Read Online Dead Dreams by Emma Right - Free Book Online
Authors: Emma Right
Tags: Young Adult, Mystery & Suspense, young adult fugitive, young adult psychological thriller, contemp fiction, contemoporary
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How come he came over to the Bay Area four years ago without Sarah? He couldn’t have cared that much for her to have left her in West Virginia with a dying father and a sick mom.
I must have dozed off on the sofa; when I awoke it was dark—eight-thirty—and there was no sign of Sarah, or of Jim’s parked car, when I peered out the window. Then I realized I’d never turned the alarm back on when I’d entered. At least the sleep refreshed me, and all my senses felt rejuvenated. I placed my hand on the window sill and breathed in the crisp air. That was probably when I heard it: the tap-tap sound coming from Sarah’s room. It droned on and on, like an annoying woodpecker drumming on a tree trunk. Atherton had several of those in the more woodsy sections. If there was one thing I loved about living in the neighborhood it was the nature that surrounded our apartment building. Doves cooing in the early mornings, crickets chirping when the sun was setting.
But that evening the thought of nature brought the oak tree outside our kitchen window to mind. Jim was right. Someone could climb the branches and reach our balcony easily. And what if someone had while I lay sleeping? I ran to Sarah’s bedroom, placed my ear on her door and called softly, “Sarah.”
Had someone sneaked past me and gone to Sarah’s room? Was Sarah in there? Maybe she hadn’t noticed I was zonked out on the sofa and had walked straight past me, mind lost in the latest conspiracy theory.
“Sarah, you in there?” I whispered. What if it wasn’t Sarah in there?
Only the tapping answered me, as if cajoling me. What if Sarah had been in there the whole time and was lying on the floor, injured? My imagination took over. I had to find a way to get into her bedroom. First I called her cell, hoping she might answer it. No response.
“Sarah, I’m coming in!” I practically yelled.
But, the solid oak bedroom door was locked. This was like her. She’d never left her bedroom lock unfastened without being asked. Did she think I was going to murder her in her sleep? I jiggled the doorknob. Bashing the door down with my shoulder wasn’t something I’d consider.
At five-feet-six, and a hundred and twenty pounds, I was no Rambo.
Chapter Sixteen
I wasn’t on friendly terms with any of my neighbors—how could I since I was hardly around. And Mrs. Mott was gone. I could call Mr. Yamamoto and beg the spare key out of him without scaring him with details, but that could take hours, since he lived in Marin, and if Sarah was hurt, we’d have to explain all sorts of things to Mr. Yamamoto. He might even break my lease—a sobering thought since I’d gotten this apartment at such a bargain.
I texted Jim again. An ex-cop would surely have the tools to break in an interior door. Ten minutes later, I’d chewed off my fingernails to stubs and still had no luck reaching Jim. If Sarah was hurt, she could have bled to death by now.
I thought of Sergeant Twist’s business card, but it was a shred of warped paper after its run through the washing machine. If I called 911 and the cops came, it would be embarrassing if they found Sarah just sleeping with her iPod buds stuck in her ears—not to mention Sarah would be furious with me with her no-cop policy. And I didn’t even want to think what Mom would say.
I thought of Keith. We’d never been brother-sister close, but he might figure out a way in. After all, civil engineering was his specialty. Something sensible, my dad had commented about Keith’s career too many times—meaning my acting ambition was useless. Keith was at San Francisco, (close, but not so close he could just hop down the street and bother me), but he frequented my area when visiting construction clients. I punched in his number on my cell phone.
“Hey, Keith?”
“What’s up, Brie?”
“I need some advice.”
“I’m in the middle of something. If it only takes a minute….”
“Quick question. You know my
I must have dozed off on the sofa; when I awoke it was dark—eight-thirty—and there was no sign of Sarah, or of Jim’s parked car, when I peered out the window. Then I realized I’d never turned the alarm back on when I’d entered. At least the sleep refreshed me, and all my senses felt rejuvenated. I placed my hand on the window sill and breathed in the crisp air. That was probably when I heard it: the tap-tap sound coming from Sarah’s room. It droned on and on, like an annoying woodpecker drumming on a tree trunk. Atherton had several of those in the more woodsy sections. If there was one thing I loved about living in the neighborhood it was the nature that surrounded our apartment building. Doves cooing in the early mornings, crickets chirping when the sun was setting.
But that evening the thought of nature brought the oak tree outside our kitchen window to mind. Jim was right. Someone could climb the branches and reach our balcony easily. And what if someone had while I lay sleeping? I ran to Sarah’s bedroom, placed my ear on her door and called softly, “Sarah.”
Had someone sneaked past me and gone to Sarah’s room? Was Sarah in there? Maybe she hadn’t noticed I was zonked out on the sofa and had walked straight past me, mind lost in the latest conspiracy theory.
“Sarah, you in there?” I whispered. What if it wasn’t Sarah in there?
Only the tapping answered me, as if cajoling me. What if Sarah had been in there the whole time and was lying on the floor, injured? My imagination took over. I had to find a way to get into her bedroom. First I called her cell, hoping she might answer it. No response.
“Sarah, I’m coming in!” I practically yelled.
But, the solid oak bedroom door was locked. This was like her. She’d never left her bedroom lock unfastened without being asked. Did she think I was going to murder her in her sleep? I jiggled the doorknob. Bashing the door down with my shoulder wasn’t something I’d consider.
At five-feet-six, and a hundred and twenty pounds, I was no Rambo.
Chapter Sixteen
I wasn’t on friendly terms with any of my neighbors—how could I since I was hardly around. And Mrs. Mott was gone. I could call Mr. Yamamoto and beg the spare key out of him without scaring him with details, but that could take hours, since he lived in Marin, and if Sarah was hurt, we’d have to explain all sorts of things to Mr. Yamamoto. He might even break my lease—a sobering thought since I’d gotten this apartment at such a bargain.
I texted Jim again. An ex-cop would surely have the tools to break in an interior door. Ten minutes later, I’d chewed off my fingernails to stubs and still had no luck reaching Jim. If Sarah was hurt, she could have bled to death by now.
I thought of Sergeant Twist’s business card, but it was a shred of warped paper after its run through the washing machine. If I called 911 and the cops came, it would be embarrassing if they found Sarah just sleeping with her iPod buds stuck in her ears—not to mention Sarah would be furious with me with her no-cop policy. And I didn’t even want to think what Mom would say.
I thought of Keith. We’d never been brother-sister close, but he might figure out a way in. After all, civil engineering was his specialty. Something sensible, my dad had commented about Keith’s career too many times—meaning my acting ambition was useless. Keith was at San Francisco, (close, but not so close he could just hop down the street and bother me), but he frequented my area when visiting construction clients. I punched in his number on my cell phone.
“Hey, Keith?”
“What’s up, Brie?”
“I need some advice.”
“I’m in the middle of something. If it only takes a minute….”
“Quick question. You know my
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