Read Online Dead Dreams by Emma Right - Free Book Online Page A

housemate?”
    “Sarah McIntyre?”
    “Oh, so you spoke with Mom?” It was the first time he’d taken interest in my affairs. Maybe there was hope for our relationship…so I’d mistakenly wished.
    “Mom called me. Several times, actually.” He sounded annoyed.
    “What she say about Sarah? Oh, never mind.” I’d never confided in Keith. What was I thinking calling him? First off, he’d think I was nuts; then I ran the risk of what I’d said looping back to Mom. It appeared notes were already passed around behind my back. If I told him, I might even have to explain the break-in to make sense of things.
    He cleared his throat. “What about Sarah?”
    “It’s just a silly roommate thingy. Sorry I bothered you.” I quickly hung up before Keith asked unwelcome questions.
    It would be stupid to call the cops, I told myself. This could just be a false alarm. I strained my ears, and still the thudding, fainter it seemed now, persisted.
    I contemplated what to do as I keyed in the security codes near the front door, something I should have done when I’d first gotten home. Sarah hadn’t showed me how to work the camera capture feature yet and I didn’t know how to turn that on, so, we can forget about getting a photo ID of any intruder should he pass by this way. But at least, if I got murdered by whoever was in Sarah’s bedroom, the killer would trigger the system when making a quick exit. Sarah’s paranoia was contagious. The alarm had a feature that showed any window or entry left ajar and it had been warmer those April nights, so most evenings we’d left our bedroom windows open a crack. Sarah’s window registered as unsecured on the alarm pad and so, I bypassed hers as well as my bedroom’s, which I was going to scoot out of.
    I scurried to my room and peered out at Emerson Street below. Three stories down. I could survive if I fell. I hoped I wouldn’t break my legs. That might affect my acting career.
    Neither Jim, nor his replacement, “Alias,” had turned up. I sucked in the crisp air a few times to calm my breathing and reminded myself that at least the alarm was on if I got attacked in Sarah’s room and the perpetrator tried to escape.
    The ledge outside my window spanned only six inches, but in school I’d taken ballet, which made me nimble, and gymnastics, which had given me loads of practice on balance. If I could somersault and cartwheel on a beam four inches wide, I could sashay my way along the ledge that wrapped around to Sarah’s bedroom. Stay positive, I told myself.
    Once my Skechers were off, I climbed over the sill with bare feet. The icy cold of the cement ledge surprised me and froze my toes. It sent chills up my Achilles. I didn’t even want to consider what would happen if someone from the street spotted me and called the cops. I might end up on the evening news. I saw the headlines: Girl Caught Breaking into Her Own Apartment Refuses to Press Charges.”
    Might be my only claim to fame if I didn’t make it in the acting world, I thought.
    I dug my nails into the shingled exterior wall, trying to get some balance as I edged along the ledge. In some areas, I barely had a fingertip hold and had to poke my fingers into any crevice I could manage. I refused to think of spiders living in the cracks. A snail probably moved faster than I did. When my hands felt the coolness of the glass on Sarah’s window, I pressed my cheek against it and sighed with relief. I squinted into bedroom. Except for a night-light Sarah left perpetually on next to her bed, the room was dark. I couldn’t see anyone in there. Only shadows. But, the thudding persisted. It was louder, now that I listened through the glass. I imagined Sarah lying behind the bed, wounded, and tapping with her knuckles to signal for help. I hoped it was just my years of watching horror movies that filled my mind with such tragic images and that my supposition was not remotely close to reality.
    I heaved up the lip of the