Chapter 37: Unhinged “Hello?” Demitra’s voice was hesitant, guarded. “Demitra,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It's Jim.” A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken words and the weight of everything that had transpired between us – the almost-kiss, the tentative connection, the abrupt severing when I took off to play hero. “Jim,” she finally responded, the single word laced with a complex mixture of surprise and caution. “What do you want?” Ouch. Straight to the point. No beating around the bush, no polite pretense. I guess I deserved that. “I… I need to talk to you,” I stammered, suddenly feeling like a complete idiot. After everything, after the way I bailed, after flying to Europe, now I’m calling her in the middle of the night? I’m such a scumbag. “About what?” she pressed, her tone still cool and distant. “It’s… complicated,” I said, hating how pathetic I sounded. “I can’t really explain over the phone. It’s… kinda urgent.” Another pause. I could practically hear her weighing her options on the other end of the line. “Look, Jim, I don’t know if now is a good time,” she said, her voice softening slightly, but not enough to melt the ice. “I’m… I’m dealing with some stuff.” Great. Just my luck. I screw up everything, and now, when I desperately need her, she’s dealing with her own shit. What goes around comes around, I guess. “I know I messed up, Demitra,” I blurted out, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a rush. “I know I haven’t been the best… person lately. But this is important. It’s… it could be dangerous.” That seemed to get her attention. I could hear the change in her breathing, a slight quickening of pace. “Dangerous?” she echoed, her voice laced with concern. “What are you talking about?” I hesitated, glancing around my room, suddenly paranoid that someone was listening in. This was insane. I couldn’t tell her everything over the phone. Not with some psycho threatening me with information about Valeria and… Ms. Hanover? What the hell was that about? “I can’t explain it now,” I said, my voice low and urgent. “Can I… can I come over? Please? Just for a few minutes. I promise I won’t stay long.” The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. I could hear the faint hum of the city in the background, the distant sirens, the muffled sounds of life going on outside my window. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath, waiting for her answer. Finally, she sighed. “Okay, Jim,” she said, her voice resigned. “But just for a little while. I have a lot on my plate right now.” “I know,” I said, relief flooding through me. “I promise. I’ll be there soon.” I hung up the phone, my heart still pounding in my chest. I had no idea what I was walking into, but I knew I had to see Demitra. I needed her calm, her perspective, her ability to see through the bullshit. And, if I was being honest with myself, I just needed to be near her. I glanced at the text I was about to send to Ms. Hanover. Forget it. That could wait. Demitra was the priority now. I threw on a hoodie and grabbed my keys, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling of dread in my stomach. The phone call, the threats, Ms. Hanover’s weird behavior – it all felt like pieces of a puzzle I couldn’t quite fit together. And now, Demitra was somehow involved. I crept out of the apartment, trying not to wake anyone. My parents were probably still up, stewing over my latest fuck-up, but I didn’t have time to deal with their disappointment right now. I had to protect Demitra. The streets were quiet as I walked towards the subway, the city holding its breath in the pre-dawn hours. The air was crisp and cool, carrying the scent of exhaust fumes and distant rain. I pulled my hoodie tighter around me, trying to block out the noise and the anxiety that was threatening to consume me. As I rode the train downtown, I replayed the phone call in my head, trying to decipher the caller’s cryptic words. “About Valeria, about Miguel…” What did they know? And how did they know about Ms. Hanover? The thought of Valeria sent a fresh wave of anger through me. I hated her. I hated Miguel. I hated the fact that they had managed to worm their way into my head, to derail my life, to turn me into someone I didn’t even recognize. But beneath the anger, there was a flicker of something else – something that scared me even more. A sense of… protectiveness? Despite everything, despite the betrayal, despite the pain, a part of me still cared about her. And the thought of her being in danger, of that psycho caller having something to do with her… it made my blood run cold. I pushed the thought away, focusing on Demitra. She was the one who mattered now. She was the one I needed to protect. When I finally arrived at her building, I hesitated for a moment, my hand hovering over