From Yesterday (7 page)

"You don't know how much that means to me, Dr. Sullivan."

Before I change my mind and take her up on her offer, I hang up.

The phone call to Dr. Sullivan took a lot longer than I expected and now I have to hurry up if I want to make the one o' clock cycling class before the library. I called the gym to make sure the scheduled instructor was going to be there and there wasn't going to be a surprise substitute in the form of Brady. I just need to make it through the day in solitude. It will help get me back on track. '

I throw a change of clothes into by gym bag, check to make sure my shower stuff is in there, pull my hair up into a bun and I'm out the door. Elyse is in the hall with a man that I presume to be the fiance.

"Paige! Oh, great. You can finally meet Garrett."

Damn. I thought this guy was out of town until Monday. So much for my quick escape. Garrett smiles and puts his hand out for me to shake.

"Nice to meet you, Paige. Elyse hasn't stopped talking about you since I got back."

Garrett is very tall, probably 6' 5" or so. It's a good thing Elyse is quite tall herself. They look good together. Elyse even looks happier than the few times I've seen her before. Probably because she's not alone in a strange city anymore.

"Nice meeting you as well. I hate to run off so quickly, but I have a test coming up and hours of studying."

Elyse smiles. "Of course, Paige. We'll see you Tuesday. Oh, and bring that completely hot guy I saw over here the other night."

She winks at me and Garrett doesn't bat an eyelash when she mentions another man. That's always a good sign in a partner. I think.

"I'm not sure he can make it, but I'll ask him," I lie.

There is no way I'm asking Brady to come for dinner, I think to myself as I ride the elevator downstairs. It would seem too much like a double date. Yet, the idea of having someone else there so that I'm not on my own with two people that I don't really know, well, it is appealing. Not that I know Brady so much better; I met him a few days ago. Oddly, it feels like I do, though. He's become the only source of familiarity to me and I like it.

I took too long getting my act together so I have to take my car instead of walking to the campus. Now that I've seen it, I notice the motorcycle Brady took me on only two rows and one stall away from my car. One of those stupid smiles is on my face before I even realize it. All from looking at a bike. I'm a smitten idiot.

Nicole would be so proud.

I pull in to the first spot I see near the student center and jog over to the gym. I manage to throw my stuff inside a locker and get to the cycling class just in time. It's a good class, but the instructor doesn't quite inspire me the way Brady did, which is no surprise since I don't have a crush on this girl.

After a quick shower, I throw on some yoga pants and a t-shirt with Hello Kitty on the front. Childish, maybe, but I just don't think you are ever too old for Hello Kitty. Nicole used to love teasing me about my thing for Hello Kitty, even when I was young enough for it to be acceptable. She never did enjoy playing with dolls; perhaps my sister was far too grown up for her own good.

The library is surprisingly quiet for a Saturday afternoon and I have no trouble finding my quiet little corner on the third floor. I spread my books out on the table, open my laptop, and get my headphones out of my bag. Portishead pours out of the tiny speakers; Beth Gibbons' voice like liquid silk. I find my rhythm and lose myself to the intimidating equations from my trig class. An hour or more goes by without me noticing a single person come up here. I love the third floor.

Another half hour passes when I feel the effect of the two water bottles I drank at the gym. I grab my purse, but leave my laptop and my books on the table. No one will take anything, not that anyone is here, and I will be gone for two minutes. The desk I'm sitting at is all the way in the back where there are no windows, so I'm a bit surprised to see that it is dark outside when I get to the restroom. I'm glad I took my car. I use the bathroom quickly and step back into the main room. Is it my imagination, or is something different? It just feels a bit off. It's like that feeling you get when a light goes out in a room with many bulbs, so it's not immediately obvious what changed, but you just know there is a difference.

Cautiously, I approach the table that holds my belongings. Everything looks to be in its place as I left it, but I can't shake the eerie vibe I felt a moment ago. The quiet of the third floor is starting to lose its appeal. If things hadn't been so weird for me the past few days, I would tell myself to stop being such a baby and get back to work. The thing is,
something
has been going on. I can't pretend like it hasn't. Either way, I have to study for this test.

