The Disappearing Act(56)

“Leave her in the water then give her this,” Mike says.

“What is it?”

“Ben, leave the room,” Mike orders.

There’s a silence and then the sound of a throat being cleared and I don’t catch Ben’s answer. After a moment or two the door to the room opens and closes.

“Did he use protection?” Mike asks. There’s a pause before he says, “Good.”

“What is this?” Joe asks.

“It’s fine. It won’t hurt her. It’s just insurance,” he reassures him. I hear a muffled sound from Emily. “Put her in the bath, shower her off, then fill it, give her that, and leave her. Not too deep, I don’t want anyone dying in his house. Come get me when you’re done,” the voice instructs, efficient and clearly on the clock. He doesn’t sound like a guest at this party. The sound of rustling. “No, leave her clothes where they are, dipshit.”

The sounds of a now unresponsive Emily being lifted and moved away from the recording device. The audio rolls on oblivious to the exit of its main characters as the thunder of running water begins in the adjoining room.

I sit listening to the rush of unseen water, dumbstruck by everything I’ve just heard.

Jesus Christ. Emily was drugged then raped, then drugged again and left naked, for God knows how long, in a tub of cold water.

She must have known someone had drugged her at some point and she had the foresight to activate her recording app. She probably tried to call Marla. If only I could check her call log. She must have been so scared. I listen to the muffled sound of the New Year’s party bubbling along beyond the walls of that room; to be so close to people but not be able to call for help.

Then suddenly I’m ripped away from the audio by a burst of sound from behind me. My heart leaps into my throat as I spin at the sound of my iPhone vibrating against the granite of the kitchen counter. I see from the oven clock it’s just before midnight. I stop the recording and make my way over to the counter cautiously. It’s a video call from Nick’s phone.

I pause. After everything I’ve heard tonight I’m not sure it’s the ideal time to talk to him.

I hesitate, as the shrill ringtone continues, then look back at my pad on the floor. I have names to give Cortez tomorrow, I have a laptop, I have a phone, and I have an audio recording. That should be more than enough.

And I don’t want to go to bed tonight thinking about what just happened in that recording. I need to clear my mind.

I hit accept call and Nick’s beaming face fills my screen.





24


    Intruder


SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 14

I wake with a start to the sound of my alarm clock. It takes me a second to orient myself after having slept so deeply. Last night floods back to me: Emily’s hazy voice, the sound of distant running water, and her fear.

I shut off the blaring alarm and pull the warm covers up over my head, cocooning myself for a moment in calm stillness. I remember what it is I have to do today. I think of the forms I’ll have to fill out and the story I’ll have to share.

I yank back the covers and let the cool apartment air wash back over me. I have to think positively, it’s going to be a long, hard day otherwise.

After speaking to Nick last night, I googled the directions to the LAPD Headquarters on West First Street. It’s not far. I could walk but, for some reason, I much prefer the idea of driving.

I’m glad I answered Nick’s call. It took my mind off everything else. He told me about the incident with the lead actor who held up filming the night before. Nick’s a good storyteller, funny and easy to listen to. But the moral of his tale was: at the end of the day, everyone is replaceable. He’s right, I suppose, everyone is replaceable, but then that would have to include him, Emily, and me too.

I spring from the soft hold of bed, hoping to leave all those thoughts behind in the crumpled sheets. After I’ve handed everything over to Cortez, I will head back here, learn my scenes for the screen test, and get my head back in the game.

I agreed to let Nick take me out for an early dinner this evening. I’ll be back in time for an early night, and it should keep me distracted enough not to get too nervous before the screen test.

I forgo my usual early-morning swim and instead hop under the warm flow of the shower. I want to get down to the station and get this done as soon as I can.

Dressed and looking as respectable and sane as I can manage with a wardrobe full of audition clothes and event outfits, I wander into the still dark of the kitchen/living room to make a quick breakfast. The giant curtains are still tightly drawn over LA as I left them the night before. I tug back the massive folds of fabric and let golden light flood the apartment, my stomach lurching as I look down through the glass at the miniature city below, one palm braced, hard, against the glass. When I pull away a full palm print remains. I stare at it for a second, thoughts of Emily rattling around in my mind.

I turn back to the apartment, letting my thoughts rake over what I need to tell Cortez, and I head to the kitchen. It’s only when I return to the living room area, with a hot coffee and a pastry in hand, that I notice Emily’s laptop is no longer there.

I spin on the spot scanning the surrounding furniture. Panic flashes through me as I slam down my breakfast onto the table and drop onto all fours to scan beneath the sofa. Nothing. I rifle between sofa cushions and under script pages, I shake out the sofa throw. It’s not here.