What Happened at East Houston Street

Chapter 23

Tip nudged Sarah, who was asleep, when they reached the Boston exit. She didn't stir, though, deep in her slumber. Minutes later, he had parked the SUV in the back alleyway outside of his apartment building and turned off the ignition. He took a moment to look at her. She was slumped against the passenger side window, breathing softly. She had fallen asleep as soon as they hit the Massachusetts border. He thought that she looked so peaceful now, free from the horrific reality she had been dealing with all day. He wished that he didn't have to wake her, but it was almost 2am and his body ached, yearning for a stretch.

"Sarah," he whispered close to her face.

She didn't move. He placed his hand on her shoulder and gave a little shake. "Sarah," he said, slightly louder this time.

She stirred a bit and opened her eyes, taking in her surroundings. She sat up and asked in a raspy voice, "Oh, we're here?"

"Let's go inside," Tip directed while opening his door. He retrieved the two duffel bags from the back seat and then walked to the passenger side door and opened it for Sarah. She didn't move, looking down at her phone to see if she had any calls or texts from Stephanie. She sighed after seeing no notifications.

Tip offered his hand, prompting Sarah to take it. He led the girl through the dark alleyway, holding the two bags in one hand and gripping the girl's with the other.
When they got to the front door of his apartment, he gestured for her to walk in first.

"After you, young lady," he smirked.

She stepped into the foyer just off the living room. Her eyes roamed, noting little details. At first glance, it was a typical Beacon Hill apartment, small but elegant with old world details. Ornate moldings edged the windows and decorative colonial tile surrounded the fireplace.

As she got a better look around, she noticed the finer details that showed Tip's sense of humor. On the wall hung a picture of George Washington in a dejected stance wearing a Continental Army uniform. It sat in a thick gold frame. It looked like a traditional depiction of the nation's first president, but upon closer inspection, Sarah read the caption written near his mouth and giggled. "Man, I hate Mondays."

Little wrinkles formed around her eyes as she smiled. She shook her head and moved to the console table behind the sofa. It was covered in framed pictures of his family members. She eyed a shot of he and his grandfather shaking hands at his college graduation and a group photo of his entire family, wearing matching outfits and barefoot on a beach. She noticed a smaller heart-shaped frame with a picture of a fat bulldog wearing a pink tutu. The words, "My #1 Girl", were written on the bottom of the frame. She smiled questioningly, looking up at Tip, who was now beside her at the table.

"That's Bertha. She passed away last summer." He gave her a small sad smile. She laughed and held her eyes on his. She noticed dark circles around them. His hair was messy. His suit was wrinkled.

"Come on," she said. "Let's get you to bed. You've had a long day."

She took his hand and led him down the hallway, where she figured the bedrooms to be. She opened a door and saw a desk with a computer on it. A couch was nestled in the far corner. She assumed this was the guest room.

"I guess I found my bed for the night!" she said, turning on the light.

He leaned against the wall, his shoulders slumped. "You can just take my bed. I'll sleep in here tonight."

She shook her head in protest.

"Tip, I'll be fine in here, really. I'm sure your couch is more comfortable than my 15-year-old mattress back in New York." She chuckled at the truthfulness of her words.

"Sarah." He held her shoulder and turned her body to face him. "You're not sleeping on that couch tonight. You're going to go into my bedroom, change into your pajamas, and lay down. I'm going to bring you a cup of tea that you're going to drink while you watch TV. Then you're going to fall asleep." His tone was soft yet stern. She knew he meant business.

"Okay," she said, giving him an obedient smile. She turned and continued down the hallway into the master bedroom. Tip turned and went to the kitchen to make the tea that he had promised her.

The next morning, Tip woke on the couch in the office. He opened his eyes and groaned, his body still tired from the eventful day before. His feet hung off the end of the couch, as it was about 10 inches shorter than his body. He picked up his cell phone that lay on the floor beside him and checked the time. 7:30am. He had only slept for five hours. Though he was groggy, he couldn't bring himself to fall back to sleep. His mind was on Stephanie again, worried about his missing friend. He didn't want to get up and make noise in the apartment, afraid to wake Sarah. He wanted her to sleep, knowing that she had just had the day from hell. He stretched his aching body along the couch and stared at the ceiling, remembering the last conversation he had with Stephanie two weeks prior in his apartment.

"I'm fine, Tip! Stop worrying about me!" Stephanie rolled her eyes at him and took a long sip from her wine glass. She looked down at her hands, not wanting to make eye contact with him.

Tip let out a sigh of frustration and finished his wine. He got up and went to the kitchen to open another bottle, passing some friends as he made his way through the room. He often had get-togethers, but this time was special because Stephanie had made the bus trip up from New York for it. He was ecstatic when he had called to invite her the week before, fully expecting her to decline, but this time she said that she'd love to come. Saying that she needed a break from New York City, she was looking forward to going back to Boston for a few days.

When she arrived at his door, an overnight bag in hand, he was taken aback by her appearance. The normally bubbly girl was replaced by a slumped figure with dark circles around her eyes. She looked like she had lost weight and hadn't slept in a year. Her usually bright hazel eyes were dark, lacking emotion. Trying to hide his concern, he quickly brought her in for a tight hug, resting his chin on the top of her head and rubbing his hand up and down her back. She stayed in his embrace for longer than normal. Tip could feel her breathing deepen, her body relaxing in his arms. His heart sank, wondering what was happening in his friend's life to leave her so disheveled.

