Beneath the Surface Audiobook

I can feel them. The eyes on me, watching my every move. They’ve been watching me since I left my apartment, but they haven’t made a move. I’ve been careful to stay near people. People are safe. Not as safe as they used to be with their attention now focused on the devices in their hands or the voices in their ears, but some are still awake. Some are still watching those around them. I see it in the occasional smile or even the subtle eyebrow lift. I see it, and I pray there are enough of them for me to finish my task.

The familiar blue shape appears in the distance like a buoy marking a designation in the ocean. If I can just make it there, the rest won’t matter. Clutching the package tighter in my arms, I quicken my pace. Just twenty more feet, then ten, five. My eyes dart around one more time before I reach out to grasp the cold metal handle, and, while no one seems to be watching me, I still expect a hand to latch onto my shoulder or a bullet to pierce my skin.

But there’s nothing. I drop the package into the dark expanse and sag with relief. It’s gone now and there’s nothing they can do to get it back. It will be picked up and sorted and sent to the proper address. Maybe not today. Maybe not even for a few days, but it will make it there, and that’s enough for me. Someone will receive it and they will know the truth. Even if something happens to me.

With my task complete, I pull my coat tighter and turn back to go home. Now that my focus is off the package, I can feel the wind biting through my jacket. I quicken my pace, keeping my eyes open for any villainous movement, any sign of them, but I see none.

As I walk, I wonder if I’ve imagined it all. Maybe no one has been following me. Maybe I’ve worked myself up over nothing. My anxiety has betrayed me like this before although never this bad. I should never have told her what I knew. That was dumb. I unlock my door and scurry into my apartment, locking the door behind me and leaning against it.

My heart pounds out a vicious rhythm and my breath comes in quick rasps, but I’m safe. Now I just need to calm down. Closing my eyes, I take a few deep breaths the way my mother taught me when I was young. After a few minutes, the pace of my heart begins to slow, and when I open my eyes, the blank canvas I spy across the room sends a wave of relief through me. Painting always makes me feel better. 

I squirt some green paint onto my palette, but it’s not what I want. My emotions are still too high, too raw. So, I squirt some red on the palette and dip my brush in it. Red — the most versatile and deceitful color of them all. When it comes in hearts and bows, it represents happiness and love. My eyes skitter to the photo of my sister and me a few years ago. When it shows up in harsh words and scars, it depicts anger or hate. The scar on my head throbs, pulsing with the memory of the beat of flashing lights and broken glass. In some cases, red even represents death and that’s what I see now as I swipe it across the canvas. Not a physical death but a metaphorical one. The death of this job, of my dreams.

The brush slashes across the palette, the strokes angry and concise. When it feels like enough, I put the red down and pick up another brush, dipping it into the black and then the brown. It’s dark now, melancholy, but there is always hope. Always a little light, so I add a few vivid colors to the painting. This one will never sell, but that’s okay. This one is for me. To tame my emotions so I don’t do something stupid. I don’t even know who else to trust at this point.

When the last stroke is complete, I set the brush down and step back to admire my work. To the untrained eye, it would be chaotic, but to me it’s cathartic. It quiets the angry beast inside me.

I step forward to grab the brushes to wash them out, but a knock at my door causes me to pause. My feet slap softly on the tile as I cross to the front door. I throw it open and blink in surprise. “You? What are you doing here?” 

But there’s no verbal response. Instead, my feet slide out from under me as they shove me to the floor. There’s a sickening crack as my head hits the tile. Pain, followed quickly by stars, explodes in my vision and a sweet smell fills my nostrils. And then the world goes black.