Wake Me When the Sun Goes Down (3 page)

Before I knew it, we
pulled
up in front of our apartment, the darkened street completely deserted at the late hour.  The
apartment
was
set in a three story row house
, each house identical in shape as its neighbor on our street
, as
far as the eye could see. 

The paint colors and trim gave them each their own unique character.  Our yellow house with white trim wasn’t particularly nice or run
down;
it blended in perfectly with its
buddies
.  Our apartment was on the top floor with
the
bonus of a small roof deck for our own particular use.  It made for great stargazing (me) or parties (Bridget) and boasted a terrific view.  B
e
ing on the third floor was great for
privacy
,
our neighbors below were quiet as churchmice.  Not so much fun when
lugging
groceries
up the stairs
though
.

 
The place was originally Bridget’s
.
I moved in about six months
before
,
when I needed a place to stay after giving up my student housing to move in with
Trent
, a
fellow student at CCA
.  Bridge
t
and I met when we realized we were both dating
Trent
, and she decided it would be fun to burn all of his stuff on the very day I showed up with my rented U-haul.  I’ve never been sure why she took me in that day
.
I was nothing to her
,
and she’
d
never been particularly outwardly generous, but that’s how I kn
ew she had
a good heart.  She just d
idn’t
like to cop to it very often. 

Her fearless demeanor came in handy that night
.
I don’t think I could have walked into our apartment so boldly, but she strolled right in, flipping on every light switch she came in contact with until the entire apartment
blazed
with light. 
Everything seemed harsh and bright to my sensitive eyes, and I fought the urge to turn them all off behind her.  Only fear of what might lurk in the shadows kept me from doing it. 

When our circuit of the apartment was finished, we stood inside my room, which looked undisturbed except for the covers on my bed.  In general I make my bed every morning by force of habit.  Whatever had me leaving it in the middle of the night hadn’t given me time to make it before I left. 

“Well, it all looks fine to me, the windows are locked up tight, and there’s no sign of anyone jimmying open the front door.  Maybe you left the apartment and got jumped out there somewhere?” Bridget shrugged, leaning against the
doorframe as I sank onto
the edge of the bed.

“Who knows?”  It all start
ed
to have that surreal, dreamlike quality to it, as if it had happened to someone else. 

“
I have to get ba
ck to work, a
re you gonna be
alright
?
”

“
Yes, of course.  I’ll be fine
,” I waved away the rare moment of concern on her part.  “
I’m
just
going to get some sleep.  I’ll see you tomorrow.
”

“Hey, I’ll tell you what…”
S
he rooted around in her purse for a few minutes, coming up with a hot pink little canister.  “If anyone busts in here, hit them with this right in the face and they’ll be all ‘ahhh, my eyes, I’m blind!’ then you can kick them in th
e balls and make a break for it,
”
she grinned.

I accepted the miniature sprayer with dubious care, thinking I was more likely to accidentally spray myself with it, the way my luck was going.  “Thanks, I’ll hang onto it.” 

“
Call me if
any
thing weird happens
though
, I’ll come home.  All I need is like one tiny excuse to leave that stupid job.
”

“Thanks
,
Bridge, I really do appreciate you doing this for me,” I gave her a grateful
smile and she nodded brusquely.

“
Okay
cool,
whatever.
  Later
s
.”   

Once she was gone, I changed into a set of my soft, comfy pajamas, noting that I couldn’t find the ones I remembered putting on earlier that night.  I also couldn’t find my purse, which meant I’d have to deal with calling the bank in the morning and getting a new driver’s license.  Fantastic. 
Borrowing from Scarlett O’Hara, I decided to worry about it another day
.  T
here was already too much pressing in on my mind at the time.   It was late, far later than I usually stayed up, and I was so sleepy.

Only I couldn’t bring myself to get into bed and close my eyes. 

Resigning myself to the fact that I’d probably end up spending the entire night awake, I curled up on the couch with my soft, plush blanket (the one I got from my sister for Christmas with purple faeries all over it)
and picked up a book.  I figured I might as well get some assigned reading done and kill two birds with one stone.  After finding the perfect sideways position on the couch that afforded me a good look at the front door and the bay window to the street, I settled in to read. 