Once my headphones are back in place, I calm down and forget all about the uneasiness I am experiencing. Something in my peripheral vision moves and it startles me. I look up, but I don't see anything or anyone.

Now you're just making this stuff up
, I tell myself.

Then, just a moment later, I see something move again from the corner of my eye. Glancing slowly to my left, I see a pile of old reference books on the floor where I know they weren't there when I came in. The books are in a pile in front of the staircase; I would have had to have stepped over them when I arrived. I turn my music off. It must have been too loud, damn those noise-canceling ear buds, for me to hear the books fall.

Those books didn't fall, though. Right there out in the open, there was no bookshelf for them to fall off of. I'm done here. I start shoving my stuff into my bag as quickly as I can manage. I run towards the stairs, but the second I reach the tile, my feet go out from under me. I go down hard, catching my arm on something sharp on the way. I feel the skin rip and pain, so swift and intense, overloads my senses and, mercifully, I lose consciousness.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Turner moves with lightening-quick speed. Neither Nicole nor I see the blow coming, just a blur of movement and a cracking sound before Nicole is down. She becomes an unconscious mass of limp arms and legs with a purplish knot forming on the right side of her forehead. My brain stops firing synapses and my body glues itself to the floor as if welcoming Turner to make his next move. He turns his head away from my sister and his gaze falls on me. Where is my fight or flight instinct? Flight would be good right now.
Run. Run to a neighbor and get help for Nicole
, I tell myself.

An unsettling snarl mars Turner's handsome face. "You wouldn't get far, Princess. Trust me."

Truth, unlike any I have heard in the past, is what my ears pick up from his words. I can reason that my diminutive stature would give me an advantage speed wise, but that deadbolt is at least half a foot higher than I am and Turner's body is hard edges and solid muscle.

Like a panther stalking his prey, Turner advances until the air I breathe is nothing but mouthwash and cologne. The coat closet door opens and I am urged forward into the dark, empty little cell by a hand to the back of my neck.

"Sit," he commands.

Inch by inch, my legs lower me down as I look upward and beg for leniency with the silent pleading of eye-contact. Above me, Turner reaches for an item on the top shelf and when I see his hand come back with several plastic zip ties, my blood becomes the temperature of Lake Michigan in a snow storm.

"Hands behind your back, Princess. Now."

Why? Why am I complying? Am I really this weak? Can't I at least try and put up a fight? I have watched my big sister stand up for herself for years. I could follow her example.

Instead I clasp my hands behind my back and allow myself to be tied up by bits of plastic that dig into my wrists.

"Now, be a very quiet little girl and I won't have to knock you out like I did Nicole. Make a sound, Princess, and I promise it will be your last."

He steps back and closes the door.

No.

There isn't a sliver of light, not even from under the door. The closet, already tiny, gets increasingly smaller as my breathing starts to pick up speed until I am gasping for air. My chest gets tight and it feels like my heart is going to explode. I open my mouth to scream, but before I can get the sound out of my throat and seal my fate, logic comes back to me. I can't make noise; I don't know Turner well enough to know if he will follow through on his threat, but I'm not stupid enough to test him. Clearly, he isn't a very stable person. And if I die now, what will happen to my sister? Surely, if Turner were to kill me, he would not leave a witness around to nail him.

I watch every version of Law and Order and this is the best I can come up with? I need to figure out how to get us out of here.

By the sounds coming from outside the closet door, I better figure it out fast.

The pain in my arm jolts me awake. The first thing I see is the blond guy from the circulation desk standing over me and holding up two fingers in front of my face.

"Can you see this? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Gingerly, I try to raise myself to a sitting position, but can't. I settle for smacking the guy's hand out of my face. "I can see just fine."

Blond Guy places his hand on my shoulder with the good arm and gently applies pressure. "I don't think you should try to get up yet. You fell really hard; I heard the thud all the way downstairs. Why don't you lie there for a moment while I get something soft for your head? I'll call an ambulance, too."

