Which was why it annoyed Andi so much when she got podcast reviews from the haters. She had loads of five-star reviews, but of course, her eyes always went straight to the ones and twos when she checked them. Tonight, she’d had:
LollyVR4: People who listen to this shit and exploit these crimes are sick in the head.
BroWhoa62: This show is called What Can We Learn from This? I’ve learned not to listen. She makes it sound like every guy in the world is a psychopath.
Mayh3m: This chick probably watches true-crime shows and horror movies instead of porn to get off. I’ll tie you up, baby.
The last one she was able to flag and get removed. But the reviews had also inspired her to open a bottle of wine for her evening podcast shift. She huffed, getting frustrated all over again, and pulled off her headphones. She clicked on a file and inserted an audio clip from the documentary on Janice Walters’s murder.
Footsteps sounded on the other side of her wall and she frowned. The werewolf was prowling around again. Always heard, never seen. An image of Hill answering the door shirtless rushed back into her mind. Her tongue had nearly rolled out of her head like a cartoon character when she’d been greeted with that view. The man was built like a fucking gladiator. One who’d been through war. Next to the line of dark hair that had disappeared into his waistband, he’d had a swath of skin that was raised and pink with an almost melted texture. Burn scars.
The sight of him had made her blush, but it’d also made her heart hurt. This man had survived a horror. In that moment, that fear she always had around new men had softened some at the edges. She’d wanted to know more about him. She’d gone inside with him despite all the warnings that had automatically run through her head.
No one knows I’m here.
He’s a stranger.
He’s big and strong and could overpower me.
Being a victim of something doesn’t mean he’s not a bad guy.
Freddy Krueger had burn scars.
But the worries had been unfounded. He hadn’t murdered her. In fact, he’d been nice and quietly funny, and she’d thought they’d made headway with the possibility of becoming friends. But she’d been wrong. It’d been almost two weeks since she’d brought those brownies over, and the handful of times she’d seen him outside, he’d given her a quick wave and then headed inside without a word. Dismissed.
He clearly didn’t want to be friends.
Which was his prerogative but also kind of sucked. She didn’t want awkwardness with the neighbor. But more than that, she was frustrated that she’d read the situation so wrong. That day at his house, she’d felt like they’d made a connection. He was clearly going through some stuff. She’d pieced together that his disability had taken him out of a career he loved, and she’d wanted to help. She didn’t know what it was like to have that kind of physical loss, but she remembered what it was like not knowing what she wanted to do with her life.
However, once again, her instincts had been wrong. There’d be no connection. He didn’t want her help. He’d probably thought she was meddling.
Message received: the hot werewolf didn’t want her around.
She sipped her wine and tried to shake off thoughts of Hill and refocus on her work. She needed to finish editing the episode tonight if she was going to post it on schedule tomorrow. She didn’t have time to obsess about the neighbor anymore. She put her headphones back on.
“Janice was reported missing the following Monday when she didn’t show up for work…”
Two hours and one too many glasses of wine later, Andi was done. She put aside her laptop, pulled off her headphones, and yawned, wondering if she should just sleep there on the couch. Getting ready for bed suddenly seemed like too much work. Her limbs felt heavy and her thoughts fuzzy.
Maybe not so much wine next time.
She swung her legs to the floor, checking to see if she was head-spinning drunk or only a little buzzed. The room didn’t tilt, so that was a good sign. She rubbed her face, preparing to get up, but a thump from the back of the house made her pause. She lowered her hands from her face and turned her head toward the kitchen, listening. Was Hill still up and moving around? It was past midnight.
He seemed to be a night owl so probably so. But when she heard a creak, one that sounded distinctly like her back screen door, goose bumps prickled her arms. That sound hadn’t come from Hill’s side. He didn’t have a screen door. Her body went stiff and cold, her ears straining.
She half expected her phone to ring with a voice on the other end asking her if she liked scary movies. The creak came again, and she inhaled a shaky breath. Okay. The latch on the screen door had probably come undone. It was windy outside. The door was probably flapping in the wind. You’re fine. The main door is locked tight.
She reached for her phone, which she usually kept on the coffee table, but it wasn’t there. Her heartbeat picked up speed. Where had she put it? She’d had it when she’d sat down to edit the episode. She’d gotten up to use the bathroom once and had gotten a refill on wine twice. She must’ve brought her phone into the kitchen.
Dammit.
How had she lost track of her phone? But she wasn’t going to follow up that mistake with a second one. She definitely wasn’t calling out “Who’s there?” or going outside to investigate a weird sound. She hadn’t watched hundreds of horror movies without learning something. Still, she needed to know what the noise was, but she wasn’t going to look without some protection.
She swallowed past the dryness in her throat, and as quietly as she could, she rose to her feet, her knee making a soft popping sound. She swayed a little, the wine still coursing through her system, but the fear had sobered her thoughts. She glanced toward the kitchen again and then quickly but quietly hurried toward the front door in her bare feet. She’d left her purse on the table by the door when she’d come home, and she grabbed it like a lifeline. She rummaged around, and when her fingers closed around the gel pepper spray she’d bought at Hill’s suggestion, a jolt of relief went through her.
She pulled out the canister and peeked through the peephole of the front door. Her porch was well lit and empty, but the darkness on the street beyond revealed nothing. She didn’t want to walk outside at midnight, not knowing if someone was prowling around her place.
She turned away from the front door and listened. She didn’t hear the creak anymore, but she was filled with the sense that the silence was not empty. It had weight. Like the air had changed. She slid the safety latch on the pepper spray, putting her finger on the trigger, and took a few steps toward the kitchen.
This wasn’t the first time she’d been home alone and thought she heard a noise in the house. This was just the first time at this place. She’d learned to live with her hyperaware senses and overactive imagination. But this was the first time she didn’t have her phone to call someone to stay on the line while she checked things out. Every other time, whatever sound she’d heard had been nothing. It would surely be the same now, but she wasn’t going to take any chances. She held the pepper spray at-the-ready.