Author's Note
I apologize for the brevity of this chapter. I didn't want to ruin the suspense. :)
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Chapter Six– "Threshold"
Present
The pads of her fingers were still numb from the chill air outside as they brushed the knob and she balanced on a paper-thin edge of indecision at the entrance to his apartment. How would Monk react at seeing the woman who had, not ninety days earlier, tossed him out like a broken toaster? It's too late, now.
That traitorous, egotistic part of her, a side that prided itself in its intimate knowledge of the man's inner workings, harbored considerable faith in the vision of her friend rejoicing, throwing wide the door, and welcoming her back into his life.
Is 'back' where I want to be? Honestly, she didn't think so. Sharona had already convinced herself that no ulterior purpose existed in her quest to make amends with the unorthodox creature holed up in the strange, silent abode.
Her hand dropped back to her side, mingling with the voluminous folds of her jacket and curling into a fist as it reemerged. Three hard knocks pushed her across the point of no return.
Sharona's ears strained, desperately casting about for a sound. The sting of hard wood and cold air rising in her knuckles felt far away, and almost seemed to hum in the hushed atmosphere.
.Snap.
She jumped a good two feet, the muscles in her jaw contracting like steel cords. The belated realization that she was suddenly wound as tight as Monk ever had been didn't serve to relax her any. It really was a vicious cycle: nerves compounding nerves. The nurse abruptly developed another thin layer of respect for the man inside.
It was only the lock turning. Only the lock turning . . .
She regained her composure, noticing the smudge of a shadow appear against the foot of the door as a light flickered on inside.
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When Sharona had contacted Leland Stottlemeyer to confirm her plans to return to San Francisco, he had begun to act rather strangely upon her mention of Monk.
"How's—you know—Adrian?"
"Ah . . . Monk? Oh, he's fine."
"He hasn't done anything crazy? Never mind. Bad phrasing. Seriously, though; he's doing okay?"
"He's . . . uh, never been better."
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Ha. Remind me to thank you later for the warning, Captain. She filed away a mental reminder to corner the detective when, and if, she saw him again.
The face that materialized, framed on one side by the vertical edge of the door's silhouette, was only immediately recognizable by the troubled, brown eyes set in its center.
For the first time since she'd arrived, Sharona took a good look at her surroundings, hoping, perhaps, to see in them the vital something she must have missed.