Gold Rush

Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

I COULDN’T SIT on the floor all night. Besides the draught creeping under the door, my behind was slowly going numb, and the rest of me ached from being on my feet the whole day.

Just thinking about work brought on a yawn. I needed to get some sleep, because in five hours, I’d have to get up for my morning job cleaning Buck’s Bar of the detritus left by fifty or so men who treated drinking as a sport. Believe me, I knew all about that—in the evenings, I worked the late shift as a waitress-s***h-barmaid-s***h-general-dogsbody.

Living the dream, right?

I hauled myself to my feet and breathed in deeply, cringing at the familiar scent. The faint trace of cigarette smoke and cheap men’s cologne that meant an unwelcome visitor had been in my apartment. Again.

The first time I noticed the strange aroma, I’d convinced myself I was imagining it. The second time too, although doubt started to creep in. The third time, when I saw the TV remote on the fold-out bed, I knew I’d had an uninvited visitor. My apartment may have been tiny, but everything had its proper place, and the remote always lived on the crate that doubled up as a television stand.

Twice more over the next week, the odour of stale cigarettes seeped through the mustiness that came with thrift store furniture. Paranoia set in. Had I forgotten to put my favourite mug back in the cupboard? Did I move that pen from its home on the nightstand?

Was I losing my mind?

The day I came home to find my underwear drawer cracked open and the contents in disarray, I threw up. What kind of sick freak chose to rummage through my panties? Actually, I wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer to that question.

But I suspected he was following me. The next evening, I was almost certain I heard soft footsteps trailing behind as I walked home from Buck’s, but when I spun around, there was only darkness. A paper bag blew past, end over end. Had I been mistaken?

Another week passed, and my nerves stretched thinner with every waking hour. A rustle here, a shadow there. Was I going insane or had I acquired an unwanted companion?

My friend Missy thought the former. She didn’t say that, of course, but when I confessed all over coffee, her frown told me she doubted my story. I remembered that day well. We’d met in our regular spot, a diner midway between us that served food that was edible and, more importantly, cheap, and she dumped three spoonfuls of sugar into her cappuccino before she spoke.

“Have you actually seen anyone following you?” she asked.

“Well, no. He could have hidden behind a tree or something.”

“You see many trees in NoHo?”

“I guess not.”

The place was a concrete jungle. The only greenery was the occasional cannabis leaf that popped up in the graffiti that adorned every building.

“So maybe there isn’t anyone? What if the smell in your apartment drifted in through a vent or something?”

Was Missy right? Did I just have an overactive imagination?

That afternoon, I taped a plastic bag over the air conditioning duct. The AC hadn’t worked since I’d moved in, so it was no great loss. But the day after, the whiff of cheap cologne and tobacco smoke once again lay in my apartment like a slumbering monster.

A knock at the door a few hours later made me jump out of my skin.

“It’s me,” Missy yelled. “I’ve come to check you’re okay.”

Bless her, even though she thought I’d lost my marbles, she’d come to help me gather them up again.

We’d first met two years ago, in the hospital. Her brother was having chemo at the same time as Momma, except his was for bowel cancer. Someone up there smiled down on him, and he pulled through, but although I lost Momma, I gained Missy. We bonded in the cafeteria over a shared love of stale sandwiches and lukewarm coffee, and she helped me through the most awful time of my life. What would I do without her?

I cracked the door open. “He was here again.”

She pushed her way in and hugged me. “Oh, honey, you should call someone.”

Like who? Did she mean the police or a psychiatrist? “My phone’s got no credit.”

She reached into her purse and pulled out a crumpled ten-dollar bill. “Take this.”

My eyes prickled with tears at her generosity. She was saving up for her wedding, and money was tight. “I can’t.”

She tucked it into my pocket. “You can and you will.” After another rummage, she held out a can. “I brought you a gift.”

“Pepper spray?”

“A girl needs to be prepared. You should take a self-defence class. The one I did last year kicked ass.”

I didn’t want to kick ass. I just wanted to sleep in my own bed at night without some freak staking out my apartment.

“I’ll think about it.”

“Call me if you change your mind. The instructor was hot.”

I loved that girl. Even when she thought I’d gone insane, she still tried to make my padded cell a happier place.

