How I wished I could slip into a pair of satin pajamas and curl up on the end of the couch, maybe with some movie from my high school days that we all used to giggle over in the theater while eating gummy bears and Sour Patch Kids.
There would be no silly movie, candy, or even lounging in pajamas for me tonight. I had to work. The only reason I was home was because I wanted to change before meeting a client for dinner at one of the cafés near Times Square.
It was a new case, a new client, and I got the “privilege” of making sure they signed with Keller, Krane, and Associates. As I stood under the cooling spray, lingering in the quiet of the shower, I reminded myself this dinner, this meeting was just one more way I could improve my standing at the firm. It was one more way I could prove my worth to the partners and solidify my position.
I’d been working toward this for as long as I could remember. Being a success was my dream, my life’s work.
So why did I feel so tired?
I shut off the water and grabbed the white towel hanging over the shower curtain bar. After half drying I stepped out onto the white rug in front of the mirror and swiped my hand across the fogged-up glass. My hand mark was just enough to see my reflection in the mirror.
After smoothing some leave-in conditioner in the tangled mess that was unfortunately my hair, I began working out the tangles with a wide-tooth comb.
Maybe my exhaustion was just because I barely slept last night. Waking up to a piercing alarm and a creepy man in my apartment, who then proceeded to try and kidnap me, was enough to make anyone tired.
Not to mention I spent my entire day reliving what happened and going over every detail in my head, over and over again. Several times I found myself reaching for the phone to call the officer I spoke to down in the lobby, but every time I changed my mind.
It wasn’t as if I thought I misunderstood what happened to me; it was quite the opposite. I understood quite clearly that those “break-ins” on the lower floor and the fire alarm had merely been a distraction. A distraction to get to what they really wanted.
Me.
What I didn’t understand was why.
And being the analytical, goal-oriented person that I was, I knew I couldn’t just call the police and tell them my suspicions without something more. I was curious by nature.
Curiosity killed the cat. The thought echoed through my head like some childhood nursery rhyme.
Good thing I wasn’t a cat.
I laid down the comb and reached for a jar of moisturizer when a sound had my movements freezing. I stood there completely still while my heartbeat jack hammered beneath my ribcage. Images from last night flashed behind my eyes. A man creeping through the dark. A sweaty palm grabbing me. The absolute feeling of panic clawing its way up my windpipe.
I locked the door when I came home.
Hadn’t I?
I glanced on the counter for my cell phone. Screw not calling the cops. But my cell wasn’t in the bathroom. It was lying useless in the bottom of my purse out in the kitchen.
I wondered what was worse: having your dead body discovered wearing granny panties or no panties at all…?
Another sound came from out in the living room. I cocked my head to the side, trying to figure out what it was. But I didn’t know.
Yelling for help would only alert the intruder I knew he was there.
There was only one thing I could do.
Swallowing down my fear, I tightened the towel around me and reached for the handle on the door.
I was going out there.
7
Tucker
I was hoping she wasn’t going to be home.
Soon as I let myself into the apartment, I heard the shower running and knew that she was.
I probably should have taken the time to ask for more information about her. Like what she did for a living. Surely she had a job, but I didn’t know what it was. It would have been helpful in figuring out her daily schedule and hours. But it was too late now.
I didn’t ask and I couldn’t bring myself to really think much about it. This wasn’t about her. I didn’t need to know her to get this job done. In fact, the less I knew about her, the less I saw of her, the better it would be for everyone.
My eyes took in the room, focusing on the small but clean space. This is where my brother lived. This was where he spent his free time and his nights.
That insistent ache in my chest intensified and my heart squeezed. This was hard. Harder than I thought it would be. Not only was I staring at my brother’s life, but the life I knew nothing about. My own brother.
How could I let so many years pass without reaching out to him?
I’m sorry, Max.
Shutting the door silently behind me, I stepped farther into the room, my eyes taking in everything but really only wanting to see one thing.
You’d think I wouldn’t really need to see a photo of my brother, being that we shared the same face, but it wasn’t really someone’s features that make them who they are completely. I think I understood that better than most people because I did share my face. Yet Max and I… we wore them so differently.