Before too long I noticed a
smell in the air… heavy grease from fast food, maybe last night’s dinner, that made my stomach twist with revulsion.
  It was strong enough to dislodge me from my faerie cocoon and send me into the kitchen to investigate.
  The smell grew stronger as I got closer to the kitchen and I spotted one of the wrappers tossed carelessly next to the garbage can.  Holding my breath, I picked up the wrapper and threw it away, but the smell lingered
.  Forced
to set the garbage can outside
,
I waited for a few minutes
, breathing shallowly through the top of my pajama
s
,
before I risked another sniff.  Luckily
,
the smell
gradually
faded, only to be replaced with someth
ing else… something tantalizing.

Sharp hunger sliced through my middle, and I nearl
y doubled over at the sensation,
clutching the kitchen counter until it faded.  All of a sudden I was ravenous, and made a beeline for the fridge, pulling it open a little harder than I’d intended
,
the bottle
s
rattling from the force of the movement.  Rapidly, my eyes scanned the contents, but I couldn’t spot what it was that was tempting my senses.  Leftover pizza?  Too greasy.  Cold cuts?  Closer… but not quite right.  Macaroni and cheese?  Ugh… no thanks.  What was it?
 

Before I could dig any deeper, a knock sounded at the front door.

Chapter
Three

I froze in front of the refrigerator as the knock reverberated through the room.  Who could possibly be knocking at that time of night?  With a twist of fear, I realized I’d left Bridget’s little pink can on the coffee table
,
and scurried back to scoop it up. 
Cl
utching the weapon, I approached the door cautiously, leaning up to look through the peep hole.  A man stood on the other side, checking something on his cell phone.  While I watched, he reached out and knocked again, a little harder th
at
time, and I jumped in spite of seeing it coming.

“Open up for chrissakes…” I clearly heard him mutter through the door, sounding vaguely irritated.  Did murderers get annoyed when their victims didn’t open up?  He didn’t look much like a murderer, not that I had a whole lot of experience with criminals at that point in my life. 

My gentleman caller had short,
spiky
,
dark hair and a lot of unshaven stubble that might have been meant to be a beard, though I couldn’t see much of his face.  His shoulders were at my eye level, so he was definitely over six feet tall.  He was dressed in dark clothes with a leather motorcycle jacket.  Not a rebel, biker bar kind of jacket
, but the kind of guy who rode an
expensive
racing bike
. 

All at once I decided I was being ridiculous.  A guy like that could probably break the door down if he really wanted to, and I had my mace.  He might not even be looking for me at all.

Unbolting the door, I propped it open a crack, relieved when he didn’t lunge towards me.  “Can I help you?”
My voice sounded raspy to my ears, as if I needed a drink, and I cleared my throat.

“I’ll need to see your license and registration.”  His voice was deep, but he sounded bored, like it was a routine question he’d already asked twenty times that night.  He looked up then and I noticed he had the most intense green eyes I’d ever seen.  Maybe they looked extra green in contrast to the dark fringe of lashes that framed them
(
Bridget would kill for lashes that naturally thick
)
.  The rest of him was just as appealing, from the strong jaw to the broad shoulders, despite the need of a shave.  Too bad he
looked
at me like I was the least interesting part of his day. 

And then something in his face changed as his eyes locked with mine, surprise clearly etching his features.  I started to get a little self-conscious as he stared back at me.  I knew I looked like hell after the night I’d had, but was it really that bad? 

“What?” I asked finally, having completely forgotten he’d asked me something and was probably waiting for my response.  My question seemed to derail his train of thought and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, finally looking away from me. 

“
Nothing. 
D
o you have your papers?
”

“Papers…”  Oh right, he’d asked for my license and registration, that made him a cop and probably explained the boredom and the intense scrutiny.  “I’m sorry
,
I don’t have any of that
.  I don’t have my purse.  You’re here to investigate what happened? Come on in
,
Detective…
”
I stood back from the door, giving him enough room to pass.

