Page 42 of Without a Clue

So I can’t hold my own then.

Fair.

I cross my arms over my chest. “And what exactly makes you believe that I am up for this?” I say, gesturing to the bed on the floor.

I am totally up for this.

I am exhausted and adrenaline hungover and already feel my limbs starting to sloop toward the bed up for this.

“You could be a murderer,” I point out.

He laughs as if it’s the wittiest joke he’s ever heard. “So could you. So that makes us even. Excuse me, I’ll just . . .” And then he goes off and drops his toothbrush in the little bathroom.

“You know, I was given strict orders not to open the door for anyone.”

“More the reason it’s clear I need to be here. You like to keep this on? It’s like a Walmart in July in here,” he says, standing by the lamp switch. I realize I’ve moved myself back to my bed. I’m sitting on the edge of it, my shoulders leaning backward, begging me to draw toward the pillows.

“No.” I pause. “Not anymore.”

Nash flicks the switch, then quietly moves around the room, turning off each of the others.

I let him. “Thanks, Nash,” I murmur in the dark, my eyes already closed.

There’s silence.

“Anytime.”

An hour later, I hear it.

I’m just leaving the bathroom as silently as I can (thank you, nerves) when I hear in the utter silence something just, well, less silent.

It’s wings flapping on a bird high overhead in a forest level silent.

Never would I have heard this sound in the middle of the day, under normal circumstances.

But now?

On high alert?

When I was already so quietly stepping around Nash and careful not to wake him?

I stop abruptly just beside the door.

In the darkness, I check through the peephole.

Pull back.

Close up again.

Who is that? What is that?

The mash of gray and sheer purple pulls away and I see Neena standing in the hallway, one massive purple-satin arm resting on what appears to be the jamb of the door, the other hand pulling her slipper on.

I can’t hear what she’s whispering, but there are definite whispers as she looks forward in the blurry, extreme close-up of her robe and talks to somebody else outside of range. Some short words, a whisper like, “I’m coming,” or better yet, knowing Neena, “Hold your horses.”

And then she’s gone, the peephole suddenly clear again and showing nothing but the wallpaper opposite and the textured hallway carpet.

I bite my lip.