Tried and failed.

Feeling slowly returned to my bottom as I went into the bathroom to put my pyjamas on. Once, I’d have changed next to my bed, but now the madness had set in, I locked myself away before I peeled off my jeans.

In bed, I wrapped the blankets around me like a shield, regressing to my childhood belief that if the bogeyman couldn’t see me, he couldn’t get me. Even so, I barely closed my eyes. The prospect of being murdered in my sleep kept me awake better than a double dose of caffeine.

The next day, I was wiping down the bar at Buck’s when my phone rang. My heart skipped as “Unknown caller” flashed up on the screen. Only a handful of people had my number, and my hand shook as I answered.

“Lara Reynolds?”

“That’s me.” I hated the quaver that crept into my voice.

“I’m the detective who took your statement a couple of weeks ago. The mugging? I thought I’d check up to see if everything was okay.”

Oh shoot, should I tell him about my fears? Momma always said a problem shared was a problem halved, but if Missy didn’t believe me, why would a complete stranger? I had no proof, just instances of untidiness and an intangible scent problem. I may as well tell him I was being haunted. Hey, maybe I had a poltergeist? Did ghosts smoke?

“Hello?” His voice crackled out of the speaker.

“Yes, I’m here.” I hesitated. “I’m not sure… Sometimes I think…”

“You sound nervous, and that’s perfectly normal. A lot of people get jumpy after an assault. If you want, I could refer you to a…” I heard the rustling of paper in the background. “To a therapist. Now, where did I put the card with the number?”

Therapy? He thought it was all in my head, didn’t he? “No need for that. Everything’s fine, really.”

“You’re sure?”

“Never been better.”

“Glad to hear it. You know where to find me if you ever want to talk.”

As the line went dead, a ball of dread rolled around in my stomach. Perhaps I should have said something? Well, it was too late now.

Things only got worse the week after. I had four teabags left, enough to last until my next visit to the grocery store. Tragic that I should have to count them, but every cent counted when you lived on the breadline. When I got in from cleaning at lunchtime on Wednesday, four had turned into three. Had my math skills deserted me as well as my sanity? I thought they had until I touched the kettle and found it warm.

Heart pounding, I tried phoning Missy. I needed a hug, her positive words, and a hot self-defence instructor. No answer. A single tear escaped, and I wiped it away with the edge of my T-shirt. Now what? I checked my watch, did the math in my head, and calculated it was 8 a.m. in England. Tori would be awake—her kids never let her sleep past seven.

I’d known Victoria since I started elementary school. She was the one person who stuck by me after Pop left, and even though we attended different junior highs, we’d stayed close. When she moved to England at fourteen, that was the greatest loss I’d experienced up until Momma’s death. Now she lived in a London suburb, happily married to a cab driver, with two young sons and a cockapoo named Gordon. I’d snorted coffee when she told me the dog’s breed, but apparently cocker spaniels crossed with poodles were all the rage over there.

I trembled so much it took me three goes to dial her number, but the effort was worth it when I heard her voice.

“Lara! It’s been ages! How are you?”

I tried to keep my sobs to a minimum as I poured my heart out, detailing everything from the mugging to the unshakeable feeling that someone was stalking me.

Her gasps, followed by a stunned silence when I finished, helped to strengthen my tenuous grasp on reality.

“That’s awful. You need to go to the police.”

“And tell them what? That my apartment smells odd? A pen isn’t where I left it? They’d have me committed.”

Although that might not be so bad. Compared to my apartment, a padded cell would actually be quite comfortable.

“Okay, so it sounds a bit farfetched, but I still think you should consider it. Maybe they’d put your apartment under surveillance?”

I couldn’t help laughing. “Last month, a kid got murdered on the next block, and it took the cops three days to interview anyone. My issue’s hardly going to be a priority. When I put it into words, I can barely believe it myself.”

“Just think about it, okay? Do you have any idea who it might be?”

I’d racked my brains in that regard, staring at my neighbours with suspicion and trembling every time I saw a stranger.

“Not a clue. But when the mugger took my wallet, my address was in it, so maybe it’s connected somehow? What I don’t understand is why someone would follow me. I’m the least interesting person I know. I might as well be invisible.”

