Try Not to Breathe, page 2
“You’re overreacting, Kayla.”
“I’m not.” Kayla studied Anna for a moment, her eyes intense. “I heard from your parents too. We can deal with them after the police.” She reached into her back pocket and brought out her phone. She held the screen toward Anna, pushed it closer to her face. “See this?”
“No, no.” Anna shut her eyes. “I can’t read that. It’s too bright and hurts my head. Please, no.”
Kayla pulled the phone back. “That was a dangerous situation last night in the parking lot. It could have ended up a lot worse.”
“Let’s just take a deep breath. We’re not sure it’s a stalker. And why are you bringing up my parents?”
Kayla’s cheeks flushed. She shook her head, ponytail swinging like an ax. “I’ll read you this text I received earlier.” She cleared her throat. “ ‘Dear Kayla. We’ve been trying to reach our Anna for several days now, and she won’t answer. Her mother and I are both very worried. Also, we are both struggling with health-related issues and don’t need the additional stress. The world is dangerous for young girls. And I know there have been a series of unsolved break-ins in your area. I know these things because of my—’ ”
Anna groaned. “ ‘Because of my long career in law enforcement.’ ”
“Exactly. ‘Please tell us if Anna is okay and ask her to call or text us soon. If there is no response, I will contact the authorities in your town, many of whom I know personally. Yours, Russell Rogers.’ It’s annoying that you’ve put me in the position of getting worried texts from your parents, but I’m kind of glad, because I’ve never received a message with a salutation and a closing before. It’s like he sent this text from the 1950s.”
“Ignore it. He’ll go away.”
“I can’t just ignore it. And you know he’s not going to go away. Besides, I think it’s sweet he cares this much about his baby girl. Did you know my dad forgot my birthday? And I’m an only child.”
“Kayla, do you ever just look at your family and wonder where you came from? Like, how did these freaks produce me? We have nothing in common.”
“Anna, everybody does. That’s why I went away to college. So I didn’t have to be around my parents all the time.”
“Okay, okay.” Anna sat up, the covers spilling around her waist. The movement caused more pain in her head. She winced. Her dad’s words stabbed her heart, almost made her forget she didn’t want to speak to him. “I’ll call . . . or something. I’m on it.”
“But that’s not item number one. We have to call the police, so we can file a report about last night—”
“No, no. No police.”
“Anna, you scared me last night. When you came in the door, you looked terrified. And you never look terrified. That guy could have meant to hurt you.”
“He’s just a creep. A Peeping Tom or whatever. The Midnight Rambler who’s been all over town.”
“You said he knew your name. That’s a stalker. That’s dangerous. And another woman could be targeted next. Or he could come back here. You were crying when you came inside.”
“He just— He startled me.”
Kayla looked at the time and put her phone away. “I don’t want to give you a lecture, but I think we need to take care of this. I’m going to skip class, okay?”
“No—”
“We’ll call the police, and then you can tell your parents you’re okay. If you don’t, your dad is going to flip out. And maybe he should after last night. I can’t leave you alone here.”
“I can’t talk to my dad. About anything.”
Kayla’s hands returned to her slender hips. She moved with grace, like the high school basketball star she was, the one who had given up the sport to focus exclusively on school. “What’s the deal, anyway? You went home a few weeks ago, and you haven’t been the same since. No more class. No contact with the parents. What happened?”
Anna sat back against her pillows. Her eyes trailed across the room to the manila folder on her desk. She made a vague gesture toward it, let her hand drop back to the bed. “We fought about school. I told them I wanted to take time off. Travel or just . . . do something different. My dad can’t deal. He’s pissed about the scholarship. Always the scholarship, never me. He thinks it’s an affront to his service if I don’t take advantage of it. Like I asked him to get his leg shattered by a psycho’s bullet so I could go to college for less.”
Anna’s heart clenched. She pictured her dad hobbling around the house, dulling his pain with daily pills and more frequent pulls from his bottle of Jim Beam. How could anyone be so fearsome and so pathetic at the same time? Like a wounded lion in a nature documentary.
“I fight with my parents all the time,” Kayla said. “It’s par for the course. It will blow over. But they’re going to worry if you don’t call them—”
“It came up.”
Kayla’s right eyelid flickered. “It?”
“Tanya Burns.”
“Why did you bring that up?” Kayla spoke to Anna like she was two years old.
“It was my dad who kept talking about it.” Anna felt herself pouting. The gesture struck her as childish, but she couldn’t help it. “He defended the shooting. Of course. I knew he’d do that. And he trashed the protestors. No surprise.” Anna took a deep breath. She almost couldn’t bring herself to say it, to form the words and push them out. “Shit, Kayla, do you know what he told me? He trained Officer Shaw. He trained him. He trained the cop who killed Tanya Burns.”
Kayla’s arms fell to her sides, limp. She looked like her energy had drained out of her, through her shoes and into the floor. “Oh, fuck. Really?”
“Really. And he said it like he was proud of it.”
Kayla recovered herself, quickly resumed her role as the person who always tried to find the bright side in anything. “Okay, well, if he trained Shaw, then that was long ago. Your dad hasn’t been a cop for, like, six years, right? So he didn’t train Shaw recently. Who knows what turned the guy into a murderer?”
