Beneath the Surface: A Gripping Psychological Thriller by Hoopes L L

Author:Hoopes, L L
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2024-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 12

Sarah

Saturday morning I wake up with dark circles under my eyes that look more like craters than shadows. I got very little sleep last night as my mind kept replaying the noise at the office over and over again, interrupted only by the question of whether I’d left the front door unlocked or Janice had. All of this had led to nightmares and tossing and turning. My sheets look like I wrestled an alligator in them and my body feels like I lost.

I turn on the shower, hoping the hot water will take away the aches and invigorate me, but even when it’s done, I still feel less than human. I pull on a pair of sweats and my favorite lounge t-shirt and head to the kitchen for coffee.

Before I have a chance to start the pot, a knock sounds at my door. I glance at my watch and sigh. It’s early but not unacceptably early. My mother always used to say ‘we don’t call or knock on people’s doors after nine pm or before nine am.’ Telemarketers must never have gotten that training unfortunately as I’ve had several call me before nine, but I don’t have that excuse this morning anyway as it’s already almost ten.

As I walk to the door, I realize I should have checked my phone first. What if it’s JD showing up to make sure I’m okay? I certainly can’t open the door looking like this. On the other hand, if we’re going to have a future, he’ll see me like this at some point, and maybe he can console me and reassure me that everything is okay.

I look through the peephole and sag with relief when I see Janice. She stands on my doorway with coffees in one hand and a bag that I’m almost certain holds a fritter in the other.

“To what do I owe this surprise?” I ask her as I open the door.

“What? Friends can’t show up with coffee and donuts for no reason?”

I chuckle and step back to allow her to enter. “Of course they can, but you normally don’t.”

A look of chagrin crosses her face at my emphasis. “I always mean to but weekends generally get away from me. Regardless, this is my thank you for saving me last night.” She shuts the front door and follows me to the kitchen. “By the way, are you okay? Because no offense, but you look like death warmed over.”

“Thanks,” I say wryly. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well, and you don’t need to thank me for last night. It’s my job.” But I don’t mind the coffee. I can tell from the first sip that it’s better than what I make at home.

“I know, but I cut your dinner short and then I felt even worse when you told me about the cute guy. If I hadn’t called you out early, maybe you would have gotten his number. ” She opens the bag and, using a napkin, reaches in and pulls out a fritter, handing it to me.

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