Gabriel's Rapture (Gabriel's Inferno #2)(84)

With some trepidation, Julia entered the lobby and waved to the security guard, who recognized her. She decided against announcing her presence to Gabriel and took the elevator to his floor. She shivered as she contemplated what she might find in his apartment.

She didn’t bother to knock but simply let herself in, fearing that she’d find Gabriel compromised. But something strange caught her attention as soon as she’d closed the door. All the lights in the apartment were off and the hall closet was open and half-empty, hangers and shoes haphazardly thrown on the floor. It was very unlike Gabriel to leave things in such a mess.

She switched on several lights and placed her key on the table where he always kept his keys. His keys were not to be found.

“Gabriel? Hello?”

She ventured into the kitchen and was shocked by what she found. An empty bottle of Scotch lay on the counter, next to a broken glass. Dirty plates and cutlery were dumped in the sink.

Steeling herself for what she might find, she walked to the fireplace, only to discover a mark on the wall and scattered glass shards on the floor. She could see Gabriel flinging his Scotch in anger, but she had a hard time imagining him leaving broken pieces for someone to step on.

Desperately worried, she crept down the darkened hall and into the master bedroom. Clothes were strewn across the bed, the drawers to Gabriel’s dresser half-opened. His closet was similarly disarrayed, and Julia noticed that many of his clothes were gone as was his large suitcase.

But what caused her to inhale sharply were the walls. All the framed photographs of her, and of Gabriel and her together, had been removed and piled face down on the bed, leaving the walls bare except for the hooks on which the photographs had been hung.

Julia gasped in horror as she saw that the reproduction of Holiday’s painting of Dante and Beatrice had been taken down and was now leaning against the credenza, its back on display.

Shocked, she sank down on a chair. He’s gone, she thought.

Julia burst into tears, wondering how he could have so easily broken his promises. She searched the apartment in vain for a note or some indication of where he’d gone. When she came across the telephone she contemplated calling Rachel. But the thought of having to explain that she and Gabriel were over was too much to bear.

With one last look she turned out all the lights and was about to walk through the door when she stopped. Something niggled at the back of her mind. Closing the door, she returned to Gabriel’s bedroom. Searching with her fingers, she fumbled about, looking for something. When she didn’t find it, she turned on the light.

The photograph that Rachel had taken at Lobby several months earlier was missing. Gabriel always kept it on top of his dresser. In the picture, he and Julia were dancing, and he was looking at her with no little heat.

Julia stood for a moment, looking at the empty space. It was possible, she thought, that he’d destroyed the picture. But a quick inspection of the wastepaper baskets in the bedroom and bathroom suggested he hadn’t thrown it away.

She didn’t understand why he’d left or why he’d left without offering her an explanation, but she began to suspect that all was not as it seemed.

As she took one last look at the empty hangers in the closet, she contemplated taking her clothes with her but only for an instant. Strangely enough, they no longer felt as if they were hers.

A few minutes later, she was waiting for the elevator, feeling battered and bruised. Her nose began to run as she wiped away a few tears. A hasty search of her pockets yielded no Kleenex, only lint. This made her tears fall faster.

“Here,” a voice at her elbow said, holding out a man’s handkerchief.

Julia took it gratefully, noticing the embroidered initials S.I.R. on it. She wiped her eyes and attempted to return it, but a pair of hands made a motion of refusal.

“My mother is always giving me handkerchiefs. I have dozens.”

She looked up into kind brown eyes that were partially hidden behind a pair of rimless spectacles and recognized one of Gabriel’s neighbors. He was wearing a heavy wool coat and a navy beret.

(Which, because of his age and heterosexuality could only be explained by the fact that he was French Canadian.)

When the elevator arrived, he politely held the door open for her before following her inside.

“Is something wrong? Can I help?” His lightly accented voice cut through her haze.

“Gabriel is gone.”

“Yes, I ran into him while he was on his way out.” The neighbor frowned at the tears that were still welling up in Julia’s eyes. “Didn’t he tell you? I thought you were his —” He looked at her expectantly.

Julia shook her head. “Not anymore.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

They were both silent as the elevator continued its descent to the ground floor. Once again, when the door opened, he held it for her.

She turned to him. “Do you know where he went?”

The neighbor accompanied her to the lobby. “No. I’m afraid I didn’t ask. He was in quite a state, you see.” The neighbor leaned closer and dropped his voice. “He reeked of Scotch and was extremely cross. Not in the mood to chat.”

Julia smiled a watery smile. “Thanks. I’m sorry to bother you.”

“It isn’t a bother. I’m guessing he didn’t tell you he was leaving.”

“No.” She wiped her face with his handkerchief once again.