“That’s not the point.” Anna felt the tears stinging her eyes. “He trained him. He knew him. He defended him. He’s partially responsible for what happened.”
Kayla came forward, rested her hand on Anna’s side. “I’m sorry, hon. I really am. That’s just . . . I can’t imagine. I don’t want to leave you alone this way. You’re upset, and that guy who was outside—”
“I’m fine. Just don’t—don’t mother me.” Anna’s voice came out more sharply than she’d intended, the words cutting through the space between them like a knife.
Kayla withdrew her hand, took a step back. She shrugged, her long arms stretching, hovering over Anna’s bed.
“Kayla, look . . . I’m sorry, okay? I’ll figure it out. I will.”
“Okay, good. But . . . you should still get in touch with your parents. Think of your mom. Do it for her, if for no one else. She’s going to worry, and her health isn’t great.”
“She married him. That’s all I need to know.”
“But this is your mom. She’s so sweet.”
“She’s not always sweet.”
“She cares about you so much.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
Kayla nodded, backed away like she was retreating from the presence of an explosive device. The two roommates had reached that point before—rarely, but it happened from time to time. Kayla always withdrew, gave Anna her space. Waited for her roommate to come back around.
Anna hated being the one to push such a good friend away, but her mouth had a mind of its own.
At the bedroom door, Kayla looked back. “I’m going to lock the front door when I go. You should get up and put the chain on once I’m gone. Seriously, it’s not normal for that guy to know your name. And if you don’t contact your mom before I’m out of class, I’m stepping in. And who knows what I’ll tell them?”
“Kayla—”
“Your mom, Anna. That’s who I’m talking about. Your mom. The woman who gave birth to you. Oh, wait. I think that sounded like a lecture.” She raised her index finger, pressed it against her lips. “You know what? I don’t care. Bye.”
Anna listened, heard Kayla gather her things, then slam and lock the front door.
Everything grew quiet except the blood rushing in her ears.
“Shit,” she said.
3
Anna tossed the covers aside, felt the chill in the apartment.
The October sun looked bright, but the nights and mornings were now cool. Kayla refused to turn the heat on until November in order to save money. Anna shivered and reached for a hoodie. She loved fall but dreaded the coming winter cold.
Anna’s head thumped but with less force. She went to the front door, hooked the chain in place, as Kayla had told her to do. Just standing at the door, thinking about the night before, the creep in the parking lot . . .
It shook her. Her heart jumped like exploding popcorn kernels.
She stepped to the right, peeked through the living room blinds at the parking lot below. Her fellow tenants, backpacks slung over shoulders, shambled to their cars, sleepy eyed. Life went on. Like a little kid left out of everybody else’s fun, Anna felt a pang of regret. She could easily go to her room, throw on clothes, grab her bag, and head to campus. Sneak into the back of class if she was late, take notes. Go to office hours and beg for Jenkins’ mercy.
She shook her head, still staring at the lot.
No. She’d made her choice. She wasn’t going to live somebody else’s life anymore. Certainly not the life her dad pushed her toward. Not after what she knew.
The parking lot cleared. Despite the sunshine, the emptiness caused unease to ripple through her body. Anna scanned the area, taking in everything. Looking for the creep.
The creep. The guy—he just had to be the Rambler, right?
The Rambler was known for going through unlocked windows and sliding glass doors, only in apartments where female students lived. He rifled through drawers, taking clothing, brushes, makeup. No one had been hurt, but more than one woman woke up with the creep standing over her bed, breathing heavily in the dark night. The media had dubbed him the Midnight Rambler.
That had to be the guy on the steps. Right? The town pervert trying to get off.
But—
The guy outside had said her name. He had come after her.
The Midnight Rambler never did that. He never laid a hand on the women he creeped on.
She tried her best never to listen to her dad, never to do what he wanted anymore, but wasn’t Kayla right? Didn’t she need to call and file a report? Not for her dad or the cops. But to ensure that no other woman woke up with that creep looming over her.
Anna had put it off last night. She let Kayla calm her down, promised her roommate she’d call the cops in the morning. Kayla had even talked about going home, borrowing a gun from her uncle who had served in Afghanistan.
Anna let the slat of the blinds snap back into place. The creep never did anything during the day. And the chain and dead bolt served as solid protection.
Anna went back to the bedroom, grabbed her phone off the bedside table. “Shit.”
Three more texts from her dad. One inviting her up for the weekend from her friend Rachel in Louisville. Again.
And one from her sister Alisha.
Kiddo, can you just let the old man know you’re okay? He’s threatening to drive down there himself, and you know he can’t do that. Which means I’m going to have to get a babysitter and do it. Can you just tell him you’re okay?
Alisha. Her sweet sister. The one who was always there for her. When Anna was about ten, her mother had told her that Alisha—who had turned eighteen—was named her legal guardian in her parents’ will. Her mom had been emphatic that Anna knew she’d be taken care of, as if her mom and dad were both about to die at any moment.
Anna had asked why they hadn’t chosen Avery, since she was the oldest. But her mom had said that Alisha was the better choice and left it at that.
