Not Again

A knock on the front door which made Cassandra jump on the bed.

Her heart slammed against her ribs. She spun around, her breath catching in her throat.

"Cassandra?" Her grandmother's voice came from the kitchen. "Can you get that?"

She couldn't move, she just sat on the bed.

"Cassandra?"

"I…" She swallowed hard. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll get it."

She crossed the living room slowly, her hand trembling as it reached for the doorknob. She pulled it open, bracing herself for the worst.

It was Mrs. Delaney from two doors down.

The elderly woman stood on the doorstep, her gray hair in curlers, her housedress wrinkled. She clutched her purse like a shield, her eyes darting nervously.

"Cassandra, dear." Mrs. Delaney's voice was tight. "Is your grandmother home?"

"She's in the kitchen. Is everything okay?"

"I need to speak with her. Urgently."

Mrs. Delaney pushed past Cassandra without waiting for an invitation. The woman's hands were shaking. Her face was pale, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Cassandra closed the door, her heart still pounding. She followed Mrs. Delaney into the kitchen, her mind racing.

Grandma looked up from the stove, her eyebrows rising. "Martha? What are you doing here so late?"

"We need to talk." Mrs. Delaney dropped her purse on the table and sat down heavily. "Something happened."

Grandma face went pale.

She set down the spatula, her hands trembling slightly. "What happened?"

"Someone was asking questions today. At the grocery store. About you. About Cassandra." Mrs. Delaney's voice dropped to a whisper. "A man. Young. Dressed in a suit. He wanted to know where you lived."

Cassandra's blood went cold.

"What did you tell him?" Grandma asked sharply.

"Nothing. I told him nothing." Mrs. Delaney wrung her hands. "But he was persistent, Evelyn. Very persistent. He wouldn't take no for an answer."

Cassandra stepped forward. "What did he look like?"

"Tall, Dark hair, gray suit." Mrs. Delaney shuddered. "He had the kind of eyes that made you want to look away."

The man from the apartment, Cassandra thought. The voice. It has to be.

Evelyn's hands were shaking now. She pressed them flat against the counter, steadying herself.

"Martha, I need you to go home," Evelyn said quietly. "Lock your doors. Don't answer any questions. Don't talk to anyone about this."

"Evelyn.."

"Please." Evelyn's voice cracked. "Just do as I say."

Mrs. Delaney nodded slowly. She stood up, grabbing her purse. At the door, she turned back.

"Be careful," she whispered. "Both of you."

Then she was gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

Cassandra stood frozen in the kitchen. Her grandmother hadn't moved. She was still pressed against the counter, her eyes distant.

"Gran?" Cassandra's voice was small. "What's going on?"

Evelyn didn't answer. She just stood there, her breathing shallow, her face ashen.

"Gran, please. Tell me."

Evelyn finally moved. She walked to the cabinet above the sink and pulled out a small bottle, dark glass, unlabeled. Her hands were shaking as she unscrewed the cap.

"Gran, what is that?"

"Medicine." Evelyn's voice was flat. "For my nerves."

"Nerves? What do you have to be nervous about?" Cassandra moved closer. "Gran, you're scaring me."

Evelyn drank from the bottle, her throat bobbing as she swallowed. She set it down and turned to face Cassandra.

Her eyes were red. Glassy. Like she'd been crying.

"What happened today, Gran?" Cassandra's voice was desperate now. “Who were those men?"

Evelyn opened her mouth. Closed it. Her hands twisted in the fabric of her apron.

"Have been here," she whispered. "So i don’t know.”

“Grandma please." Cassandra insisted

“I can't tell you.” Mrs Evelyn gave up the truth.

"Can't tell me what?"

"Bad news." Evelyn's voice broke. "That's all I can say. Bad news."

"What kind of bad news?"

Evelyn shook her head. "I need to lie down. I'm tired."

"Gran.."

"Please, Cassandra." Evelyn's eyes met hers. "Please just let me rest."

Cassandra wanted to argue. Wanted to demand answers. But something in her grandmother's eyes stopped her. Fear. Desperation. The kind of look she'd never seen on Evelyn's face before.

"Okay," Cassandra whispered. "Okay. Go to bed. I'll clean up."

Evelyn nodded slowly. She walked toward the bedroom, her steps slow and heavy. At the doorway, she paused.

"Don't open the door for anyone," she said quietly. "Not for anyone."

Then she was gone.

Cassandra stood alone in the kitchen.

The bottle was still on the counter, dark glass, unlabeled. She picked it up, turning it over in her hands. The liquid inside was brownish, thick. She didn't recognize it.

Her grandmother had never mentioned needing medicine for her nerves.

She's lying, Cassandra thought. She's hiding something.

But what?

Cassandra put the bottle back and walked to the window. She parted the curtain just enough to peek outside.

She watched in silent.

Her heart sank. Whoever was out there, whoever had been asking questions at the grocery store, they weren't leaving. They were waiting.

But for what?

Cassandra pulled the curtain closed and walked to the couch. She sat down heavily, her body trembling.

She should go to bed. Should try to sleep. Tomorrow was another day, another shift at the flower shop, another chance to pretend everything was normal.

But she couldn't move.

Couldn't close her eyes.

Every time she blinked, she saw the apartment. The overturned furniture. The bullet holes in the walls.

And she heard the voice.

Who's there?

Cassandra wrapped her arms around herself, trying to stop the shaking. Her fingers found the necklace at her throat, the pendant her mother had left her. She clutched it like a lifeline.

What happened today? she wondered. What did I stumble into?

The questions swirled in her head, endless and terrifying.

She didn't sleep that night.

She sat on the couch, watching the curtains, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for the worst.