Nightwatcher (Nightwatcher #1)(29)

You can’t do that. You barely know the guy.

Does it even matter, though, at a time like this?

In a crisis of this magnitude, the usual boundaries come down—it’s like she and Mack are shipwrecked, with nowhere else to go and no one else to count on.

Allison reaches toward him, yet can’t quite bring herself to touch him. Instead, she holds out her hand, palm up. “Listen . . . why don’t you give me some of those fliers? I can take them out and put them up in the neighborhood.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I want to.” For all she knows, he’s completely cut off from his usual support system. “Do you have anyone else . . . helping you? Friends? Family?”

“My friend Ben was with me all yesterday and last night, but he had to go home and get some sleep. My sister called a few times, but she lives out in Jersey. She said she’d come into the city, but . . .”

“You should let her. I’m sure she wants to be with you.”

Mack shakes his head. “She’s a single mom, and her kids are scared—so is she, I think. She’s better off at home.”

“Is she your only family?”

“She’s the only one I’m really close to anymore.” He yawns deeply, covering his mouth with his hand. “Sorry.”

“Did you sleep at all last night?” Even as she asks the question, Allison remembers what he said about having insomnia.

If he couldn’t sleep before all this, how is he ever going to sleep again?

“No, but I’m fine. I just made coffee.” Mack gestures toward the kitchen.

From here, Allison can see the clean, empty glass carafe sitting on the coffeemaker’s burner. A can of grounds is out on the counter, a silver measuring scoop and stack of white paper filters beside it.

“I don’t think you did,” she tells Mack.

“What?”

“I don’t think you made the coffee.”

He distractedly follows her gaze. Again, his fingers rake through his hair, and his palm comes to rest on his forehead. “I could have sworn . . . I’m losing my mind. I keep forgetting things.”

“That’s understandable. You’re exhausted.”

“Story of my life.”

“Maybe, but . . .”

“I know. This is different. I can’t believe this is happening.”

For a moment, they’re both silent.

“Listen, I’m pretty sure I actually did make coffee a little while ago . . .” Allison offers Mack a tight smile, and is gratified when he returns it. “Why don’t you come across the hall and have some? Then you can come back here and rest and I’ll go hang up fliers for you.”

“But what about . . . don’t you have someplace else to be? Work, or something else you have to do?”

She shakes her head. “Not today. Today is . . . the city is at a standstill.”

“But you don’t have to—”

“Look, it’s fine. Please just let me help you. And you know, I heard yesterday . . . there are people in hospitals all over the city, and in Jersey . . . maybe Carrie—”

“I know. I’ve been checking. I’ll keep checking. Maybe.”

He picks up his keys and cell phone and follows her across the hall.

“Are you limping?” he asks.

“It’s just blisters on my feet. I’m fine.”

As Allison unlocks her door, she remembers why she left her apartment in the first place. Turning to Mack, she asks, “You haven’t heard from Kristina, have you? From upstairs?”

“No. Why?”

Remembering her suspicion that there might have been something going on between Mack and Kristina, she chooses her words carefully. “She’s not . . . around.”

If he’d been involved with Kristina, surely he’d already have checked in on her, but clearly, this is news to him.

Allison watches him digest the information. He looks troubled—but not distressed.

“She works in midtown, though,” she quickly adds. “I’m sure she’s fine.”

She isn’t sure of anything, but Mack’s wife is missing and that’s all he needs to worry about.

Mr. Reiss usually calls in the mornings to tell Jerry which buildings he needs to visit that day and what to do when he gets there.

Today, he didn’t call.

Jerry waited a long time, wondering what to do. He kept thinking about this burned-out bulb in the third floor hallway of the four-story building on Greenwich Street. He decided he should just come and fix it.

Now, standing on a stepladder, he feels a sense of accomplishment. He untwists the broken bulb, stashes it in his tool belt pouch.

At least there are some things in this world that can be fixed right now.

When he thinks of the mess they made downtown . . .

Who’s going to clean it all up?

How is it ever going to be the same?

It’s not. It’s not going to be the same.

When he got on the subway at Times Square to come down here, the train took a long time to arrive and when it did, it was almost empty. It made a couple of stops, then came to a complete halt, and there was an announcement Jerry couldn’t understand. That’s how it always is on the subway. You can’t hear what they’re saying.