Secrets - [Guardian Trilogy 01] (5 page)

I heard nothing but the sound of my heart thumping in my ears. I slowly reached for my nightstand. And though I was afraid of what I might see, I fumbled for the lamp switch. At last, I found it. The anticipation of what might be lurking made me want to close my eyes. When I mustered up enough courage to turn the switch, nothing happened, robbing me of relief from the darkness. I felt about, searching something, anything that would provide me with light or protection. What I found was my camera. I pulled it off the nightstand, the weight of it comforting in my hands.

In this, at least, the darkness wasn’t an issue. I could find settings on my camera in my sleep, it was so familiar. I pressed the power button and sat up, quickly taking pictures with the flash so I could see into the darkest corners of my room. I continued to take pictures, as I climbed from bed and made my way to the light switch.

Nothing was in the room. I checked the rest of the apartment, so that my mind wouldn’t play tricks on me. Nothing was there either, but I still had a nagging feeling I couldn’t shake. I walked back in my room taking another look around.

What haven’t I checked?

I looked in the closet and under my bed. I was positive I would’ve noticed a monster hiding in either of them, but what the hell, I was awake. It didn’t hurt to take another look.

Nothing. Nothing!

Damn it.

I turned off the light and climbed back into bed—and there I lay for the next couple hours with the uncomfortable feeling that I was being watched. Something was out there, and it was watching me, studying me, I was sure of it. Then sometime near dawn without warning, the feeling left as quickly as it appeared. I had no explanation for what had changed, because
nothing
had, but the feeling was gone. I fell back asleep, pushing paranoid thoughts to the edges of my mind.

When I awoke the next morning, or rather,
afternoon
, it was a beautiful, clear, sunny day—one in which most people were already participating. I snuggled back down, not wanting to give up the comfort just yet. I let my eyes adjust to the light and slowly came out of sleep. It took several minutes, but the events of the night came back to me. Even recalling it in the daylight caused my heart to jolt. It wasn’t like me to freak out quite this much over nothing.

It must have been the alcohol
, I decided, not wanting to look any closer at what had happened. But even opening my closet to get my slippers gave me the uneasy feeling that something could be waiting in there for me. I shuffled into my kitchen, hitting my answering machine on my way, so I could listen rather than see the angry little red light.

Most of my messages were business related and would have to be replayed later when I could write down call back numbers. One of the messages was from my mother, our typical weekly chat about whether or not I would be coming home over the weekend.

I snatched my cell phone from the breakfast bar and pushed my parents’ speed dial button. After only two rings, I heard my mother’s rushed voice answer.

“Morning.” I tried for alert and cheerful, but fell short.

“Olivia, you’re not just waking up are you? It’s after one. Most of the day is gone.”

“It’s only most of the day if I don’t stay up late.”

“All that sleep isn’t good for you,” my mother fussed. She was one of those people who ran quite well on four to five hours of sleep a night. I was much more productive and a lot less cranky on an eight to nine hour schedule.

“Actually, Mom, I think sleeping is good for me. What’s up? Why did you call?”

“You called me.”

“I’m returning
your
call.”

“I wanted to confirm that you’re coming home on Sunday.”

“I always do. Why?” I rolled my eyes before she even answered, knowing she had something planned I would hate.

“No reason. I may have invited a friend I would like you to meet.”

“
A friend
. Hmm—is this a real friend or some random guy? A son of a Red Hat lady, perhaps? I’ve told you a zillion times, I don’t want to be set up with anyone!”

“Then where do you expect to meet someone, Olivia? A bar. Pfft—no. And you refuse to join any dating web sites. You aren’t getting any younger.” My mother was often impossible “I think this young man is darling, and he is of no relation to anyone in the Red Hats.”

“Great, now you’re pulling random people off the street?”

“Olivia, I know you don’t want to be alone forever.”

“Good Lord, that’s not dramatic at all.”

“Chandler’s coming over for lunch after Mass, and you’ll be nice.”

“Chandler? He sounds like an asshole.” I was sure Chandler was a very decent person, but I liked to push her buttons.

“Olivia,” she hissed as if someone besides her could hear me.

I cut her off before she could dive into a lecture. “I’ll be there, and I’ll be perfectly charming. But I make no promises about dating
Chandler
. I have to go, Mom. My breakfast is getting cold.” That wasn’t completely true since I was eating cereal, but what mom didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.

“Is Juliet coming, dear?”

“Yes, I think so. I’ll talk to you later—bye-bye.”

I checked my calendar and discovered I had nothing lined up for the day. I listened to my other messages again and called people back to set times to meet about various photo shoots. I filled in my new appointments then quickly took a shower. Entire days completely to myself were few and far between. I pulled on a vintage Stones t-shirt and a pair of jeans that had several worn spots. I pulled my wet hair into a very messy bun and slipped on a pair of red ballet flats. I wore just enough makeup to look like I wasn’t trying too hard, then grabbed my jacket and camera and rushed out of the door.

