Lisa Jones - Being Me

Chris pulls me around to face him, and I slide my arms under his jacket. He is warm and the wind is cold. “Don’t do what you’re doing,” he orders.

“What am I doing?”

“If you felt that you were in danger, if you ever feel that you’re in danger, don’t ignore that feeling.”

“And if it is a random power outage?”

“How do you define random?” he asked.

“I don’t know. It’s not a city-wide thing like I thought it might be. I just . . . I don’t know what I think.”

“We’ll figure it out together.” His fingers brand my hips, and the possessive way they splay there makes me believe him.

“Can I help you folks?”

We turn to find the maintenance man behind us and I’m amazed at how fast he’s arrived, or maybe time just goes by quickly when Chris is holding me. I suspect that is the case when Chris releases me, and I wish he hadn’t.

Chris indicates his flashlight with a lift of his hand. “The power went out before we could lock up. We just want to get it sealed up and then we’re on our way.”

The man scrubs his jaw. “I wasn’t aware we had anyone inside when the power blew. I went inside and checked for anyone who needed help.”

“I was inside,” I say. “And it wasn’t fun. Someone shut the outer door and I couldn’t seem to get out.”

The man frowns. “The door’s open, ma’am. It was open when I went inside.”

“Because I opened it,” I say, pointing out the obvious, and I can’t keep the defensiveness out of my voice.

“You have cameras in this place?” Chris asks.

“We do,” he said. “But no power means no camera.”

“Surely the remote security has its own feed,” Chris argues.

“We aren’t sophisticated here, mister. It’s all us.”

Chris’s brows furrow. “Then maybe you should get more sophisticated. She could have been hurt.”

“We’ve never had anyone hurt on site,” the man argues.

Chris looks like he’s going to argue but then clamps his lips together. “We just want to lock up our unit and be out of your way.”

“What’s the number?” the man asks.

“One-twelve,” I tell him.

He scrubs his jaw. “Oh right. I was the one you talked to on the phone. I see that unit is on my pending auction list again. It’s past due.”

“But the office manager gave me a one-week extension.”

“Almost two weeks ago,” he said. “And that was me.”

“We’ll pay for another month,” Chris says, and I cringe.

I turn to face him and he pretends not to notice the objection in my face when I know he does. He focuses on the maintenance man. “Let us lock up and we’ll come to the office and pay.”

“That’ll be fine,” the man agrees.

Chris takes my hand. “Don’t argue.”

“I don’t want you to pay my bills,” I say softly as we walk toward the building.

“I know.”

“I don’t need you to take care of me, Chris.”

He glances down at me. “Questionable after tonight.”

“I’ll pretend you didn’t say that, because I’m sure you wouldn’t want me to keep feeling the sting of my decision over and over again. That would be downright not nice of you.”

“I want you safe.”

“I am. I’m safe. And I have a check from the gallery coming soon to pay the rent here. I planned to beg for more time and pay them then.”

“Now you don’t have to,” he said. “And what are you going to do about your job at the school?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“You aren’t answering the question.”

“I have time to decide.” I don’t know how in tune he is with the school system and the new mayor’s budget cuts since he’s in Paris half the year. “This is the second year that the public high schools have shorter years and longer days. I don’t start back until October first.”

We stop at the door of the building and Chris turns on the flashlight. “You know you aren’t going back. You should tell them now so they can replace you.”

“I can’t talk about this now,” I say as we stop at the doorway of the building, and the darkness starts to creep me out. I move closer to Chris and wrap my arm around his. “I just want to get in and out of here.”

Chris flips on the flashlight. We take several steps forward and I hear that noise that had freaked me out in the dark alone. Pop. Pop . I stop dead in my tracks. “What is that?”

Chris slowly moves the flashlight around in the darkness and there is a crackling sound and another pop. He settles the glow on the wall by the floor and leads me forward. He squats next to a light socket and I follow him down into the beam of the light to stare at the outlet. There is a paper clip shoved inside the hole of one plug.

My chest tightens. “I guess we now know how to define random.” I meet his stare. “I need to make sure nothing obvious is missing in the unit.”

Chris pushes to his feet and takes me with him and we find the unit door shut. “I suspect the guy we just talked to shut it.”

Right. Of course. That makes sense. “I still want to look inside.”

He pulls open the door and shines the light around the room, focusing on the papers on the floor. “I dropped those,” I tell him, reliving my panic.

“Do you need whatever they are?”

“No,” I say, just wanting out of here. “Not now.”

“Then everything else looks in order?”

“Yes. It doesn’t seem like whoever was here touched anything inside.” Unless they knew exactly what they wanted and where it was, a voice in my head says. Perhaps more journals? There are many pieces of Rebecca’s life, including how she arrived and left the gallery, that are missing from what I’ve read. I don’t know why this hasn’t hit me until now. Rebecca was too consistent with her writing to skip long periods of time. If I’m right, there has to be at least a few more journals, and it would make sense for them to be in the unit. Or they were, until tonight.

Thirty minutes later, I am leaning against the wall of the small, boxlike office of the storage unit, remotely aware that Chris is in deep conversation with the manager. My Dark Prince can pretty much do or say whatever he wants right now if it gets me out of this place sooner. I manage to stay present in the conversation long enough to hear Chris secure a month of free rental, but then that’s not surprising since Chris all but flattens the office manager with a promise of a lawsuit over the danger I’d been put in.

Danger . That word has me checking out and into my own head. I tell myself Chris is excessively protective, and while it feels good to have someone care, he’s also blowing up the fear in my mind that I’m quite capable of exaggerating without his aid. My thoughts go on a roller-coaster ride of wicked possibilities that has me in knots. If I was in danger in that storage unit, am I in danger now? What have I gotten myself into? And what did Rebecca get herself into? I cannot help but relive the events in the darkness, replaying alternate endings, and none of them are happy. How does everyone just say she’s off with some hot man and not miss her?

My gut twists and my mind goes to Ella. I’ve dismissed her silence as a happy honeymoon and a friend who’s forgotten me in the midst of passion and newfound love. This isn’t so hard for me to believe of Ella. She’s alone and hungry for the sense of belonging this man has given her. But isn’t that hunger a vulnerability the wrong man could take advantage of?

Suddenly, I need to hear Ella’s voice, and if she’s forgotten me for wedded bliss, I will happily scold her. I just need to know she’s okay. I’m the only one Ella has to miss her. Ella knowing I am there for her, that if she ever isn’t okay someone will care, is important to me.