When in doubt, get out.
— Rule One
Noah Greer was next on my hit list.
He told Claire he was an entrepreneur from Chicago, but his business card said he was a realtor from East Chicago.
The only thing east of Chicago is Lake Michigan.
East Chicago is a hellhole, a half hour south of Chicago, in Indiana. A century ago, it was an industrial powerhouse. Today, it's a heavily polluted shell of its former self with a population half of what it once was. It's the kind of place you'd drive through without stopping unless you're going to the casino. Unless you live there, in which case you're probably stuck there.
Being a realtor in East Chicago meant Noah was selling homes nobody wanted. Then again, Noah Greer was also something nobody wanted. He was the kind of guy who's single for a reason. He came off as slimy because he tried too hard to present himself as being big time, but one look at him said, "Nope."
I wasn't sure he'd worth my time, but the job looked like it'd be easy.
His house was on a dark street, and he posted online about going to a family reunion in Denver. He'd be gone for days. I could even confirm where he was by the stuff he kept posting on facebook.
I had the place to myself. So why was I struggling? Why did I jump at the sound of every car in the neighborhood? Why did I fear the sound of my copy of his key in the lock to his front door? The sound of metal against metal sounded like thunder.
My heart raced even more when I went inside. I was wearing the same gloves I always wore on a job, yet everything felt slippery.
I was getting sloppy.
Why?
Headlights flashed in the window as a car drove by, and I shook. Boogie's voice rang in my head. "I'm not gon' hurt you girl, but I ain' goin' huntin' either. Yo' comin' to me."
I tried searching Noah's house, but another car drove by. More lights in the windows. I shook again.
I don't have many rules, but I do have a few.
When in doubt, get out.
That immediately became a new rule. It became the new rule, in fact. That rule would keep me safe. And sane.
That rule got bumped up to rule mother fucking one.
Another car drove by. Another doubt. More lights flashed in the windows. More doubts. I finally had to admit I couldn't do the job.
In my entire life, the worst feeling I ever had was the night my mom died. I was working at the Brass Buckle. There was maybe a minute between when calls started coming into the bar and when I found out. During that minute, everybody was staring at me, like they thought I knew something they didn't. But it was the other way around. And for a minute, all I could do was stand there and wait for somebody to say something. Mom was dead. Phones were ringing, but not mine. Whispers were going around the bar, and everybody knew. Everybody but me.
That minute felt like a lifetime. It was the worst feeling ever, until now. Somehow, this was worse.
I had no reason to leave and nowhere to be, but I couldn't stay here, in this guy's house. Everything sounded like footsteps.
When I could no longer deny I was afraid, I fled.