His head tilted to one side as he regarded me closely again with an inscrutable expression on his face.  “Bishop,” he replied succinctly, stepping into the living room.  Instead of taking a seat, he
made a slow circuit
around the apartment, though I wasn’t sure what he was looking for.  

I decided not to let him rattle me
.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?  I don’t think I’ll be getting much sleep tonight,” I offered, as if it was the most normal thing in the world for me talk to the cops in my pj’s. 

“You think?”  That earned me a half smile, as I’d clearly amused him.  “No, I’m good.  If you don’t have your papers here, where are they?” he pressed, picking up a piece of sheet music from the table by the window. 

“I have no idea.  Didn’t they tell you?  Oh, I guess not, I didn’t say much at the morgue.  I can’t remember anything about tonight.”

At the mention of the morgue, Bishop lost interest in the décor and returned his focus back to me.  “What
did
you tell them at the morgue?”
H
is eyes narrowed and I felt like I was under one of those bright lights of interrogation like you see in old movies.

“Not much, I had more questions than they did.  They told me how I’d been brought in and that I’d… died, or at least they thought I had, and that was about it.”

“And they let you go?”  His tone made it clear he found that hard to believe and a rush of guilt flooded me for running out on my civic responsibility. 

“
I sort of skipped out… I’m sorry!  It’s nothing personal
,
I didn’t feel like a whole lot of questions tonight.  I didn’t mean for you to have to track me down like this.”

His brows drew together into a single dark line that stemmed more from confusion than any anger over my response.  “Maybe we should go back and start at the beginning.”

“The beginning, right,” I took a deep breath, settling onto the end of the couch.  Trying to be as thorough as possible, I took him back to what I remembered from the moment I woke up in the morgue, leaving out Bridget’s involvement
,
since I didn’t want her to get in trouble for leaving work.  I didn’t tell him about the odd things like my sensitivity to sound and light, or the change in my vision, but it was pretty hard to keep the fact that my neck was completely healed from him.  I expected him to ask me more about it when I was done, but instead he gave me another irritated look.

“Okay,
I get it
.  T
hat’s a great cover story,
and you’ve got the whole wide-eyed innocent thing down pat.  But I’m with
t
he Order
, so..
.
”

“So…” I stared back at him blankly.  Was I supposed to know what that meant?  Was it a special tactical team within the police department?  “I really don’t know what else I can do
.
I’ve told you everything I know.”  

Bishop sank down on the opposite end of the couch, rubbing his face with both hands tiredly.  “You could stop wasting my time and get me your license and registration,” he sighed. 

What was with his obsession with those documents?  Wasn’t he listening to me?  He looked so down though, I started to feel bad for him.  Maybe it was one of those cop rules he
had
to check up on
,
or his report would be incomplete?  “Can’t you pull up my
driver’s
license on your computer and see that I’m really me?  I don’t actually have a car, so no vehicle registration.” 
 

His hands came away from his face, a new look of resolve replacing the fatigue.  “Let’s try something else.  Where’s your sponsor?”

“Sponsor?” I blinked.

“Let me guess, you don’t remember him either.”  Bishop’s eyes closed and I fancied I heard something akin to a whispered prayer cross his lips, but I didn’t recognize the words. 

“I don’t even know what you mean by sponsor.”  Didn’t they have sponsors in AA?  “I’m not an alcoholic,” I frowned.  Did he think I was on drugs?

“I didn’t…”
H
e pressed his lips together, thinking better of what he’d been about to say. 

“Look, I’m sorry
.
I wish I could be more help, Detective Bishop.  Believe me
,
I want to figure out what happened to me even more than you do.  I’m hoping my memory comes back after the shock wears off a little.  I guess I should go see a doctor tomorrow,” I frowned.  That meant I’d have to skip my morning classes. 

“No doctors…”

“No doctors?  Why not?”

“Oh for the love of…” he pressed a fist to his mouth and I thought he might really lose his temper
,
but then his eyes widened, focusing on my hand intently.  Quicker than my eye could track, he reached out and snatched up my hand, inspecting the ring on my finger.  “Where did you get this?”

