The Thin Wall (Corona Heights Book 1) Read online

  Copyright © 2017 E.M. PARKER

  All rights reserved.

  This e-book is intended for personal use only, and may not be reproduced, transmitted, or redistributed in any way without the express written consent of the author.

  This is a work of fiction. All organizations, characters, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  For more about the author, visit http://authoremparker.com

  CONTENTS

  Title page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1.

  Chapter 2.

  Chapter 3.

  Chapter 4.

  Chapter 5.

  Chapter 6.

  Chapter 7.

  Chapter 8.

  Chapter 9.

  Chapter 10.

  Chapter 11.

  Chapter 12.

  Chapter 13.

  Chapter 14.

  Chapter 15.

  Chapter 16.

  Chapter 17.

  Chapter 18.

  Chapter 19.

  Chapter 20.

  Chapter 21.

  Chapter 22.

  Chapter 23.

  Chapter 24.

  Chapter 25.

  Chapter 26.

  Chapter 27.

  Chapter 28.

  Chapter 29.

  Chapter 30.

  Chapter 31.

  Chapter 32.

  Chapter 33.

  Chapter 34.

  Chapter 35.

  Chapter 36.

  About the Author

  For Jackie. This book exists only because of your constant, unwavering belief, love, and support. You were The Thin Wall’s biggest cheerleader, believing in its potential even when I didn’t. Thank you for being my inspiration, in writing and in life!

  With what price we pay for the glory of motherhood

  ~Isadora Duncan

  CHAPTER ONE

  DESPITE THE OUTDATED DENVER POST REVIEW that called it the “crowning jewel of downtown urban living”, the only thing that Fiona Graves found even remotely appealing about the Corona Heights apartment complex was the price. The fact that the one hundred-unit high rise had over two dozen rentals available for immediate move-in was also a plus, though if she’d had the luxury of considering other options, this would have raised enough of a red-flag to keep her looking. As it stood, Fiona was Corona Heights’ newest resident as of yesterday afternoon, a mere seventy-two hours after a spontaneous drive due east brought her thirteen hundred long, lonely miles from the rim of the Pacific Northwest to the base of the Rocky Mountains.

  The perfect storm of dirt-cheap rent and a building manager desperate for tenants undoubtedly contributed to the lightning fast move-in. But Fiona also held to the belief that something else was at work, feverishly aligning the stars to ensure that this critically important phase of her brand-new life had gotten off to the smoothest start possible. She didn’t quite know what to call this something. She stopped short of calling it a guardian angel (after all, if such a being existed, why had it been so conspicuously absent for such a large chunk of her life?). But she did consider it to be an intelligence capable of discerning between her fierce desire to right the wrongs of her life and the disease that up until now had prevented her from doing so.

  The apartment itself was a five-hundred square foot one bedroom, complete with outdated appliances, dingy carpets, a bedroom window that didn’t quite close all the way, and walls that were about as insulated as wet toilet paper. With a monthly rent obligation of less than a thousand dollars, a paltry savings, terrible credit score, and no job prospects on the immediate horizon, Fiona didn’t have any room to complain. She was lucky to be here and she knew it.

  But that didn’t mean that the torrent of loud music coming from the apartment adjacent to hers would be tolerated for much longer than the five hours she had already endured it for.

  It began late last night, just as Fiona had begun unpacking the last of six boxes that contained the entirety of her life. She couldn’t pinpoint the genre of music, other than to call it a soulless mish-mash of techno synthesizers, computer-generated vocals, and a thick, distorted bass line that rattled the pictures she had hung on the wall. She had considered calling the manager – a man who less than twenty-four hours earlier had assured her that the building was as solidly constructed as a World War II bunker – but decided to let it go. It was Saturday night after all, and she couldn’t begrudge anyone’s need to blow off a little weekend steam. Let the youngsters have their fun, Fiona thought with a smile, as if her impending thirty-fourth birthday had somehow relegated her to a life of Lawrence Welk records on the phonograph and Matlock reruns on television. Exhaustion from the move brought on a deep sleep that night, so if the party had continued beyond her eleven P.M. bedtime, she was oblivious to it.

  Unfortunately, she was all too aware of the noise that woke her early this morning and kept intruding on her as the day wore on. The music was back, same shitty electro-garbage as before. But this time something else accompanied it. What began as a persistently heated conversation between a man and a woman quickly escalated into an all-out screaming match. Fiona couldn’t make out what was being said over the den of music. She only knew that neither participant was very happy. And as she heard the first door being slammed shut, then the second, followed by the thumps that she guessed were objects being thrown against the wall, she feared that someone was going to get hurt.

  Fiona knew from personal experience that it was all-too-easy to get hurt in such a circumstance.

  But she also had no interest in involving herself in someone else’s domestic situation. Whatever was going on behind those paper-thin walls was ultimately none of her business. Besides, she didn’t know anyone here, and no one knew her.

