Your Turn to Suffer by Tim Waggoner (the ebook reader .txt) 📕

combined with the emotional residue of her nightmare – not to mention watching a man die in FoodSaver’s parking lot last night. She wasn’t hurting because anything had really happened to her physically. There was no Nightway, no Vermilion Tower. But then again, the shadow creatures were real, weren’t they? And if they were real, who’s to say the rest of it wasn’t real, too?

Forget about it for now, she thought. You’ll feel better after you get some coffee in you.

She doubted it, but making coffee would give her something to do, so she started shuffling toward the kitchen. On the way, she tried calling Larry’s name, but her mouth and throat were dry, her voice hoarse, and the sound that came out of her was little more than a croak. She doubted he’d have heard her if he was standing next to her, let alone if he was in the bathroom. She was going to try calling out for him again when she saw a folded piece of paper sitting on the counter in front of the coffee maker. She reached for it, then hesitated. What if it was another message from the Cabal? She thought if it was, she might start screaming and never stop.

Don’t be such a baby, she told herself.

She picked up the note, gratified that her hands only shook a little as she opened it. She was immediately relieved to see Larry’s handwriting, and she quickly read the message.

I didn’t have the heart to wake you after the night you had. I got up early and cleaned (a little) so you wouldn’t have to wake up to a total pigsty (ha ha). I’ve got a signing gig this morning at a conference for small business owners downtown. Sounds like a snooze-fest, but at least I’ll get a check out of it. Call or text me if you need anything. I hope you have a good day!

Larry.

He’d drawn a small heart next to his signature. She knew it wasn’t a romantic gesture. He always drew a heart next to his signature, even when signing official documents like contracts or tax forms. It was just part of who he was. Seeing it cheered her a little, and she put the note down on the counter, leaving it open so she could see the little heart while she made coffee.

She made a of couple slices of toast while the coffee brewed, and she decided to spoil herself a little and slather some blackberry jam on the bread. The dining table and its chair stood upright once more – Larry had righted them after the crime scene tech had departed. She didn’t feel comfortable sitting at the table, though. The shadow creatures had knocked it over when they’d rushed through the open patio door. They’d touched it. She didn’t think the things had poisoned the table or cursed it or anything. Then again, who knew what the creatures were capable of?

So you believe the shadow things are real, but the Vermilion Tower isn’t? How can you choose to believe in one impossibility but not the other?

She drank her coffee and ate her toast standing at the counter. She loved blackberry jam, would eat one jar after another if she allowed herself, which was why she bought it so rarely, and when she did buy it, she saved it for a special treat. But she barely tasted it today, and she only managed to eat one piece of toast and a single bite of the second before she lost her appetite. She felt slightly nauseated, but she downed the rest of her coffee – appetite or not, she needed the caffeine – then put the uneaten toast down the disposal. She then rinsed her mug and put it in the dishwasher.

Normally she did yoga in the morning, following along to the routines on one of the DVDs she owned. As much as her body hurt this morning, she could use the exercise. But she wasn’t sure she had the time, not if she didn’t want to be late for her first client. A shower might do more good for her body than yoga today anyway. It would sure as hell be more soothing. But she was hesitant to head to the master bathroom. This was partially due to the fact that the shadow creatures had broken into her bedroom last night and pounded on the bathroom door as she hid there, terrified. But she was also reluctant because the lock on her patio door was broken. She’d call the rental office before she left and ask them to send someone to fix the lock, but it would likely be a while before a maintenance worker showed up. In the meantime, anyone could enter her apartment through the patio door. Anyone – or anything. She didn’t like the idea of standing naked in the shower, defenseless and wondering if someone had snuck into her apartment and was walking down the hallway, heading for her bedroom, intending to break the lock on the bathroom door and come rushing toward her.

The image brought a fresh twist of nausea, and for a moment she thought she might throw up her meager breakfast. She managed to keep it down, though. Did she have anything that she could use to keep the patio door closed? Some kind of metal or wooden rod that she could slip into the track so the door couldn’t be opened? She couldn’t think of anything.

She’d left her phone on the coffee table when she rose from the couch, and now she heard it vibrate against the table’s glass surface. The sound was off, but since the phone only vibrated once, she figured she’d just received an email or text message. She walked over to the coffee table and stared at the phone. She regarded it warily, as if it were a poisonous insect that might sting her if she came too close. What if the message she’d received was another enigmatic