The Apartment - K. L. Slater Page 0,73

push away my latte. I can’t face its creamy sickliness any more.

42

When I get back to the house, I rush upstairs. My mouth is dry.

When I get up to the top floor, I swipe my key card at the door and step inside, relieved to be alone at last.

I’m trying to run through everything Linda has told me, to untangle the threads and make some sense of it all.

Something made Sophie turn from being a loving mother into someone who’d leave her child behind and take her own life. I have this rising panic inside that comes from our association by default with Sophie and Melissa. By choosing to live at Adder House, it’s as if their tragedy could be duplicated in our lives, too.

That by staying here, I’m sending the universe a message that I also accept a terrible fate. It might not be logical but it feels very, very real, like the inevitability of something bad happening is a real thing. My overwhelming instinct right now is that we have to get away from here.

Inside, the apartment is cool and quiet without Skye here. I’m so used to the backdrop of television or her playing a game on my iPad.

My old life feels a million miles away already. I think how Skye cried when I snapped at her this morning when she left for school. The way she looked at me when I swore to her that I hadn’t moved her toys, or ripped her painting.

I flop down on the couch, exhausted but racked with a nervous energy that refuses to let me rest. Did Sophie feel this way, too?

I’m not Sophie, I remind myself. I have a choice to get out before things get worse here. For once, I’m pleased I’ve still got so much stuff in bags and boxes. That will save us time.

I will myself to just calm down and breathe. There are decisions to make about our future, but I have a few hours to get my head straight before Skye comes home, and my body feels so worn.

At last my breathing calms, my limbs feel heavy. Blissful peace settles over me like a feather-light blanket.

I’m drifting off, floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep, when I first hear it. The faintest wailing noise. I’m not sure if I’ve dreamed it, but it’s alarming enough for me to sit up and listen.

There’s nothing for a few minutes. I have the window open, and every now and again, I hear the faraway rumble of a big lorry passing through Palace Gate from the busy top road.

Skye’s face flits into my mind’s eye.

I sit bolt upright. There it is again . . . louder this time. A wail . . . a howl. It’s a child crying, a girl.

I jump up and run to the doorway, convinced for a moment that Skye is back, hurt or injured and crying for me outside the apartment door. But when I reach her bedroom, I stop dead, a tendril of pure dread snaking down from my scalp, all the way down my back.

The sound is coming from behind Skye’s bedroom door.

For a moment or two, I literally can’t move. My whole body feels frozen to the spot. Thoughts and possibilities zap through my mind, so quickly I can barely keep track of them.

I feel a little disorientated from my nap.

Is Skye here? Did I get confused again and she hasn’t gone to school today? Did she return while I was out? Is she hurt . . . in pain?

My hand slowly reaches for the door handle and I push down and throw the door wide open.

But Skye’s room is empty. And completely silent.

43

I stand at the bedroom door, trying to work through where else the noise could have come from, when the doorbell rings.

I rush down the hallway and fling open the door, expecting Dr Marsden to explain about the noise.

‘Freya! What’s wrong?’ It’s Lily from downstairs.

‘I’ll be fine in a minute,’ I say, relieved it’s her. ‘I just had a bit of a shock. I’m OK.’

I’d really like to confide in her, but I don’t want her to think I’m crazy and tell the other residents. I take a step back inside my apartment.

‘You don’t look OK,’ she says, laying a hand on my arm. ‘Why don’t I come in and make you a nice cup of tea?’

I haven’t got the energy to fight. Part of me wants to hide away and not come out for the rest of