One of Those Faces (45)

I hadn’t gone near the lake since the accident. Danny didn’t know the reason why. “Yeah, give it up. You’ll never get me on a boat.”

“Have you gone back to Evanston?” His voice grew heavy.

“Never.” My fists clenched involuntarily.

He frowned. “Good.”

I had no desire to know, but the question hung there.

Danny could feel it too. “I heard he was made dean of the Music Department last year,” he said slowly.

“Good for him,” I said, coolly, squeezing my coffee cup tighter.

He surveyed my expression. “Sorry, I thought you might want to know.”

“Yeah, I do. But I’m not happy about it.” It was unfair that he could move on unscathed from everything he’d put me through for years. But I only had myself to blame. I had kept quiet and just run away.

“Yeah,” he continued, “I wasn’t too thrilled to see that blurb in the alumni newsletter, either, but it is what it is.”

“I’m sorry about . . .” Everything. “How things ended back then.” They hadn’t ended, though. Not really. And maybe that was the worst part. To vanish and leave so much uncertainty for years had eaten away at me.

“They didn’t end,” he said, eerily echoing my thoughts with a sad smile. “They changed. And now that we’re both okay, we can be friends.”

Friends? I nodded. “Yeah, okay, I like that.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE


Meeting with Danny had been a great distraction, but once we parted, I kept picturing the girl. Issi. The walking ghost from my nightmares. But she wasn’t a ghost. Issi or not, she was real.

I hovered around the corner in front of her apartment building until I saw the figure of someone approaching through the glass. I sprang toward the door as a man exited, and he held it open behind him so I could squeeze by. Did he recognize me, or was he too trusting? I jumped into the elevator, but as the doors closed, my thoughts grew troubled.

You saw me die.

Of course. I knew on every level that it couldn’t be Issi. I shook my head, and the image appeared of her body floating in the water. But I needed to know her name. It was the last reassurance I needed. And then I could stop obsessing. Wondering.

Or maybe it would only get worse. What did this mean together with what had happened to Holly and Sarah?

The elevator door opened on the ninth floor. I stepped out onto the marbled concrete, my footfalls echoing through the empty hallway. I could hear the small sounds of a TV playing and a dog growling, and then I reached 906. Silence.

I shook my head again and inhaled slowly.

I twisted the knob, and the door wheezed softly as it opened into the dark apartment. She hadn’t locked the door.

Maybe she’s planning to come back in a few minutes. Maybe she’s still in the building.

My heart raced as I stepped over the threshold. The strong smell of vomit filled my nostrils, and I stifled a gag, raising my sleeve to my nose.

I walked through the dark kitchen, careful to keep my elbows close to my sides to avoid brushing against the stack of dishes lining the sink and counters.

One foot fell in front of the other as if they were leading themselves in a slow shuffle over the tile. I strained my ears but only heard the quickening thud of my pulse as I turned the corner. She was ahead in the next room, collapsed on the sofa, her hoop earrings on the rug beside her drooping arm. I backtracked into the kitchen, light headed. I gripped the edge of the counter, my hand slipping on a stack of paper envelopes. I grabbed the crumpled corner of the envelope on top and tucked it under my arm before swinging the door open wide enough to slip out. It closed behind me, and I gulped for the clean air.

I took the paper out from under my arm. It was addressed to Jenny Langdon.

J. L.



I fumbled with the envelope on the train ride home, examining it under the yellow, flickering light. I shoved it into my pocket when I got off at Damen. The return address was from Let’s Entertain Chicago LLC.

I folded and unfolded one edge of the paper over and over in my pocket as I walked home. I glanced up at the Robey in passing. Iann was probably going to be getting to his shift soon.

I turned the corner past the park and went through the dirty graffitied alleyway. I stopped when I saw Wilder descending the steps from my apartment. His eyes locked on me, and he started down the asphalt.

Shit.

I waited for him to meet me. He seemed restless, maybe eager.

“I was about to knock down your door,” he said.

My heart froze, and I quickly pulled my hand from my pocket. “What’s going on?”

“There’s been a possible development . . . about Holly.”

I unclenched my fists.

He narrowed his eyes. “We have a lead on a potential person of interest,” he began, tapping the binder in his hand. “And I’d like for you to identify him.”

“I don’t understand,” I sputtered. “I told you I didn’t see anything.”

He took a step toward me. He smelled like cigarettes. “I know I’ve been patient with you so far, but now is the moment for you to step up with what you saw and heard,” he said in a low voice.

I shook my head. “I’ve told you everything. I didn’t see the person or Holly. I don’t even know where that sound came from.”