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When we get back to the office, Sherry doesn't speak to me for the rest of the day. She’s either mad because the fortune teller was rude to her, or she thinks I’m crazy. I'll take her out for lunch tomorrow and apologize up and down. She'll forget all about it, other than teasing me at the next office happy hour. Now that I’ve had a few hours to stew on the reading, it does sound a bit like the usual “you're going to meet a man” schtick. As we left, Sherry filled my ears with how gullible I was to fall for it.
Maybe it was a silly thing to do. I don’t care. I finally feel like I'm getting somewhere.
A man. Like a force of nature.
The lovers.
You're about to begin a journey.
Those thoughts repeat in my head over and over again as I shut down my computer at the end of the day and gather my things. More than that, though, I keep thinking of what she said about my…glow, or my aura, or whatever she called it. My spiderwebs.
You're about to begin a journey.
I wonder what that means. What damn journey? I've lived in the city all my life. I've worked at the bank for five of those years, and went to college here prior to that. I don't travel. There was never the money growing up, and there hasn't been a reason since my parents died while I was in college. There's no one to visit and no extra money for pleasure trips. I rarely date. I have friends, but I never hang onto them for long. They transfer to different departments, or move away, or get married and then we drift apart. I’m always more or less alone.
I'm boring.
So why me? Why is this happening?
I can't help but feel that the voice in the next apartment was reaching out to the wrong person. Maybe that's why he stopped talking to me. A psychic wrong number.
I don't know that someone as unexciting as Faith Gordon is destined to be the lover of a force of nature. I mean, my last boyfriend left me for an accountant. If that doesn’t tell you everything about my life, nothing will.
Even so…I could use a little adventure. "Well, King of Pentacles,” I dare the air around me. “If you've got something to show me, you can start that journey any freaking time now. I'm just saying. I get vacation time in two weeks."
The office is silent.
Maybe the King of Pentacles is more of a night shift sorta guy.
I wake up in the middle of the night, alert for no reason at all. My ears strain, trying to make out sound. There's only the distant rumble of thunder, an oncoming storm. I sit up and listen for voices, but there's nothing. So why am I awake?
Then, I hear it. There's a distant sound of drums. At first I think it's the storm brewing overhead, but it's got too even a beat, and when lightning clashes a short distance away, it sounds dissonant to the music. I get to my feet, wondering if it's someone playing a CD too loud.
But it sounds like it's coming from next door. The empty apartment.
Oh shit. It’s him. It has to be.
I get out of bed, sliding to my feet, and tiptoe across the floor. I move toward the shared wall, the one that faces the so-called empty apartment. We're at the end of the hall, so there's no one on the other side of that particular wall except for it. I put a hand on the wall itself and then press my ear to it, listening.
Nothing.
Frustrated, I lean back and study the wall. Maybe it’s not it. Thunder rumbles overhead, and the music's gone. Something about this feels wrong. All of it feels wrong. It's like…like I'm hearing something I shouldn't. Getting a glimpse of something that I have no permission to access.
The music starts again, and the hair stands up on the back of my neck. There's a low wail of a flute, and the drums begin their ceaseless beat once more.
This is not my imagination. My imagination can't even remember the lyrics to TV jingles, much less an entire song. I have to know what this is. Even if it's just someone messing with me, I'll be happier knowing than just wondering. I can’t let the opportunity pass by again.
I pull on a pair of pajama pants to go with my pink pajama top, and a pair of slippers. I head to the front door of my apartment, and then pause, checking the clock. Four in the morning. Okay, that's a shitty hour, but it's still reasonably safe to assume I could be up, if I need the excuse. With that in mind, I open my door and head into the hallway.
It's a matter of steps to the neighbor's door. I head directly to it, suck in a steeling breath, and then knock.
There's still no response. I try knocking a third time, and when that elicits no response either, I get down on hands and knees and peer under the door, looking for light. I don't see anything.
The apartment's as vacant as it ever was. That doesn't make sense.
I frown at the door for a minute, then decide I have to know. I head back into my apartment and return with my credit card. I glance up and down the hall, hoping that no one's watching this. If someone is home and I'm breaking and entering, this could be really bad. But I have a hunch. If I'm right, there's no one home…and I'm just crazy.
Yippee.
I slip my credit card into the door and wedge it along the lock, trying to flick it open like they show in movies. Either luck is with me or it's easier than it looks—the door falls open and my credit card falls to my feet in two pieces.
Well, shit.
I'll worry about that later.
I stare into the darkness of the apartment.
Even from here, I can tell it's empty. I flick on the light switch by the door and look at nothing but dusty countertops and a discarded box half full of packing peanuts in one corner. No one lives here. No one has lived here since my neighbor left. "Hello?" I call out, just in case.
There's no answer. I didn't expect one. The floors here are tile, and my slippers are leaving prints in the dust. No one's been in or out of here in weeks or months.
"Well, what the fuck?" I mutter to myself. I shuffle to the wall that is adjacent to mine and press my ear to it. No music. I turn and look at the other wall, but it's nothing but windows and skewed mini blinds.
The music starts again. This time, the drums seem more urgent, the pipes wailing more frantically. It's not any louder, but there's a real sense of…immediacy to it.
Like it’s just in the next room.
I open every door in the apartment, peering into closets. They’re all empty, but the music continues, always just the next room away. Eventually, there’s nowhere else to look, and I groan, putting my hands to my forehead. “Either show me or leave me the hell alone, all right?”
God, I sound crazy even to my own ears. But this is just getting ridiculous. I can't sleep. It's interfering with my job. My friends think I'm crazy.
I'm not entirely sure that I'm not crazy. That all of this isn't just my brain deciding to go haywire and self-destruct, and it's picking some bagpipes and a catchy beat to do it to.
Frustrated, I lean against the kitchen counter. As I do, a light flicks on under the bedroom door.
Well, that’s not creepy at all.
I look down at my feet. I’ve left trails in the dust on the floor. No one’s been inside here for months.
The prickles on the back of my neck start again. I should turn around, maybe. Go back to my apartment, shut the door, go back to bed and forget I ever heard anything. I turn to the front door…
And pause.
And slowly turn back to the closed bedroom door.
I need to know what's going on. I need to know who the King of Pentacles is and why I have a “spiderweb” aura. Mostly I just need to know if I’m going crazy.
If this is a mistake, I suppose there's only one way to find out.
I open the door and step inside.