the buzzer. I still didn’t know what I was going to say to her. How could I explain the mess I had made of my life? How could I ask for her help after everything? I took a deep breath and pressed the buzzer, trying to ignore the knot in my stomach. “Yeah?” Her voice crackled through the intercom, still wary, still guarded. “It’s me,” I said, my voice barely audible. “It’s Jim.” There was a moment of silence, then the buzzer buzzed, and I pushed open the door, stepping into the dimly lit lobby. I took the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding with each step. I could feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, the primal urge to protect, to defend, to do whatever it took to keep Demitra safe. As I reached her floor, I paused outside her door, listening for any sign of trouble. Everything seemed quiet, peaceful. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe the caller was just some random psycho trying to mess with me. I raised my hand to knock, then hesitated. Something felt off. The air was heavy, charged with an unspoken tension. I couldn’t explain it, but my instincts were screaming at me to be careful. Then I noticed it. The door wasn’t quite closed all the way. There was a small crack, a sliver of light spilling out into the hallway. Demitra always locked her door. Always. She was meticulous about security, always double-checking the locks, always making sure everything was safe and secure. My blood ran cold. Something was definitely wrong. I pressed my ear to the door, straining to hear any sounds from inside. At first, there was nothing. Just the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant rumble of traffic. Then I heard it. A faint murmur of voices, hushed and urgent. I couldn’t make out the words, but I could tell that they were speaking in low tones, as if they didn’t want to be overheard. My heart pounded in my chest. Who was in there with her? And what were they talking about? I slowly, carefully, pushed the door open a crack, peering inside. The living room was dimly lit, illuminated by a single lamp in the corner. Demitra was standing near the window, her back to me, her shoulders tense and rigid. Facing her was… I couldn’t see the person’s face, but I could tell that it was a man. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his posture aggressive and intimidating. He was wearing a dark coat and a baseball cap, pulled low over his eyes. “I told you to stay out of it,” the man said, his voice low and menacing. “I warned you what would happen if you didn’t listen.” Demitra didn’t respond. She just stood there, frozen, her body trembling slightly. “You think you’re so smart,” the man continued, his voice rising in anger. “You think you can outsmart me? You think you can protect him? You’re wrong.” He took a step closer to her, his hand reaching out as if to grab her. “Stay away from me,” Demitra said, her voice barely a whisper. “You should have listened to me,” the man said, his voice full of venom. “Now, you’re going to pay the price.” He lunged forward, his hand reaching for her throat. I couldn’t see what was happening next, but I could hear the sound of a struggle, the muffled cries of distress. My blood boiled. I couldn’t stand by and watch this happen. I had to do something. I pushed the door open wider, stepping into the apartment, ready to defend Demitra, ready to confront whoever was threatening her. But as I stepped into the room, I froze. Everything was different than I expected. The scene was staged, almost. Demitra was standing by the window, yes, but she wasn't trembling. She was calm, composed, almost…expectant. And the man? He wasn't lunging for her throat. He was standing a few feet away, gesturing animatedly, his voice raised, but not in anger. More like…frustration? And then I saw it. The camera. Set up on a tripod in the corner of the room, pointed directly at Demitra and the man. My head swam. What the hell was going on? Was this some kind of…acting exercise? Some bizarre role-playing game? "Demitra?" I said, my voice cracking with confusion. "What is this?" Both Demitra and the man turned to face me, their expressions a mixture of surprise and… annoyance? The man pulled off his baseball cap, revealing a familiar face. A face I hadn't seen in years, but recognized instantly. "Jim?" he said, his voice laced with disbelief. "What are you doing here?" It was Noah. Noah Risling. Demitra's childhood friend. The guy I had always suspected she had a thing for. But that wasn't the most shocking part. The most shocking part was the object he held in his hand. An object that glinted in the dim light, an object that sent a shiver of fear down my spine. A gun. The air hung thick and silent. Every instinct screamed danger. Before Noah could say another word, another voice broke the silence. “Jim, I can explain