Sun & Moon - a contemporary romance (The Minstrel Series #1) (12 page)

She should move out. She knew this, but where to go? There had to be some place.

Karl-Heinz would probably make room for a new roommate.

The thought made her gag.

Her eyes traced the wall where her sketches hung, and the memory of Frau Sturm’s body bending forward to scrutinize her work, burned in her mind. Then she noticed the locked door. Her sun and moon sketch was missing.

A deep sadness streamed through her.

She forced herself to get up and made it to the bathroom without puking on the floor or peeing her pants. Her next stop was the kitchen, where she drank a half a bottle of juice straight from the container, popped two aspirin, then prepared a strong coffee.

Micah had placed her duffle bag along with her guitar and notebooks in the hall outside his bedroom door. She plucked out a clean shirt, underwear and jeans and headed for the shower. She let the hot water pour down on her head for a good while.

Afterward, she put the sofa bed back into its sofa form and by then she could face a little breakfast. Her eyes continued to dart to the blank space on the locked room door, and she wondered why Micah took it down. Did his mother have something to do with it?

She cringed at the memory of the questions she asked Micah at the Blue Note, especially when she asked him if he’d ever had a girlfriend. Of course a guy like that would’ve had a girlfriend before. Likely a lot of girlfriends. Ugh, how infantile could she get?

He probably wanted her out, and she didn’t blame him. If she owned a laptop, she’d check the want ads right now. As it were, she’d have to read the papers. They carried local ones at the coffee shop.

As usual, Katja took her sketch pad with her. Her favorite table was empty and since she just

ate and drank a coffee, she didn’t bother to stand in line. She just sat down and started sketching. Her hand moved as if of its own free will. Another face. This one wasn’t a patron in the shop. This was a face she knew from memory. Dark, moody eyes, a narrow nose. A square jaw, with full lips in a near frown. Hair trimmed short but growing out around small ears. Behind him, a shadow. She didn’t know what it was. A ghost of his past. Some trauma that left an echo.

She jumped when the chair in front of her moved. Renata sat down and looked at her with questioning eyes.

“Is everything all right? You look pensive.”

She was about to say everything was fine, but something in her burned to tell someone her problems. She didn’t have any real friends besides Renata.

“I’m alone.”

“What do you mean? You must have family?”

Katja shook her head sadly. “Not really. It’s a long story.”

“What about that boy I see you walking around with sometimes.”

“I don’t think he’s interested.”

Renata cupped her hand with hers. “
Schätzchen
, you are never alone. God is always there for you. He’ll help you if you ask him.”

Katja smiled. Renata was such a kind hearted lady, but she obviously never had any real problems in her life.

Renata saw the look of doubt on her face. “My husband left me ten years ago. I raised our two children alone, all the while working here day and night. I’ve had my share of problems, but I’m all right. And you’ll be all right, too. So tell me what you need.”

Katja felt appropriately chastised, but at the same time accepted. Renata was a person she could trust.

“I need to move, and I don’t have any money. Actually,” Katja’s gaze darted to the newspaper stand by the counter. “I should be reading the papers, looking for a job.”

“Why don’t you work here? One of our employees just quit yesterday, and you know how busy it can get in the afternoons.”

“You mean right now?”

“Yes. I can teach you everything you need to know in an hour.”

“Don’t I have to talk to the boss?”

Renata laughed. “I am the boss.”

By the time the afternoon rush hit, Katja was versed in all methods of coffee making: cappuccinos, macchiato, espressos, lattes and plain old coffee. She knew all the kind of teas they offered and how to present the pastries. She’d even mastered the till.

What surprised her most was how much she enjoyed the work. She liked interacting with the customers, working alongside the other employees, especially Renata, and she even enjoyed cleaning off the tables.

Before she knew it, it was well past six o’clock, well past the time Micah would be home from work and wondering what had happened to her. She checked her phone and noticed several missed calls.

She went to the back of the restaurant to call back.

“Hey,” he said. “Just wondering where you are. If you’re okay.”

“Actually, I’m at work.”

“Work?”

She smiled at the surprise in his voice. “Yeah. I’m working at the café.”

“Right, you kind of mentioned you got a job.”

It wasn’t true at the time, but it was now. Katja didn’t see the need to point that out.

“Yeah, so I’m not sure when I’ll be done here.”

“That’s fine. I was just worried that maybe you left, or something.”

“Micah, did you not see my guitar in the hallway?”

He chuckled. “Right. Okay. See you soon.”

When Katja got back to Micah’s flat, he had leftovers waiting for her. She didn’t think she was hungry until she saw them and set to work putting them in the microwave.

“How was your day?” Micah said from his spot on the sofa. It was a reversal of roles. She was normally the one who asked him that.

“Good. I like working there. Renata, my boss, is great.”

She didn’t want to get into details like she would if he weren’t someone she was trying to figure out. What role exactly did Micah play in her life anyway? Roommate? Friend? More than friend, but not quite boyfriend?

A better question was what role did she play in his life? Roommate? Friend? More than friend, but not yet girlfriend? Moocher he wished would just move out already?

His expression was unreadable. Her eyes moved to the blank space on the locked door and his gaze followed hers. He looked at the floor and then his hands and finally back to her face.

The microwave pinged, and she brought her hot plate to the table. Her appetite had disappeared in the twenty minutes she’d been back. She played with her food. “I can look for my own place now that I have a job.”

Micah moved from the living room to the chair opposite her in the kitchen. “I want to apologize for yesterday. For my mother’s rudeness, but especially for the uncomfortable position I put you in. I should’ve just told her the way things are here.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Did you see her? She’s scary!” His eyes glinted with humor, but Katja could tell there was a hint of truth there. She held back her smile.

