Page 3 of Who's Afraid of the Big, Bad World

“I could be agoraphobic if I got to live somewhere like this. Lots of light and space, nice high ceilings, and a place to workout. Apart from the fact she’s trying to grow a jungle, it’s pretty much perfect.” Violet wandered through the office area. “Cartoonist? No, comic book artist. Must make a good living to afford this building. Think she owns the whole thing? Or just renting this space? But then, why wouldn’t her landlord turn the second floor into apartments too? It’s money down the drain to leave it empty.”

“I think she owns the building and doesn’t want anyone else in it.” Noah paused at a noticeboard filled with photos—all taken from the windows of the apartment. On the table beside them sat a state-of-the-art camera with a telephoto lens.

A series of photos showed a woman holding a small child’s hand. The little girl clutched a balloon, and the pair were laughing. There was something deeply sad about the images. As if longing were an invisible third person in the frame. It made Noah wonder what it must be like to watch life happening outside walls that were both a sanctuary and a prison. Had to be lonely, that’s for sure.

“Does all her shopping online,” Violet said from the open laptop. “Looks like she’s in some Facebook groups, though, so she isn’t just walking around her apartment, talking to herself.”

The glow of the streetlamps seeped into the space, bathing it in warm, diffused light. Although all the windows had white shades, none were drawn, and beyond the living room area, you could see the built-up high rises of central Houston.

Noah rounded the glass partition to check out the bedroom and froze in place. “Uh, I’ve found our witness.”

“Is she dead?” Violet sounded almost hopeful.

“Why is that always your first thought?” Noah said as his partner came to stand beside him.

“Experience.”

They gazed down at the witness in silence. Annabelle Simmons was younger than Noah had expected, early thirties atthe most. It was impossible not to notice her bronze skin was smooth and blemish-free, seeing as all she was wearing were French-cut panties and a camisole. She lay sprawled on her stomach across the massive bed. Her nose was red, her mouth hung open, and she was softly snoring. Her long, mahogany hair was a tangled mess about her face and shoulders, and crumpled tissues covered the bed. Beside her left hand rested an empty cough syrup bottle.

“Well, that explains a lot.” Violet picked up the bottle. “Heavy-duty stuff. Probably drank the whole lot while washing down these.” She held up a box of well-known decongestants. “There’s a warning on the label about it making you sleepy. I think the witness may have medicated herself into a coma.” She leaned over and prodded the woman’s shoulder.

A loud snore erupted, but Annabelle didn’t move.

Violet strode from the bedroom area. “I’ll get some cold water.”

“Coffee would be better.”

“Not for her to drink.” Her tone made it clear she thought he was the idiot. “To throw at her and wake her up.”

“Let me try something a little less aggressive. Wouldn’t want you to drown the witness.” He crossed to the bed, put his hand on Annabelle’s shoulder, and shook gently. “Miss Simmons, we need you to wake up now.”

She just groaned.

Noah shook her a little harder. “Annabelle, you have to wake up. You’re in danger.”

“This is pointless,” Violet said. “I’m getting the water.”

“Give me a minute.” He used a firmer touch. “Annabelle Simmons, you are in danger. Wake up!”

Annabelle shot upward so quickly that the back of her head caught Noah on the chin and sent him reeling against the wall. She knelt in the middle of the bed, her long, dark hair wildaround her face. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, stared at them in dazed horror.

“We’re the good guys,” Violet said unhelpfully.

Noah rubbed his chin. “The assistant DA sent us. You’re in danger, and we need to take you to a safe house.”

Annabelle blinked several times as though working to clear her vision. As it registered that there were strangers in her home, her body tensed, and her breathing sped up. She inched toward the edge of the bed nearest the windowless wall—seemingly uncaring that it took her closer to him.

He held out his hands in a calming gesture. “Please don’t be alarmed. You can check out our story with the district attorney, but you’re in danger and need to come with us. Please put some clothes on. We have to hurry.”

“No,” Annabelle whispered. “Not again.”

Before he realized what she was going to do, she launched herself off the bed, slammed her hand on the wall beside the huge mirror that sat between the two unaccounted-for doors, and shouted, “Stay away from me!”

The mirror slid aside, revealing a doorway.

“Panic room,” Violet snapped. “Grab her before she gets inside.”

But it was too late. Annabelle disappeared through the gap.