Chapter 11: Third Times A Charm

The first thing I notice is the noise.

Not unusual in most buildings.

But this is the penthouse level.

People pay obscene amounts of money to live up here for one reason - silence. Privacy.

Instead, the sound of a woman moaning drifts through the ceiling above me.

Loudly.

I pause mid-email, fingers hovering over my keyboard as the sound echoes faintly through the apartment.

Bang.

Something hits the wall upstairs.

Then again.

Another breathless moan follows.

I lean back slowly in my chair, staring up at the ceiling.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter.

The woman upstairs clearly has no interest in being discreet.

Another thud rattles through the vent above my office.

Then a male voice joins in - deep, amused.

I only manage to hear the word “kitten”. It makes me feel slightly more uncomfortable.

Then it all stops.

I hear a third voice - hers. It’s a little more faint than the moaning that I was forcefully immersed in just seconds ago.

My mind wants to make assumptions.

A threesome? Maybe she has guests over. Shitty guests.

Might explain why both encounters today with her have been awkward and odd. Could be a result of the company she keeps. I mean, after all, we become who we surround ourselves with.

Not wanting to sit here and simmer even more after Gerard informed me that they sent someone in sweats to represent them, who then had the nerve to up and leave without a word - leading to the dismissal of the collaboration my company needs - I decide now’s a great time to grab my lunch.

---

The elevator is still on level twenty when I call it.

As soon as the doors open, I feel someone crash into my chest.

I go to snap at the culprit and am met with a familiar pair of hazel-coloured doe eyes.

She continues walking out.

She looks frazzled, confirming my suspicions of her involvement with the sexcapade I barely endured.

I hold the elevator, because based on my last two interactions with her, she seems mentally lost or ends up in places she’s not supposed to be. Right now, I don’t think she realises she’s on my floor.

She turns around, slightly embarrassed, and enters the lift.

Silence stretches between us.

Neither of us move.

Neither of us press a button.

“Third times a charm” I say hoping to lighten the mood

“No happening” she snaps

I make a dumb comment that comes off as flirting and brace myself for impact, but she doesn’t retort or snap.

She just bluntly suggests she take the stairs.

Which is impossible, because they’re under renovation at the moment and not even I can enter during work hours.

I advise her of this, but she believes her husband just used them.

He clearly lied and it’s absurd enough to take twenty flights of stairs over a fully operational elevator.

Her stubbornness leads us both into the stairwell that is off limits, earning a small grin from me.

Then something shifts.

She slows.

Stops.

Her hands come up to her ears.

She starts rocking.

Back and forth.

Her breathing turns sharp. Uneven.

Then—

She collapses.

---

I ask the construction worker to call an ambulance, but he just looks at me, annoyed.

“Sir I have a job to do, as her friends suggest you call the ambulance” he says.

I scratch the back of my neck and go to explain that we are indeed not friends, but this man brushes past me and requests we leave immediately.

I pick her up and take her into my apartment.

She’s light.

Too light.

I place her on the couch and check her pulse.

She’s breathing.

She’s okay.

I call my private physician to come check her out.

---

As soon as the physician arrives, I grab her swipe card and make a beeline for the elevator.

Level twenty.

Her floor.

I knock loudly. Frantically.

No answer.

No response.

I place my ear against the door because I know damn well that her husband is home and apparently went up the stairs.

What I hear is moaning.

Again.

Wtf.

I can’t help but assume that this penthouse is some form of a place for prostitution.

Maybe the pervert husband is a sex worker?

I accept the loss and leave reluctantly.

I arrive back at my apartment and Dr Laura immediately makes her way to me, concern etched on her face.

“Azriel, she’s severely stressed and is showing signs of early malnourishment,” Dr Laura advises.

“Is that enoug. h to have her admitted to hospital or anywhere except here?” I ask.

“I wouldn’t waste my time. She needs an appointment with her doctor to address the stress and eat something,” Dr Laura suggests.

“Thank you Dr Laura, you may be dismissed now,” I respond, unimpressed with the result.

This woman has been a thorn in my side all day.

I let out a huff and just accept whatever the universe has decided to deal to me today.

“Just another curveball in my day, nothing new,” I sigh.

---

I observe her quietly.

Still.

Fragments come through.

Vivid dreams disguised as memories.

One of them being me carrying a woman from her car, pleading with me not to take her to hospital.

I can’t make out her face in these dreams, but this nuisance of a woman resembles her closely.

The one that’s been haunting my dreams had a star-like birthmark behind her ear.

I cautiously hover over her to check.

But before I do, she starts to wake.

It startles me, but I smoothly retreat and make my way to the chair across from her.

But she doesn’t wake.

She starts shaking her head left to right, letting out muffled murmurs.

Then she starts shaking.

Crying uncontrollably.

I get up immediately and rush to her.

“Scarlett, wake up!”

Her eyes shoot open, startling me in the midst of it all.

I back away to avoid any incoming attacks from her.

She slowly gets herself up and just stares at her reflection in the mirror across the living room.

The silence is heavy.

“Where am I”

“What did you do to me?”

And she’s back. Full force.

---

I plead my case and provide her with the details of what happened from the moment she fainted to now.

The only thing that manages to capture her attention is that her husband didn’t answer.

Her eyes look vacant, then slowly fill with sorrow.

Then something darker.

Like a shadow having a lightbulb moment.

She turns to me and addresses me as tormentor.

She proceeds to ask if I know anyone that can test paint and vitamins, which I do, but I can’t help but ask—

“Why?”

She looks me dead in the eyes.

“I think my husband and best friend are trying to kill me”

---

Now I’m certain I’m harbouring a patient that escaped a mental ward.

But something about the determination in her eyes says she’s not here to mess around.

I don’t respond.

My mind drifts elsewhere.

I can’t help but compare the woman who haunts my dreams and the one in front of me now.

I have to know her name.

“Slow down, shouldn’t I atleast know your name before becoming your accomplice?” I ask

She lets out a chuckle.

“You were close, my names Charlotte not Scarlett” she says proudly.

Not the name I’m looking for.

Back to square one.

“But I’m also known as Lottie to my family, only my Dad calls me that though” she adds.

I freeze.

Everything in me stills.

I stop breathing.

It’s her.