The Haunting of Secrets by Shelley R. Pickens Page A

try to decide whether to acknowledge it when I hear a loud crash.
I jump out of my bed, grab the knife I hid under my pillow ever
since that night the killer paid me a visit, and run to the window
ready for battle. I hear a curse word from a familiar voice seconds
before I see Logan’s darkened figure try to make its way through
the broken window, little shreds of glass catching his clothes here
and there.
    “What the hell, Logan?” I ask exasperated.
“Just because I don’t answer your ‘rock call’, you decide to break
the damn window? What were you thinking?” I ask rattling off
question after question in one breath, giving him no chance to
answer.
    Logan, obviously ignoring all of my
questions, continues to concentrate on climbing through my window.
I return the knife to its hiding place under my pillow and stand
with my arms crossed, facing Logan. As pissed as I am about my
window and how clueless I feel as to how I’m going to explain to
Mary how my window got broken, watching Logan’s cute butt try and
wiggle through the hole that used to be my window, is actually
entertaining. He is twisting his way through the shards of glass,
breaking what he needs to here and there, trying his best not to
get cut. His expression is intense. Like last time, he’s wearing
dark, blue jeans with a black t-shirt in a failed attempt at
concealing himself. He’s almost through the window when his arm
catches on a piece of glass he doesn’t see and it tears into him
with a vengeance. I hear him cuss and see a cut, about three inches
long on his arm just below his shoulder, begin to bleed. I grab a
towel from my floor and run over to him, hoping to stop him from
bleeding all over my floor. I might be able to find a reasonable
story for the window, but blood on the floor would send Mary over
the edge.
    Logan’s face registers shock as I run towards
him. He takes a few steps back, clearly confused by my behavior. I
wonder then when things had shifted between us. It’s then that I
realize I am not as wary of the possibility of his touch as before.
I’m not sure when things started to change, but I am grateful they
did. I reach Logan and wrap the towel around his arm to stop the
bleeding, careful not to actually touch his skin. He places his
hand over the towel to hold it in place and his gaze lifts to
mine.
    For a moment, I’m lost in his eyes; I feel
the case around my heart melting. For the first time, someone sees
through the walls I built to keep people out. For the first time,
someone cared to get to know the real me. My hands start to shake.
I need to move away before I dare to want things I know I can’t
have. My emotions reeling from being so near him, I step back and
head to the bathroom to get supplies from the first aid kit Mary
insists I have under my bathroom sink. I grab the kit and more
towels and head back to play nurse to Logan.
    “Sit down, Logan, and let’s see how badly
you’ve hurt yourself,” I insist. Logan walks over to the bed and
sits down lightly. My heart skips a beat seeing him on my bed
again. He’s holding his injured arm at his side, careful not to get
blood anywhere as he inspects the wound. I see his ample muscles
flex as he turns, admire the strength I see in his chest, a product
of many years of playing sports, no doubt. His face is flushed, I
suppose from his injury and his eyes are glazed over with an
emotion I can’t put my finger on. Much to my chagrin, nothing in
his face is an indication of what he is truly thinking. Before he
notices my openly staring at him, I hurry over to the bed and sit
beside him. I pour some hydrogen peroxide on the cut and smile a
bit when I hear him try to hide his wince of pain.
    “So, Logan, what brings you here tonight?” I
ask as I continue to clean and cover the cut, hoping that the
elation I feel of having him on my bed isn’t coming through in my
voice.
    Logan shrugs and I wonder why he hesitates.
He must have something he wants to tell me, but