“Katja, I understand if you want to go. I do. But I want you to know, that I don’t want you to.”

“What do you want?”

“I… can’t say.”

“What does that mean? Why can’t you say? Why do you have to be such a mystery all the time?” Katja dropped her fork on her plate with a clang. “You’re like a puzzle with too many missing pieces.”

Micah inhaled and let his head flop back. Then he looked at her. “I know. That’s all I can give you right now. I’m sorry.”

He left her alone to finish her meal. When she heard his bedroom door click shut, she got up and scraped her dinner into the garbage. She held back the dam of tears that threatened to burst, and burned through her frustration by aggressively doing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen.

She got herself ready for bed, pulled out the sofa bed and draped the blanket over her body. She twisted and turned. There was no way sleep would come. She stared at the ceiling with her hands behind her head. Her eyes had adjusted to the dark and her gaze moved to the wall, landing on the empty spot on the locked door.

She remembered the sketch she drew of Micah. What would he say if he spotted it hanging there, in place of the sun and moon? Katja’s rebellious streak was roused. She opened her sketch pad and ripped out the etching. She fished the scotch tape out of her bag and stepped quietly down the hall. She folded the tape and pressed the paper to the door.

She stepped back to take a look, then frowned. Maybe this wasn’t a great idea. Maybe he’d think she was being passive aggressive or something. Or maybe he’d like the fact she bothered to sketch him. Or at least he’d be intrigued. Maybe he’d be creeped out?

She placed one hand on the knob as the other hovered over the sketch in indecision. Leave it or take it down? She shifted her weight and her hand pressed down on the handle. It moved and Katja heard a click.

The door opened.

She flicked on the light.

It was a small room, unfurnished except for a wooden desk pushed up against the back wall. A gold-plated reading lamp was aimed at a large corkboard hanging above it. On it was a map of Germany along with several pictures of young women, all with long, honey-blond hair similar to Katja’s.

She swallowed hard, a thread of fear shivering up her spine.

White plastic thumb tacks were pressed into different cities and towns and red wool was stretched between them like a bloody spider’s web. What
was
this? Who were these girls? Were they… victims? Were they…
dead
?

Who was Micah Sturm? Maybe that wasn’t even his real name. The glaring fact was she didn’t know the guy at all. She’d trusted a stranger blindly, and she might just pay for her gullibility with her life. Every survival instinct kicked into gear. She had to get out of there. Now.

“You weren’t supposed to see this.”

Katja jumped at his voice. He stood in the doorway, bare-chested in boxer shorts, arms hanging loosely by his side. His hair was messed in the way she normally found sexy. His expression was sad.

She felt something she’d never felt before in his presence. Fear. Her chest tightened and her nerves tingled up and down her arms and legs. She was naked except for her underwear and the long sleeping T-shirt she wore. She felt vulnerable and exposed, trapped by someone whom she now suspected was mad and possibly dangerous. She folded her bare arms across her chest in a feigned attempt to look tough and unafraid. “Who are these girls?”

Micah took a step forward; she took an immediate step back. The expression on his face darkened.

“It’s only one girl,” he said. “Why are you afraid of me?”

Katja flashed him a startled look.
Maybe because you’re crazy? A stalker?
Katja’s mind raced. Was Micah a killer? Did he have a fetish for girls with light-colored eyes and honey-blond hair? Girls like
her
? Was she to be his next picture tacked to the wall? Maybe this was the real reason why his mother had acted so possessively. Maybe she didn’t hate Katja. Maybe she feared for her life!

“I’m not afraid.” Her voice trembled, betraying her lie. “Just let me go.”

Micah stepped away from the door. “You’re free to leave any time.”

Katja sprinted past him. She wished he didn’t watch her as she struggled into her jeans, pulling them up over bare legs. She pushed all her belongings into her duffle bag. She placed her guitar in its case and closed it, snapping the fasteners. She grabbed her coat.

“Won’t you at least let me explain?” Micah asked, softly.

Katja hesitated. Did she want to know?

She risked a glance, and her heart softened at the grief in his eyes. The pain there made her chest squeeze. These weren’t the eyes of a killer. Something else was going on.

“Okay,” she said. She owed him that much. He’d rescued her from the streets, taking her in like a stray kitten, no questions asked. Maybe his kindness was a result of something other than a snare. A snare he hadn’t yet snapped.

She sat on the kitchen chair closest to the door, her things by her feet. If he made a move, she’d at least be able to reach the door to the stairwell and scream.

He disappeared for a moment, then reappeared wearing jeans and a button down shirt left open. He walked carefully to the chair opposite Katja and sat down.

“The girl in the photos is Greta. She’s my girlfriend.” He ran his hands through his hair and squeezed his eyes shut. “Or was. Was my girlfriend.”

Katja watched as a flurry of emotions crossed Micah’s face. “What happened?”

“Three years ago we were at a party. We partied a lot back then, and I was one of the wild ones.”

Katja found that hard to believe but stayed quiet.

“I drank too much, dabbled in drugs. Always after the good time. Greta was worried about me, wanted me to slow down, but I just laughed it off. Laughed at her.”

“And?” Katja prompted.

“We went to another party. Greta didn’t want to go, but I coerced her. I was good at manipulating people and always managed to get my way, especially with her. Someone gave me something, pills, I don’t know what they were. They hit me hard and I passed out. The last thing I remember is stretching out on a sofa with my arms around Greta. When I came to, she was gone.”

“She left the party without you?”

“That’s what I thought. I was pissed, but I didn’t blame her. I went home, showered, got myself together and started calling her. She didn’t answer her phone. I figured she must be really mad at me for getting so wasted. I wanted to explain to her that it wasn’t my fault. I got bad junk.”