22. Theo
Theo
I threw my bag over my shoulder and leaned down to meet her eyes. “Call me when you wake up tomorrow.”
“Sure.” She bit her lip, like she wanted to say more.
I waited, but when she didn’t speak, I straightened and turned, striding up the sidewalk. Leaving like that didn’t sit well with me, but given the boundaries we’d set, I didn’t know what else to do.
I passed beneath the wine-colored awning of Columbus Common, mounting the short flight of steps that led to my building’s lobby.
I’d lived here for eight years, grateful for the rotating cast of doormen who were the soul of discretion.
On the rare occasions when I’d brought my one-night stands back here, they’d never said a word.
Tonight, Saul was working the front desk. He glanced up and smiled at me, as if I’d been gone for a couple of hours rather than a month and a half. “Welcome home, Mr. Dressler.”
I smiled, genuinely excited to see him. With a pang, it occurred to me that, aside from Will, my most enduring relationships were with my doormen. Whatever this said about me, I was sure it wasn’t good.
Saul and I exchanged pleasantries, catching up about his six grandchildren, Caiden, and Will’s soon-to-be-new baby. Then a guy with a double stroller appeared outside the building, struggling to open the door, and Saul excused himself, hustling over to help.
It was irrational, but a sudden sense of being surrounded by children engulfed me: Saul’s grandkids; Will’s progeny; the guy with the stroller.
Like the universe was trying to tell me something.
Panic gnawed at the edges of my vision, speckling it with gray, and a drumbeat pounded inside my head: Get away get away get away.
A better person would’ve held the elevator for the stroller dude—Will would have—but I was too preoccupied with not having a public meltdown.
I stabbed at the elevator’s button, and thank Christ, the thing complied.
With a sharp breath of relief, I stepped inside, sagging as the doors shut and the car began to move.
I leaned against the wall, afraid my narrowing vision and the anxiety cresting in my chest heralded the approach of one of the episodes Will referred to, with ultimate tact, as “Theo’s moods.
” Closing my eyes, I forced myself to breathe, the way my therapist had taught me: in for a count of four, hold for four, out through my mouth for four again. It helped.
As my vision cleared, I searched deep inside myself for a hint of the darkness, creeping in to weigh my limbs and cloud my mind, but found nothing.
For the moment, at least, I was okay, which was a relief.
Liv knew nothing about that side of me—the part that had to dig deep for every bit of willpower to get out of bed when things were bad, that looked into the future and saw nothing but a bottomless pit of hopelessness. With luck, she never would.
By the time I unlocked the door to my apartment, I’d pulled myself together.
Striding inside, I took in the familiar sights of home.
The living room held a brown leather couch and matching ottoman, floating shelves with books and photos of Will’s family, a wall-mounted flat-screen TV.
And, in the corner, my one concession to expense: a Fazioli baby grand piano.
I yanked the curtains wide, then flung myself down on the couch, soothed by the hum of passing traffic.
It was dark outside, but in the morning the sun would stream through the sliding glass doors that led to the balcony.
I liked to work out there, feeling a part of the city and above it at the same time.
Much as I loved my beach house, the throb and pulse of New York invigorated me. It would always be home.
I texted Will, making plans to get together tomorrow night, then scheduled a car to pick up Grandma Susi at her assisted living facility.
If anyone in my family remembered crucial details about Lily’s disappearance, it was her.
Then I sat back against the couch, disliking the feeling of putting one over on my brother.
I didn’t want to drag Will into this mess or burden him; my intention was to set him free by untangling the cluster fuck that had plagued our family for decades.
Still, I hated the thought of lying to him, even by omission.
Will was all I had, the only person who had ever stuck by me.
The last thing I wanted was to alienate him.
Thinking about it bugged the hell out of me, so I turned to my usual go-to: work.
I called Perez and checked in, but there were no problems to troubleshoot.
The meeting with the head of Stellar was set for next week, and we’d already done our prep.
I texted Jonas at Atomic, but there was nothing catastrophic going on there either.
Out of ideas to distract myself, I Netflixed some true-crime docuseries, crawled into bed, and zoned out.