  “Hi there. My name is Fiona Graves, and I just moved in next door. Pleasure to meet you. Now would you please be so kind as to shut the hell up?”

  For as badly as she wanted to have that conversation, Fiona conceded that it probably wouldn’t make the best first impression, even as it had become clear that her neighbors weren’t at all concerned with the impression they were making. The vortex of sound was only increasing, now becoming a white-noise blend of screeching guitar riffs, angry demands, and pounding on the walls. Since the offending noise was coming from behind her bedroom wall, Fiona had hoped that closing the door would be enough to stem the tide. Those hopes were quickly dashed. The doors around here were unfortunately just as well built as the walls.

  She had thought that another neighbor, or perhaps even the manager, would have intervened by now. But as the fifth hour rolled into the sixth, and it had become apparent that no other intervention was coming, Fiona decided that she needed to do something. By the time she walked into her bedroom, her hand was already balled up in a tight fist. She knew she would have to pound like hell to be heard, and had the handle end of her hammer at the ready just in case her hand wasn’t enough.

  After summoning as much arm strength as she could, she picked her spot on the wall, raised her fist, and brought her arm back as if she were winding up for a pitch. She was inches away from impact when something stopped her cold. It was as if the music, the yelling, and the pounding had instantly faded into the background.

  All she could hear now was the crying.

  If she hadn’t still heard the woman’s frenzied voice in the background, she would have assumed that her prediction about someone getting hurt had come true. But this wasn’t the tearful aftermath of an argument gone too far. This was something else. Fiona put her ear to the wall.

  She inst
inctively knew that the cries were coming from a little girl.

  Based on what she heard, she imagined the child curled up against the wall, her hand covering her mouth to stifle the sound of her sadness.

  Fiona lowered herself until she was on the floor. She could hear the child clearly now, as if they were facing one another. After a few moments, the quiet sobbing subsided, replaced with sniffles and deep breaths. The girl was trying to compose herself, even as the chaos around her persisted.

  There was a light thump followed by a long sliding sound. The girl was apparently now standing up, keeping her back pressed against the wall as she did.

  Trapped. Afraid of being heard.

  Fiona rose with her, keeping an ear tuned to the pulse of the girl’s heavy breathing.

  Suddenly, there was total silence. No music, no arguing, no crying. With her own breathing howling like a gale-force wind against the stillness, Fiona held it in her chest.

  Her ear perked at the sound of a door opening. Floorboards buckled under the weight of heavy footfalls. Fiona heard labored breathing again, but couldn’t tell if it was the girl’s or her own. The footsteps were closer, slow and searching.

  “Get the hell out of there, Noah! We’re not finished yet!”

  The woman’s voice tore through the air like a sonic boom, forcing Fiona to pull her ear away from the wall. By the time she put it back, the footsteps had stopped.

  “Noah, get your ass back in here!”

  “Shut up,” the man replied in a voice that was only slightly above a whisper.

  “You’ve got no business in there.” The woman wasn’t screaming anymore, but her tone was no less cutting.

  “I pay rent here just like you do, so everything in this motherfucker is my business.”

  The man’s voice was close, as if he had been standing in the exact spot where Fiona had heard the girl.

  Footsteps from the distance quickly padded into the room.

  “I said get out!”

  The woman was now in the room too. A quick scuffle ensued as the man uttered something that sounded like bitch. Fading footsteps then led to the sound of a door being slammed shut.

  Fiona kept her breath in her chest and her ear against the wall. There was nothing in the room now. She pressed her ear closer in search of even the slightest hint of the girl’s presence, but it was as if she were never there.

  Perplexed, Fiona knelt to the spot where she had first heard her.

  “Hello?” The word came out before Fiona even realized she had moved her lips. “Are you still there?”

  The only sound she heard was her own voice bouncing off the wall and back into her ear. Just as she had prepared to call out again, the music returned, this time louder than before.

  Her original frustration quickly returning, Fiona slapped the wall with an open hand, but it registered as little more than a tap against the symphony of noise that once again filled her bedroom.

  She turned away from the wall and out of the bedroom, her anger mounting with each brisk step. To hell with first impressions. These assholes were going to feel every ounce of a wrath that had been brewing for the last six hours – a wrath that had indeed been brewing for the last six months; long before she had ever stepped foot in Corona Heights or been subjected to the hellions who would become her next-door neighbors.

  Fiona opened the front door and had taken her first step into the hallway when she realized that her cell phone was ringing. If it were any other circumstance at any other time, she would have ignored the call and continued out the door. But her current circumstances dictated that she answered that phone, no matter where she was, no matter what she was doing.

  She quickly closed the door and ran to the kitchen counter where she had left the phone, picking it up before the fifth ring that would have sent the call to voicemail.

  “This is Fiona,” she answered, feigning composure as best she could.

  “Good afternoon, Fiona. This is Paul Riley.”

