Chapter 17
I drive home, stopping on the way at a fast-food place for a burger, fries, and a milkshake.
I already had a kale and chickpea bowl for dinner, but it’s an hour later, and I’m still hungry.
I haven’t had fast-food french fries in years, but if I ever desperately needed something fatty and fried, it’s today.
When I get back to the apartment, I juggle the paper bag damp with grease in one hand while I dig around in my purse for my keys with my other hand.
I can’t seem to locate them, and even worse, my fingers hit something sticky, and I remember the strawberries Teddy didn’t eat yesterday that I wrapped in napkins and stuck in my purse until I could find a trash can (but then completely forgot).
Just as I’m about to drop the fast food on the doorstep and perform a two-handed search, I notice something strange.
The door to my apartment is ajar.
I stare at the door, my heart in my throat. Why is the door partially open like this? It doesn’t look like the lock is broken or has been forced in any way. And it’s just barely open, hardly enough to be noticeable.
Slowly, I reach out and give the door a push, allowing it to swing open the rest of the way.
I linger on the doorstep, half expecting someone to come jumping out at me.
Nobody does. I have a pretty good view of the living room of the small apartment from here, and it looks exactly the way I left it this morning.
It definitely doesn’t look like it’s been ransacked or burgled. It’s completely still and silent.
The thought occurs to me that there’s a small chance I might have forgotten to lock the door when I left to drop Teddy off at the house.
The neighborhood is relatively safe, so I am not that concerned with locking up tight when I leave, but I did notice that the plate on the doorframe doesn’t always latch completely on the first try.
If I forgot to lock the door, I could easily have come home to find it ajar.
Is that what happened?
My phone is in my purse, next to the mushy strawberries.
I could call the police and let them know that I came home to find the door to my apartment open.
They could check it out and make sure everything is safe.
That might be the smart thing to do, especially after the way Veronica threatened me in the supermarket.
Except that seems like a huge overreaction. There’s no evidence of a break-in. There’s no sign that there’s an intruder in my home. Plus, the last thing I want to do right now is to deal with the police. I just want to flop down on the couch and eat my unhealthy dinner.
Tentatively, I step inside the apartment.
It’s quiet in here. Unlike the other night, I don’t hear any rustling or scraping.
If there is an intruder, it doesn’t seem like they want me to discover them here.
I look around the living room, checking for signs that anything is out of place.
I feel a twinge of sadness when I spot a few rocks Teddy left behind on the coffee table. I drop the greasy bag next to them.
The doors to the two bedrooms are both open. I peek in the first room—Teddy’s room. It’s a bit of a mess because he was playing there and didn’t clean up properly, but it looks the same way it did when we left. I even check the closet, and there’s no one crouching in wait. Nothing.
The second bedroom is mine—the place I’ve been sleeping ever since I was kicked out of my home. I peer inside at the freshly made double bed and the orgonite pyramid on the nightstand. The orgone hasn’t brought me much luck lately, but things are going to turn around soon. I’m sure of it.
Finally, I check the bathroom, which doesn’t take long because it’s a quarter the size of my old master bathroom, which had two separate sinks so that Jeremy and I could brush our teeth without stepping over one another.
Like the bedrooms, it’s quiet. I cleaned it just this afternoon, trying to coax a shine out of the dull porcelain sink.
I almost turn around, but then I notice that the shower curtain is drawn.
Did I close the shower curtain after cleaning the bathroom? Usually I like to keep it open.
A voice in the back of my head is telling me that now is the time to call 911.
Now there are two things out of place, including the front door hanging open.
It’s stupid of me to investigate on my own.
That’s how women get killed. Plus, there’s already someone who I know would prefer that I were out of the picture.
Then again, am I really going to call the police to look behind a shower curtain? Am I five? What’s next—asking them to check under my bed for the boogeyman?
After all, if there were someone behind the shower curtain, there would be a shadow. Right?
I take a deep breath, my legs wobbling as I step forward into the bathroom. I reach out a hand and grasp the side of the curtain. I squeeze my eyes shut for a moment, then I open them again and yank at the curtain, exposing the inside of the tub.
Nothing.
My body goes limp. Thank God I didn’t call the police—I would have looked so foolish. I surely just forgot to lock the door before I left to drop Teddy off, and that’s all it was. My encounter with Veronica has just put me on high alert.
Now that I’ve verified there isn’t anyone lurking in my apartment, I go to the small kitchen off the living room.
I might be eating a fast-food dinner, but I can at least be civilized enough to serve it on a plate.
I open one of the cabinets over the kitchen counter, and that’s when I notice the knife block sitting on the counter.
There’s one knife missing.
My heart ratchets in my chest as I stare down at the empty slot in the knife block. I whirl around, expecting to see Veronica standing behind me, brandishing the missing knife in her right hand. But again, there’s no one there.
That’s when I spot something glinting in the sink. The knife.
I should be relieved that there isn’t an intruder in my apartment, waiting to slash me to ribbons with my own utensils, but I still can’t push away my uneasiness.
I never leave the house with dirty dishes in the sink.
It’s one of my rules. Plus, I don’t think I used that knife tonight.
Am I 100 percent sure? No, I’m not. But…
Something isn’t right here. Call the police, Naomi.
The voice in the back of my head has gotten louder. I can imagine forgetting to lock the door or closing the shower curtain or leaving a knife in the sink, but all three? It seems impossible.
Except exactly what would I tell the police?
A knife left in the kitchen sink isn’t exactly a crime you’d see on the ten o’clock news.
What would I expect the police to do? I can’t expect them to investigate Veronica based on a non–crime scene.
They’d probably laugh at me. Or worse, talk to me in a patronizing voice, like I’ve lost it.
So instead, I grab a plate from the cabinet and return to the living room to eat my food, even though I’ve completely lost my appetite.