I sit up so fast my head spins and I reach out to grab him. "No! No ambulance! Please?"

He holds his hands up in mock surrender. "Whoa, Spaz, calm down. Okay, no ambulance. Let me see your arm."

I twist to the side and lean back against the foot of the staircase. Blond guy gingerly lifts my arm and we both glance at it. You know how you don't feel the full extent of your injuries until you look directly at them? It is all I can do to keep from passing out again. Even this guy starts looking a little pale when he sees the torn flesh that runs almost the entire length of my forearm; jagged, angry, inflamed. It definitely needs stitches.

"That's gross. You need to have that looked at, Paige. And not just by a lowly pre-med student like me. A real doctor who can clean that out and stitch it up."

A warning bulb lights up in my head. "How did you know my name was Paige?"

He gives me a disgusted look. "Uh, I don't know. Maybe because we had three classes together Freshman year? We sat next to each other in Bio 2, second semester, remember?"

My arm hurts so badly I can't even pretend to know what his name is. I can sort of recall seeing him in a class or two, but I never really look people in the eye. I just look at him now, and give him a half grimace.

Sympathy washes away the hurt look he had a moment ago. "It's okay. My name is Alex. I shouldn't have expected you to know that. It's not like we ever introduced ourselves. I just paid more attention to you because you're so quiet. I don't think I heard you speak once, actually. Also, you're pretty."

Alex blushes and looks away. I am in too much pain to process this right now. "I, uh, I really need a towel or something."

He jumps up. "Oh! Sorry. The first aid kit. I'll be back in a second. Don't go anywhere."

I give him a pointed look and he goes down the stairs.

I close my eyes and count to one hundred before Alex gets back. When he does return, he is running up the stairs so quickly that he nearly slips and ends up with the same fate as me, but he rights himself at the last second. Good, because two down and no one to go equals not so great odds for us both. I'm sitting here seriously contemplating the ambulance now that I realize I can barely move, let alone stand and walk to the car
and
drive home.

"Did you slide through this oil, too? Is that how you fell, or was it from carrying those heavy books?"

Alex sets the first aid kit down next to me as he finishes asking inane questions.

"Oil? What? I wasn't carrying those books. They fell just before I left. That's
why
I was leaving."

"No, look, Paige. Your shoes."

I glance in the direction of my feet without moving too much. He's right. There are what look like oil stains on the side of my right sneaker and traveling up a bit on to the gray sweatpants. Now I notice the puddle that sits less than two feet away from me; part of it has been tracked through by both me and Alex.

"That's odd."

Alex gives me an incredulous look. "Odd? That's all you have to say about it? And the books, Paige? How did you expect to manage all of that, plus your school bag? Reference books can't be checked out, you know?"

"Uh, thanks. I'm aware of that. I just told you the books are what freaked me out. I didn't drop them. Whomever else was up here must have."

Alex begins to gently wrap some gauze around my arm. It stings, but I try not to complain.

"There was no one up here besides you, Paige. I've been at the circulation desk since before you got here. I came up here once to get a Physiology textbook, and you were still the only person here. I haven't left the desk since then."

I'm starting to feel annoyed. "Well, Alex, maybe it was a ghost."

I say it ironically, but the truth is that I'm not so certain that I'm wrong, which is ridiculous.

Alex gently secures the bandage with a small piece of medical tape and stands back up. "All kidding aside, Paige, there was no oil on the floor earlier and those big ass books didn't get up and drop themselves on the floor. Plus, that arm. It has to get looked at right now. I can't try to clean it properly without a local anasthetic. The pain would be off the charts. I'm not allowed to leave, so you'll either go to the hospital in an ambulance or you can call someone to take you. Your choice."

He folds his arms over his chest and I know he's not going to budge.

Too weak to argue, I acquiesce. "Fine. Can you get my cell out of the side pocket in my bag, please? I'll call someone."