  Fiona knew exactly who it was, but she still couldn’t prevent the exhale of relief that came with the sound of his voice. “Good afternoon, Mr. Riley. How are you?”

  “What did I tell you about that Mr. Riley business? I work for you, remember? Paul will suffice.”

  Fiona could sense his smile over the phone.

  “Right. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “I appreciate it. So how are things? Have you settled into the new digs yet?”

  “Settled isn’t the word I would use.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Fiona held the phone up in the air. After a few seconds, she spoke again. “That’s what I mean.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got one hell of a housewarming going on over there. Better be careful the neighbors don’t complain.”

  “Not funny.”

  Paul snickered. “Sorry. I’ve been told my humor is an acquired taste, and considering we’ve only just met, it’s probably best if I save myself the embarrassment, for now at least.”

  Even though Fiona couldn’t remember the last time she found the humor in anything, she appreciated the gesture. “No worries.”

  “Sorry about your neighbors. Hopefully that situation takes care of itself. In the meantime, I have some news.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I spoke with Kirk’s lawyer this morning and they’ve agreed to a meeting.”

  Fiona gripped her chest to stall the emotion that was threatening to overwhelm her. “That’s great,” she answered, her voice cracking under the pressure.

  “I realize it’s Sunday, but I’d like to devise a game plan. Do you think you could meet at my office sometime this–”

  Fiona cut him off. “Name the time and I’ll be there.”

  “I’m here now, so why don’t you stop by as soon as you can.”

  “Twenty minutes.”

  Fiona already had on her shoes and coat, gathered her purse, and made her way out the door by the time the call was finished.

  It wasn’t until she was in the hallway that she noticed the music was still playing. It was twice as loud out here and she was stunned that no one else on the floor had put an end to it. She hadn’t noticed any of the other tenants milling about during her move-in; no one curiously peeking out of their doors to check out the new neighbor; no one offering to help. Come to think of it, she hadn’t noticed anyone else in the building at all. Not that she was paying attention. She had more substantial things on her mind then, as she did now. She could investigate the building’s occupancy rate later. Right now, she had a meeting with a lawyer that held the promise of changing her entire life; a meeting that could help her finally begin the process of righting all those wrongs.

  Still, she struggled against the temptation to pound on the door. In the ideal scenario, she would march inside – forgoing pleasantries and formal introductions – find something very heavy, and smash that stereo into microscopic pieces. It was this image that caused her to linger in front of the apartment much longer than she had intended to.

  “Let it go,” she said aloud, even though she had trouble hearing the words. “Bigger fish to fry.”

  With that, she allowed herself to move down the hallway and into the waiting elevator.

  Before she could press the lobby button, she heard a door opening. The elevator’s placement did not allow for a view of the apartment, but based on the loud music now filling the hallway, she knew exactly which apartment it was.

  Fiona tensed; her hand hovering above the lobby button. Despite the vigilante scenario that played out in her mind, the thought of coming face to face with whoever was in there made her nervous. What if they saw her standing in front of their door? What if they came out to confront her? But she hadn’t done anything wrong. If anything, she was the victim here. And if a confrontation was in the cards, she wouldn’t hesitate to let them know that.

  Fiona held the elevator door open; anxious, waiting. What she heard next caused her blood to run cold and m
ade her wish that she had pressed the lobby button the moment she got in.

  “You can’t do anything now, Natalie. She’s gone. Close the goddamn door.”

  It was the same angry male voice she had heard on the other side of her bedroom wall.

  Fiona immediately pushed the lobby button and watched the elevator doors slowly close. But before they could close all the way, the apartment door slammed shut, instantly silencing the music, along with her vigilante spirit.

  And suddenly, Corona Heights’ dirt cheap rent wasn’t all that appealing anymore.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “HOW DO YOU KNOW THEY WERE TALKING about you, Fiona?”

  Dressed in an Under-Armor warm-up fleece and faded Levi jeans, Paul Riley looked out of place sitting in the high back leather chair behind his mahogany executive desk. The only hints of warmth in his minimalist office space were the pictures on the wall behind him of his wife and three adolescent sons. The placement was odd, and Fiona couldn’t escape the feeling that it was strategic. His family was beautiful – the perfect depiction of love and stability – and it was all she could do not to stare at them as Paul spoke. Perhaps that was the strategy.

  “If they knew you were standing outside their door, wouldn’t they have come out when they first saw you?”

  “I don’t know what they were thinking. But I do know they were talking about me. I was the only one in the hallway, Paul. Who else would they have been talking about?”

  “It could have been anyone. From the sound of it, they were probably on a bender, taking God knows what, and they were completely paranoid. For all they know you could have been the Blessed Virgin Mary herself.” His wide smile revealed a set of the whitest, straightest teeth Fiona had ever seen. But his sharp good looks did little to quell her irritation at his second failed attempt at humor. Paul, to his credit, picked up on the cue immediately. “Oh-for-two on the jokes, huh?”