You and Me by Veronica Larsen

Author:Veronica Larsen [Larsen, Veronica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2016-06-26T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Samantha

FRANTIC POUNDING AT MY door makes me sit upright. I look around, confused by the blue glow of the television and the otherwise empty living room.

Another round of incessant knocking reminds me of what woke me in the first place. I drag myself up off the couch and rush to the door. Peering through the peephole, I see Heath standing out in the hall, glancing at his watch. He tentatively reaches for the doorbell, seemingly unsure if he should press it, but I manage to yank the door open before he has a chance.

He freezes and pulls back from the buzzer, visibly relieved to see me. I'm not sure what's more alarming, the fact that Heath is knocking at my door at four in the morning, or that he's fully dressed, grasping the handle of a small suitcase.

"Hey, sorry to bother you," he says, not sounding very sorry. "My brother's dying and I have to be at the airport in thirty minutes."

Groggy from sleep, I squint, his words barely registering. "You need a ride to the airport?"

He smiles. "That's sweet. But no, I have a cab waiting. My issue is the first part of my statement. The part about my brother dying."

I shake my head, still not understanding him. "What? Your brother's what?"

He hands me a key. "Look, you've got a duty to Mother Earth or whatever to tend to the sick, right? Go deal with him because I'm pretty sure I'll be coming back to a shriveled up corpse if I just leave him alone like that."

"But wait—"

"Great, thanks," he says. And with the key securely in my hand, Heath heads down the hall without so much as a glance back.

I'm not sure how long I stand frozen, staring after him, but it's probably way longer than I should considering Jackson is dying.

I groan, then head down the hall to their apartment. I knock on the door a few times, no answer. I ring the doorbell, still no answer. Finally, I unlock his door and peer around it. His living room is pitch-black, and something about the darkness, the stillness of the apartment, gives me the overwhelming sensation of needing to keep quiet. Feeling very much like a cat burglar, I tiptoe inside.

"Jackson?" I call out, barely louder than a whisper.

No answer.

For the first time, real worry creeps in. Heath wouldn't have left his brother in real danger, would he?

I pass through the living room and approach the door to the left of the bathroom, which, from the layout of my own apartment, I know to be the master bedroom. Brushing away my reluctance, I push open the bedroom door. The dim orange glow from a bedside lamp illuminates the room. Jackson sits at the head of the bed, a large blanket thrown over his body, and his face lit up by the screen of the phone in his hands. Seeing him there, this typically pompous man all curled up like a little boy, tugs at my maternal instincts.

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