Laura Caldwell - Red Blooded Murder

I halted on the landing, a chill slinking into my bones. “Sam?”

It didn’t sound like Sam but no one else had keys to my place. No response.

“Tom? Bill?” I said, mentioning the names of my neighbors, even though the voice hadn’t sounded like either of them.

Again, nothing.

My heart started pounding harder in my chest.

I headed back downstairs, my pulse tapping against my throat. But I stopped. I realized I would have to face the media again. I could understand for the first time why celebrities complained about press and paparazzi. I stood, unmoving, unable to decide what to do.

Then that man’s voice again…“Izzy.” Then the pound, pound, pound of footsteps coming down the stairs, coming down from my condo. “Izzy?” I heard. The voice was familiar, but I could barely concentrate with the hammering of blood in my ears.

Pound, pound, pound. The footsteps were coming closer.

Press or no, I was getting out of there. I started running down the stairs. The footsteps above me were coming faster now. I was being chased. I held on to the banister, went down as fast as I could, nearly tripping.

“Izzy, stop!” I heard above me. “Where are you going?”

I finally recognized the voice. I halted, turned.

Theo. His face was twisted with irritation. He wore the same jeans, black T-shirt and army jacket that he’d had on yesterday. I had thought the outfit cute then, but now it seemed severe, militant. His long hair hung around his face, nearly hiding his features as he looked down at me.

“How did you get in here?” I asked.

“Well, I had to take the train back to the city yesterday. And then the cops picked me up, because I’d called them on the way. I spent the night with that guy Vaughn. The dude is a prick, but I told him everything. Told him we were together Friday night. After the police station, I went home, and I got something to show you, and I came right here.”

“How did you get in here?” I demanded.

He shrugged. “I saw all the press, so I waited near the door. I said I was your brother. Your neighbor or somebody left, and I caught the door. I came in and made sure those dudes-” he gestured with his chin toward the front of the building “-stayed out.”

“And you’ve just been sitting in my stairwell? For how long?”

He shrugged again. “A couple of hours.”

I took one slow step back. Then another. He was freaking me out. I didn’t trust him anymore. I couldn’t believe I ever had. “I think you should leave. Right now.”

“Jeez, girl, I just wanted to show you something.” His face grew more irritated, angry. It scared me to see him like that.

“You know there are a mass of reporters right out that door?” But even I could hear that the threat was lame. He could get down the steps and grab me in a second.

“I’m about to leave,” he said. “But I told you I have to show you something first.”

Pound, pound, pound. He came down the steps, growing closer to me. My heart thumped even louder against my ribs.

“Stop,” I said, holding up my hand. “Just stop. What do you want to show me?”

He reached into the breast pocket of his jacket.

My breath stopped. What was he doing?

He pulled something from the jacket. It was square. Blue.

“It’s my passport,” he said. “It says I was in Mexico on Monday, just like I told you.” He bent down and tossed the passport. It bounced and skidded to a step above me.

I picked it up, looked at his photo-admittedly adorable, a sexy twist to his mouth. I flipped through the pages. And there it was-an entry stamp for Mexico on Monday. An exit stamp for yesterday.

I looked up at him, my brain reeling with the surreal of him, of this situation. For a second, I craved the calm familiarity that I used to have with Sam, missed the days when we were together, when he understood every notion my mind seemed to register, every little twinge my body felt and I understood his.

Theo sat down on a step and put his arms on his knees. He seemed to realize that my thoughts and my emotions were spinning, whirling, that they were having a very hard time landing.

“I was going to tell you, you know,” he said.

“Tell me what?”

“About Jane. And me. Izzy, I’ve only known you for a week.” He no longer looked anxious or irritated but rather wistful and compassionate and something else I couldn’t read. He tucked a lock of hair behind his ears. “But it feels like I’ve known you longer.” He took a breath, then exhaled loud. “Look, inside my head, I’m older than twenty-one. But I’m still learning things-about relationships, about sex, about work. I’m changing all the time. And I’m different now than I was when I was with Jane. I’m into you in a whole different way.” He seemed earnest. He seemed as if he was telling me the truth. But it was obvious to me I had absolutely no fricking clue what the truth was anymore.

“And yet the only reason you hit on me,” I said, “the only reason you slept with me, was to get back at Jane. Because you were in love with her.”

“No, I’m over Jane. I have been for a while, and I hadn’t seen her in forever before that night. When I ran into you guys, and she introduced us, I was just playing at first, hitting on you to try to make her crazy, but she didn’t care, and then I realized I did. About you. There’s just something about you.”

I looked at his passport again, and thought about everything I’d learned about Theo in that week. He had never lied to me, I realized. He had omitted information, certainly, but I understood what he was saying. We’d only known each other such a short time, just a weekend, really. When I thought about it, he had never really done anything wrong, not that I could tell. And his passport proved that he couldn’t have killed Jane.

“I’m sorry I accused you,” I said.

He smiled. “You didn’t accuse. You asked.”

“I guess I was surprised. To hear about the Jane thing. And I think I felt stupid.”

He nodded. “That’s not fun.”

I shrugged. “It wasn’t. But it’s also not fun to be accused. I know that. So I’m…I’m sorry I accused you.”

He gazed at me. “What can I do? I want to help you.” He was so big physically, and there was also the presence of him, which took up so much space. Yet right now, he looked helpless. And young.

The stairwell was growing warm, stifling almost. Outside I could hear muted chatter from the media.

“C’mere,” Theo said, standing.

I stood, silent. Finally, I took a step up, then another and another until I was one above him and our faces were even, until I could breathe in that Theo scent that had made me crazy all last weekend. And it still worked. The human, sexual part of me that couldn’t be turned off was turned on. But my brain wouldn’t let me go there.

“What can I do?” he said again. His voice was soft. I stared at his cushioned lips. “What can I do?” He put his hands on my waist.

“Theo, I can’t,” I said, pulling back a little.

“Shh,” he said. “We’re not…We’re just…” Slowly, his hands still on my waist, he drew me closer; slowly he wrapped his big arms around me, pulling me into him, curling me against his body, stroking my hair, holding me.

I shuddered with comfort. And finally, I clung to him.

We stayed like that for minutes. Five, maybe, then time stretched. It must have been ten minutes and then fifteen. Neither of us moved. Something about being there soothed me, restored me, almost.

But then the calm of the moment was shattered by a banging sound, then a buzzing noise, then loud knocking. I could hear the buzzer reverberate upstairs in my apartment.

“Do you want to answer it?” Theo asked.