“You’re only invisible because you want to be. Billy did that to you.”

At the mention of his name, fear trickled through me. I’d tried so hard to forget him. “Don’t talk about Billy.”

“Just because he was an asshole doesn’t mean you need to hide away for the rest of your life.”

“I don’t hide away.”

“You go to work; you go home. What else do you do?”

“I need the money,” I mumbled.

“You need to live.”

What was I supposed to say to that? Deep down, I knew she was right. I just didn’t want to admit it.

“When are you coming to visit?” Tori asked.

“When I win the lotto.”

Since I couldn’t afford to play the lotto, it would be a long wait.

“I’ve offered to pay for your plane ticket.”

“I know, and I appreciate it, I really do. But I can’t accept something so expensive. I’m saving up.” And at the rate I was saving, I’d be able to fly to England about the same time as mankind colonised Mars.

“Well, the offer’s always there.” Her voice softened. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

“I will,” I lied.

I flopped back onto the bed, thunking my head on the wall as I misjudged the distance. Despite the early hour, I was tired. So tired. My body craved rest, but I made myself get up and change instead. If I didn’t hurry up with the chores, I’d be late for work, and I didn’t have the energy to run all the way there.

That evening, I wore a chocolate-brown knee-length skirt with a cream blouse, topped off with a pair of sneakers—ugly but practical. I couldn’t sprint in high heels. When I first started working at the bar, one of the waitresses, a twenty-year veteran, had explained that tips were directly proportional to skirt length, and careful experimentation had proven her absolutely right. The shorter the skirt and the higher the heels, the more money I made.

Not only was my income suffering with my new outfits, Buck wasn’t impressed either. A pervert at best and an asshole at worst, the first day I turned up in jeans and a sweater, he’d hauled me through to the kitchen.

“What the f**k are you wearing?”

“Uh, jeans?”

“Did you forget that this is a bar, not some mom and pop grocery store?”

I withered under his stare. “I’m sorry. It’s just that I’m a little nervous after the mugging, and I can walk faster in pants.”

He folded his arms. “Well, I suggest you get un-nervous before I lose clientele to bars where the girls make an effort. If that happens, I’ll have to start losing staff as well.”

And work was scarce in Baysville. I wasn’t sure whether Buck was genuinely concerned about his customers or peeved that I’d spoiled his viewing pleasure—because I couldn’t recall having a conversation with him where his eyes got higher than my chest—but it didn’t matter. Without that job, I couldn’t pay the rent, so I switched back to skirts and carried my pumps in my purse as a compromise. If everything else failed, I could always smack any would-be attacker with a shoe.

On my half-run, half-walk to work that evening, I thought back to my conversation with Tori. Even with her encouragement, I felt too embarrassed to report what was happening. It was bad enough that Billy thought I was an i***t without proving to everybody else that he was right.

No, I could cope. After all, the person hadn’t hurt me, right? I’d be an adult about this and ignore the problem.

I repeated that to myself all evening while I served up beer and got my ass groped by a drunken regular. Every time a customer looked at me for a second too long, or smiled a touch too readily, I wondered… Was it him? I even caught myself sniffing a man before I scolded myself for being ridiculous.

My mantra continued the whole way home, while I climbed the stairs, unlocked my apartment door, and stepped inside. I could cope. I could cope. The books I’d carefully stacked hadn’t moved, and the mug I’d left perched on the edge of the counter was exactly where I placed it. If not for the now-familiar aroma, stronger than usual, I could have steadied my pulse. I sniffed again, and a faint memory flickered in the recesses of my mind. Had I smelled that before somewhere outside of home? I tried to cling onto the thread, but it skittered away like a child’s balloon, farther, farther, until it floated out of reach.

My gaze darted around the room, then stopped on the bed. Why was the bedspread wrinkled? Running late or not, I always smoothed out the covers before I left home. Always. I tiptoed over and ran my hand over the spot. Could I have sat down without remembering it? I paused, touched it again. Why was it warm? Warm like someone had been lying there?

My breath came in pants as I realised what that meant. Someone had been in my apartment again, and they’d been there recently. And not only that, this time they’d been in my bed.