The next thing I knew, I was trapped in a maze of dim corridors. The walls were a dingy green, and the air reeked of disinfectant and decay. I wandered down one hallway, then another, trying to find my way out, but there was no escape.
Desperate, I called out, but my voice just echoed back to me through the deserted halls: “Help...elp...elp.” The ceiling pressed down, and panic rose, threatening to choke me.
Then, in the distance, the tinkling of notes broke the oppressive silence. I fled toward it as the walls closed in, running faster and faster to keep from being crushed.
I burst through a doorway and found myself in a huge room.
Weak light filtered through the windows, falling on the woman who sat at a piano in the corner, her face half in shadow.
She wore a green dress; her hair streamed over her shoulders.
Her fingers rippled over the keys, playing a song I knew well: Bye Bye Blackbird.
With a shock, I realized she was playing my Fazioli; I recognized a stain on the lid, where a careless guest had once set a glass. The polished surface gleamed, as if in a spotlight.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, without turning.
I stepped closer, trying to make out her features. “Who are you? What is this place?”
She didn’t answer me. Instead, her voice rose, wavering, though the piano still played. “He knew. He knew.”
A chill traveled down my spine, the way it had when I’d seen the little girl on the beach. “What are you talking about?”
She lifted her hands from the keys and turned to look at me. Shadowed as her face was, I couldn’t see more than the curve of her cheek, the dark hollows where her eyes should be. “I cursed him. You will see.”
Goosebumps stippled my arms. “What do you mean? You cursed who? How?”
As if I hadn’t spoken, she went on. Her voice held a strange, watery quality, as if it were coming from far away. “I died here, you know. My poor Suselah was right to say I doomed our family when I laid the curse on the goyim, but it was as if a dybbuk had hold of me, and I could not set it free.”
A chill raced through my body. I glanced around the room—the bars on the windows, the institutional paint. I died here, she’d said. My poor Suselah. Was I trapped inside the Kings Park psych ward with the ghost of my great-grandmother?
“No.” Horror threaded my voice as I backed up to the door and rattled the handle, but it wouldn’t open. I was locked in here, with her.
Wind battered the windows as she shifted on the bench, shrinking back into the shadows. Once again, her fingers flashed on the keys. “You’ll be the one to find the answers. You’ll show her the truth and let her know I’m sorry. And you’ll bring her back to me. You’re the only one who can.”
Fear spiked, its tang metallic on my tongue. The walls folded toward me, the ceiling dropping lower still. “How am I here? What’s happening to me?”
The shadows swallowed her. She was a wisp now, an outline of a woman. When she spoke, her voice was barely distinguishable from the howl of the wind. “Gei gesund, Theodore.”
This was a phrase I knew; Grandma Susi had said it often enough, every time I came to visit. Go in good health, it meant. Goodbye.
And then she was gone. The spotlight faded.
Nothing moved in the shadows where she had been.
But the piano still played, and a breeze swept through the room, carrying an old-fashioned, sepia photograph, well-worn and curling up at the edges.
I grabbed for it, but it slipped through my fingers.
All I could make out were glimpses: a hint of black velvet; the curve of a child’s face; the soulful eyes of a small dog.
I’d thought she’d vanished, but from the dark corner by the piano, my great-grandmother spoke again. “Tell her I forgive her,” she said. “Tell her—remember.”
I woke from the dream sweating, the bedclothes tangled.
The clock said it was 3:00 a.m. and the TV had shut off.
My apartment was silent, other than the rumble of the occasional passing car, and the sickly-sweet scent of the asylum still filled my lungs.
I lay still, reassuring myself that it had been a nightmare. I was in my own bed. I was safe.
But just as my pulse began to slow, an impossible sound trickled from the living room: my piano, playing the song from my dream in the dark. The notes of Bye Bye Blackbird drifted through the rooms of my apartment, where I was the only living soul.
Was I still dreaming?
Dreaming or not, the piano played on. I leapt to my feet and charged into the living room, prepared to confront an intruder. Although what kind of burglar announced their presence with an instrumental solo, I had no idea.
I paused in the doorway, heart pounding. The streetlights that streamed through the windows illuminated every corner of the room.
It was empty.