pounding in my chest and there’s blood rushing in my ears, which I can feel turning red with heat.
I’m kind of relieved in a way.
What would I do if I confronted them, whoever they are?
What am I gonna do if I ever-
Click.
The sound of my apartment door snapping shut and locking behind me makes my fiery pulse turn to ice in a second.
I’m locked out. Well and truly. It’s what all those locks are for.
The keys, my phone, and worst of all, my baby girl Trixie are all locked inside.
I could go to the neighbors for help, but truth be told, they’re also part of the reason I got those extra locks on my door.
The only other person I can think of to help me is the landlady, who also lives in the building.
Old widow Peterson, who’s nice enough most of the time but when I’m already so far behind on my rent?
I’ve been actively avoiding her for two weeks but now it feels like I don’t have a choice.
“Ah. Ms. Gold. I’ll get your rent book, just a minute,” she sighs, peering out through a chain locked door to her own apartment after I get up the courage to knock.