For a moment I was too distracted by the feel of his hand over mine.  There we were on my couch, and the sexiest cop I’d ever seen was holding my hand and hanging onto my every word.  Things like that never happened to me, and I started to really regret not having taken a shower or brushing my hair after the ordeal at the hospital.  Those
cool
green eyes kept looking at me expectantly though, and I remembered
belatedly
he’d asked me a question.

The odd thing was, before he pointed it out, I hadn’t even noticed I was wearing it.  The ornate silver ring held a smooth amber cabochon.  “Oh… I didn’t even realize I had this on.  He must have put it on me along with the other stuff.”

“He who?”

“I told you, I don’t remember.  Whoever put me in all the other weird Viking clothes.  It’s pretty though, isn’t it?” I admired it openly, fingers tracing over the foreign symbols carved into the band. 

“You didn’t mention anything about Viking clothes before,” his voice sounded strange, and I tore my gaze away from the ring to look back at him. 

“
I thought you knew.  They said in the hospital report I was wearing a costume, so I thought you’d already know about that part.  I told you I changed, remember?  Why, is that important?”

“Where are these Viking clothes now?  Do the police have them?”

“No, they’re in my bedroom.”

“Get them.”  His eyes blazed with intensity, and I lost the urge to complain over the rude tone of the request.  Obviously it
was
important, or he wouldn’t be so eager to get his hands on them. 

“Alright, hold on a second, I’ll be right back.”  I rose to retrieve the bag of bloody clothes, more than a little disconcerted when he stood up and started to follow me to my room.  “It’ll only take a second,” I frowned, but he kept coming.  Writing it off as a cop thing, I let him follow me if he wanted to
,
glad my room wasn’t a pig sty like Bridget’s.  Once we got there, he shouldered past me, going right to the mesh bag next to the closet door without being told where it was.  I watched as Bishop pulled the clothes out, rolling the fabric through his fingers and studying the brooches with interest.  When he lifted them to his nose for a deep sniff, I started to get a little weirded out.  “Um… Detective?”

Another knock sounded at the front door, and both our heads swiveled on cue.  I turned back to ask him if I should answer it and he was gone.  The flutter of air coming in through the window gave the only sign of where he’d disappeared to.  “You have got to be kidding me,” I murmured in the empty room.  The knock came again, and I turned my back on the bedroom, scooping up the can of mace for comfort. 

Th
at
time I decided to be a little smarter about it.  “Who is it?”

“The police.  Sorry to disturb you so late, I’m looking for an Anja Evans?”

Peeking through the peep hole, most of the view was blocked by a badge, but I could see the man’s blonde hair and white teeth as he smiled at the door as if posing for a camera.  He was dressed casually in a pair of jeans, t-shirt, and a 49’ers jacket. 

I cracked the door open a few inches.  “You don’t look much like a cop,” I said carefully, mace still at the ready. 

“How about this?  Does this make you feel better?”  He freely offered the leather badge holder with his identification behind plastic. 

I ran my fingers over the ID, thinking I had no idea what a real police badge should look like, or how hard it would be to counterfeit.  It was a plus on his side that he’d showed one though, and I mentally kicked myself for not asking Bishop for any form of identification.  According to the ID, his name was Detective Andrew
Lucas
.   

“So, do I pass the inspection?  Can I come in or do you want to give your neighbors more to talk about?” he grinned. 

“
Sorry
,” I handed the badge holder back, stepping back to let him in.  Once he passed by, I noticed he had my purse tucked under his arm.  “Oh, you found my purse!  Is everything still inside?”  Half afraid I’d find the contents missing,
relief swept
over me when I found the wallet intact with my license and debit card still in place. 

“How else would I have found you?  You weren’t exactly Little Miss Information down at the hospital
.
”
H
is mild reproach
was tempered by a
playful edge.  

“Where did you find it?”  Belatedly
,
I realized I had no idea where I’d been picked up from by the ambulance.  There had to have been other clues at the crime scene.  Maybe the police already knew who had attacked me?  “Did you catch the guy who kidnapped me?
  Is he in jail?
”