“The key thing, Anna,” she had said, “is that you know someone will be here for you. No matter what happens to us.”
Anna hated thinking about her parents’ mortality. And she hated thinking about Avery, who she never heard from. Who clearly didn’t care.
Anna’s stomach churned, and not from alcohol. Her guts roiled when she thought of Avery. Nine years older than Anna, Avery lived right there in the same town but never made contact. She always acted like they were distant relatives with nothing at all to say to each other. Anna bit down on her lower lip, felt a pleasant and painful pressure there. She hated herself for feeling that way, but she really wanted Avery to reach out to her now. If Avery showed the slightest interest in Anna’s well-being, she might just go along. Return to school, deal with life.
She felt weak for so desperately wanting the approval of her oldest sister, who didn’t give a shit about her.
Besides, Avery had been a cop. Just like their dad. What was the difference between them?
Anna ignored Alisha’s messages. Let the old man wonder.
She wrote back to Rachel: Invite still open?
Rachel wrote back in a nanosecond: Hell to the yes, girl. Big march for Tanya Burns. Wanna go?
A march protesting the Tanya Burns shooting? That would piss the old man off. Big-time.
Packing my boots now.
I work late. Blergh. See you when I get off. Then: Til then you can hang with Eric. He keeps asking about you.
Ignoring that, Anna wrote back: I just want to get away.
Anna tossed the phone aside, checked the room to see what she needed to pack. The manila folder she had taken from her parents’ house caught her eye. She went to it, flipped it open. She touched the yellowed clippings that covered every year of her father’s career with the Kentucky State Police. They were soft beneath her fingertips, but the headlines assaulted her eyes like the sun. . . .
Police Kill Suspect in Chase . . . Fourteen Arrested in Drug Raid . . . Murders Remain Unsolved . . . KSP Captain in Critical Condition . . .
Anna shook her head. She hated that he kept these things, hated that he was proud of them. In the wake of the Tanya Burns shooting, she couldn’t look at any of it the same. She never would be able to again. She closed the folder, stuffed the loose papers back inside, and started packing for Louisville.
4
The fight spilled out of the Lambda Upsilon house and into the middle of High Street.
Avery Rogers pulled up in her campus security vehicle, its spinning yellow bubble light likely almost invisible in the late-afternoon sun. The car, a late-model Hyundai, carried all the authority of a golf cart, and when Avery stepped out of it, no one noticed her. A beautiful fall day. Sunny, leaves just starting to change. And yet, two numbskulls had managed to start a fight?
A group of students encircled the combatants, who stood in the street throwing drunken punches that mostly missed their targets. One fighter, the smaller of the two, managed to pull his opponent’s shirt up, obscuring the guy’s vision. The smaller guy looked to be barely holding on, waiting for someone to break up the scuffle before he got killed.
Women made up half the crowd. One of them, a girl with long blond hair, was holding a can of White Claw and appeared to be crying. “Stephen. Stop it, Stephen. Oh, Stephen. Stephen, he didn’t mean it.”
The frat bros in the crowd egged the fighters on. “Dude. Get him. Get him. Try the left. The left.”
Avery wore a white uniform shirt and dark pants. She flipped her sunglasses down, the better to see the melee, and approached, keys jangling on her belt, thick-soled shoes thumping the pavement. The gold badge on her left breast identified her as a member of the Gracewood College security force. Gracewood was too small to fund and staff an actual police force.
The crowd finally noticed her, started to part and make way.
“Okay, gentlemen, okay. Knock it off. Knock it off.”
The small fighter craned his head, showed visible relief at Avery’s arrival. He took a step back and let go of the bigger guy’s shirt. The bigger guy continued to swing but, no longer supported by his enemy, he pitched forward, landing on his knees in the street.
“Oh, God. Oh, Stephen. Are you okay, baby?”
Avery bent down, leaned close to the guy who was battling his own T-shirt, trying to see. “Sir, are you okay? Do you require medical assistance?”
He pulled the T-shirt down, his head popping out like a giant turtle’s. His bloodshot eyes widened, capillaries like a road map. His mouth contorted, saliva dripping from one corner. He reached up, wiped it off with the back of his hand.
“Where is he? Where is he?”
“Easy, sir. Let’s not have any more fighting.”
The guy stood up. At least six-three, he loomed over Avery by a good six inches. His enormous gut flopped over his belt. Likely had played football in high school and now devoted his time to daily inebriation and the perpetual torturing of pledges.
“Fuck. What the . . . Who are . . .” He squinted at Avery. Eyes glassy, his hair a mop covering his forehead. “Who the fuck . . . Rent-a-cop? Oh, Christ . . .”
The guy reached out, placed his giant paw on Avery’s upper arm. He started to move her aside, trying to get past her and at his fellow combatant.
“Sir, don’t put your hands on me, please.”
He offered her a cocky grin. Perfectly straight white teeth, dental work that cost more money than she’d ever had in her life. The guy smelled like he’d bathed in Axe body spray and beer.
“Are you kidding me right now?” He applied more pressure, trying to move Avery aside.
“Stephen, stop it. Come inside.”