Taking pictures never felt like work. There was nothing quite like the feeling of capturing and preserving a perfect moment in time forever. Obviously, not every moment or picture is perfect, but when you catch one, it takes on a life of its own—one that becomes something different for every person who looks at it, one that can touch people on levels the photographer could have never have intentionally shot for. I loved my career, but lived to take photographs that I wanted to take, not the pictures others want me to take for them. However, those were the pictures that paid the bills.

Now as I walked around the familiar streets of the city I loved so much, I examined it through the discerning eye of my camera. I took several shots of people, but mostly of the city life that was bubbling up all around me, spilling from the cracks. Eventually, I made my way into a park.

A couple pigeons appeared to be dueling over an abandoned scrap of bread, which made me smile. The park had become my own little soap opera of fictional drama that I imagined about the people around me: the couple having cut out of the office early, the nanny more interested in her phone than her charge, the old man walking his dog. . . . I never spoke with any of them, yet I felt like I knew them. I scanned the green space, enjoying the peace—and then I noticed someone. Someone who appeared to have been on his bench for a while, yet had managed to escape my game. He was a handsome man, reading a paper. He didn’t look particularly tall, his hair was wavy and messy, and his skin tan. He seemed entirely too inconspicuous to not to be conspicuous in some way. I kept an eye on him, wondering who this person could be and what brought him to my park. I couldn’t come up with a story for him, yet I caught him looking at me a couple times then back at his paper.

I turned my camera to him and clicked.
His head snapped up, and he looked at me, affronted. He carefully folded his paper and tucked it under his arm as he stood. He was dressed casually,
too casually
. I shook my head at the ridiculous thought. What did that even mean? Something about him didn’t sit right with me, but when a slight smile touched his mouth and showed off his deep dimples, I smiled back and almost invited him to come talk to me. I just wanted to know who he was, but instead he walked away.

A feeling of dread crept up my spine. It was probably for the best that I didn’t speak with him. He was a complete stranger. What was I thinking?

I weaved my way back through the streets towards my studio, but I couldn’t shake this man or the one from the bar last night from my thoughts. What on earth had gotten into me? Two days and two men struck such different chords somewhere in me that I could hear the clash ringing in my ears. The memories of each man were equally persistent about lingering, but neither actual encounter had given me any real reason whatsoever to obsess over them. I called Juliet as I unlocked ground entrance to my studio’s building, needing to speak with someone real. She answered on the second ring.

“Evans.” She sounded busy and annoyed.

“Hey! Who pissed you off?’

“People are stupid,” she growled. Juliet worked in public relations for a large corporation, a job she equally loved and hated. “What’s going on?”

“I just had the strangest feeling about some guy I saw in a park while I was photo hunting today.”

“You met a guy?”

“Not really. I just saw him.”

“That’s twice in two days. … What’s gotten into you? That’s more men than you’ve noticed in the past year. What sort of feeling was it?”

“I’m not sure I know … I never got close enough to get a good sense. But it seemed like he was watching me.” An interesting inconsistency came to mind—I didn’t mind talking to Juliet about today’s mysterious park man, unlike the guy from last night.

“Ah. Don’t even go there, Liv. You’ll drive yourself crazy. No one’s watching you. I’m sure he was
looking
at you, but probably because he thought you were cute. No malicious intent.”

“You’re probably right.” Despite admitting that, I still had my doubts. Neither of the men were what they seemed at first glance, I was sure of it.

“You’re probably just tired.”

“No kidding—and remind me to tell you later about the weirdness last night after we got home.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, it was just an active night on the imagination front, but I’ll fill you in later. I’m at the studio now, and I’m going to develop some of my photos from today. Hey, before I forget, Mom wanted to know if you’re coming to the house on Sunday.”

“Of course.” I heard someone talking to Juliet in the background. “Damn it—I have to go. I’ll stop by tonight. We can have dinner. Later.”

“Sure, bye.”

I opened the dark room door, excited to look at the man’s picture. The camera never lies.

 
Four

When I opened my eyes next, I was sitting in an alley up against a wall, hidden by a dumpster. I couldn’t remember how I’d gotten to this disgusting place, but right now that seemed like the least of all of my problems.

What the fuck was that?
I thought as I walked back to my car, brushing dirt and grime from my clothing.
How did she do it, and what the hell is she?
I’d thought she seemed different when I first saw her; now I had no doubt. I had to know who she was and what she was doing in my head. Did she think I’d do nothing in response to this breach? Could she honestly believe I would let her go? She couldn’t hide from me—no one could. Any girl who could seemingly appear and disappear in my subconscious deserved my very special brand of attention. My temper seethed and my nerves were unhinged. No one had ever gotten under my skin this fast or this deep. Ever.