Making his way back to the sofa with a full bottle of red wine, he noticed Stephanie worriedly shaking her head while looking at her cell phone. She looked up to meet his gaze and gave a defeated shrug. Once he was back at the couch, he placed the wine bottle on the coffee table and wrapped his arm around her shoulder. She leaned into him and rested her head against his body. He could feel her trembling as she let out small quick breaths.

"Steph," he pleaded. "Please talk to me."

She looked around the living room at the other guests. Some were distracted in their own conversations, but a few of them shot her curious looks, wondering what was up with her. She knew she didn't look good. She had barely eaten anything in the last month and her sleeping was inconsistent. At most, she'd be able to get three hours per night. Now, in the safety of Tip's apartment, she conceded that she needed to talk about what was bothering her.
Tip had noticed her hesitance as she looked around the room at his other friends. He realized that the majority of people there were new friends, people that Stephanie didn't know. Sensing that she was uncomfortable opening up surrounded by strangers, he got up from the couch and took her hand.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go to my room."

She followed him down the hallway into his bedroom. He sat on the bed and leaned against the headboard, patting the space next to him directing Stephanie to lay beside him. She climbed onto the bed and laid with her back to him, but close enough that their bodies touched. She cradled her hands on the pillow underneath her cheek. Her muscles began to relax as Tip ran his fingers through her silky brown hair.

He didn't speak, letting her start once she felt ready to talk. He didn't mind waiting. Laying with her on the bed, touching her soft hair, he was happy. He quickly shook his head, feeling guilty for enjoying this moment while his friend was in such a vulnerable state.

Stephanie let out a breath, still turned away from him, and said, "Someone is trying to really scare me." She sniffled, crying now, but didn't stop. "The past month has been hell," she continued. "Way worse than the stuff that happened to me at BC."

Tip listened, never interrupting her, becoming angrier and angrier as she detailed the harassment she was experiencing. She stopped talking for a long moment, crying harder. Tip shifted his body to lay on his side and draped his arm over her waist, pulling her close to him. He still didn't speak, laying there silently on the bed with her, his nose buried against the back of her head. The only sound in the room was her sporadic sniffles.

Footsteps sounded outside the door in the hallway, making Stephanie shudder. Tip held her closer and whispered, "It's okay. I locked the door. Nobody is going to come in here." He didn't want her to stop talking. "Go on," he added.

She let out a long sigh and continued. "I've been getting these really fucked up text messages from unknown numbers. Sometimes they're just really detailed threats like about how I'm going to be raped. Others are about how I'm going to disappear and nobody is ever going to find me."

Tip felt a ringing in his ears. He was afraid for his friend's safety. He finally spoke.

"Steph, you need to tell the police! This person is crazy!"

She shook her head, slipping out of his embrace and sitting up at the edge of the bed.

"I'm not going to the police. I think it's Brent. It has to be him, right? It's always been him in one way or another. I'm just a little freaked out this time because there's something different about these texts."

Sitting up too now, Tip asked, "What do you mean by 'different'?"

She looked down at her hands in her lap and shrugged.

"Different like, they're grammatically correct. Brent barely knows how to spell his own name, let alone where to place a comma or how to punctuate a sentence. I...I don't think he wrote them."

Tip nodded his head, knowing full well that Stephanie was making a valid point. "Okay, so that means that it's not him. Someone else must be involved, so that's why you need to go to the police."

Stephanie stood up and paced the room, wringing her hands as she walked.

Tip watched her pace the length of the bedroom. He was getting the feeling that there was more that Stephanie wasn't telling him.

"Why is he starting this shit with you again? You and Lauren have been really careful not to get caught. You don't even live in the same city anymore! Doesn't he know that?" His anger was really starting to come out, but he was scared now, knowing that these threats didn't really sound like Brent's usual antics.

Stephanie stopped her pacing and stood at the window, looking down at the dark alleyway below. She couldn't keep it from him anymore. He had been her best friend for six years. He deserved to know the full story. She took a deep breath and said, "Lauren left Brent a month ago. She told him that she didn't love him. She told him that she loved me." She started to cry again, still looking out the window.
"She came to New York after she left him. She got on a train and traveled all that way for me in the middle of the night. The next morning, she proposed to me." Tears trailed down her cheeks.

"I...I said no, Tip!" She was sobbing now, falling to the floor and rocking back and forth. Tip ran to her, kneeling beside her and rubbing her back.

She sniffled and said, "I couldn't accept her proposal. I knew what that would eventually do to her. Her family would have freaked!" Her crying eased and her rocking stopped. She sat motionless on the floor, looking at the blank wall in front of her. "I said no to her and I haven't seen her in a month. She probably hates me."

Tip groaned at the memory of learning about the recent harassment. Still laying on the couch in his home office, he stared at the ceiling, wondering what to do next. A single tear fell down his cheek. He brushed it away when he heard a soft knock on the door. He sat up and said, "Come in."

Sarah opened the door, still in her pajamas and a sleepy look on her face. She walked over to the couch and sat beside him.

"Hey," she said softly. He noticed that her eyes were bloodshot.

She glanced down at his wet cheek and said in a small voice, "I guess we've both been crybabies this morning." She gave him a sad smile and looked at the ground. He held his head in his hands.

"What now, Tip?" she asked.

He rubbed his eyes with his palms, letting out a long sigh. Turning his head to her, his elbows resting on his thighs, he said, "We have to call Lauren."