“That pretty much sums it up,” Ellie said, matter-of-factly.
“And you’re all right with that?”
“I suppose. But I did have a nightmare that night.”
“Do you remember any of it?”
“The only part I remember is that I was falling down a dark hole. Then I woke up in a sweat.”
“Do you think you’re falling down a dark hole?”
Ellie snickered. “Am I not living in one?”
“That’s up to you, Ellie. You made a lot of progress by inviting Hector into the house. You also let Jackson into your yard. Clearly, you’re beginning to allow more people into your life.”
“Yes. It’s the rest of it I still can’t sort out.”
“Remember what I’ve said, ‘Baby steps.’ But this was a pretty good leap for you. Do you think you’ll follow through with inviting Colleen?” Zach asked.
“Yes. We’ve had several conversations on the phone. She is easy to talk to, and I think she needs a friend.”
“Oh? What makes you say that?”
“She is going through a messy divorce and child-custody dispute. The police were here a couple of weeks ago, and they arrested her husband for domestic violence.”
“That does sound like a bad situation,” the therapist acknowledged.
“Sometimes I’m glad I don’t have to deal with that sort of thing.”
“Which part?” he prodded.
“Having to compromise for another person, especially if that person has issues.”
“Good point.” Zach paused before he asked the next question. “Are you still feeling anxious?”
“Not as much as I used to. Getting to know Colleen, even if it’s over the phone, and having Hector help me have made me feel much more secure.”
“But Hector will be leaving for college in the fall. Have you thought about what you’re going to do when he’s gone?”
Ellie chuckled. “Baby steps. Remember?”
The therapist also laughed. “I think you’re doing well, Ellie. Please keep me informed of your progress, or any issues you may have.”
“Thanks, Doc. I certainly will. Take care.”
“You do the same.”
The call ended with Ellie feeling more lighthearted than she had in a long while. She knew she had made progress, and it felt good to be able to share that with someone. Someone who knew about the fears, even if she, herself, didn’t know exactly what she was afraid of. After the call, Ellie wrote a note to Colleen:
Hi, Colleen,
It’s been way overdue, but would you like to have tea or coffee with me sometime this week? Perhaps one afternoon when Jackson is playing with Buddy? You can see them in action. Let me know. Kind regards, Ellie
She clipped a note to it for Hector:
Please deliver to Colleen. Thanks.
Ellie finished up with the latest of her distressed online customers. She had three more hours on the clock. Finally, at midnight, she logged off and went to bed. It had been a draining evening. But in a good way.
Somewhere around 2:30 in the morning, she shot upright in her bed. She had had a nightmare similar to the previous one, with her spiraling down a dark whirlpool. But this time there was something different. She could see Rick’s face at the top of the whirlpool. Her hand was reaching out for him to rescue her, but Rick just turned and walked away, leaving her to be swept into the abyss. There was something familiar and haunting about that image. She knew she couldn’t call Kara at that hour, so she scribbled down the bits and pieces she could remember from the nightmare while it was still fresh in her mind. She was trembling and had a fuzzy sensation in her head. It was almost like the buzzing of a mosquito. Was it simply from the nightmare, or was the nightmare a clue to what had happened to her?
Ellie threw the covers back and got out of bed. Buddy gave her an odd look but remained in his nice warm spot. Percy did the same. “I guess I’m on my own, huh, guys.”
Ellie made herself a cup of tea and went up to the loft. She powered up her PC and pulled up a search engine.
Ellie wondered why she’d not done anything like this before, dozens of times. In the end, she simply chalked it up to pure laziness. Laziness—and fear of what she might find. Well, that was then and this was now.
She found the website of the most likely newspaper in New York City to report on falls resulting in hospital stays and typed in the date the incident took place, hoping there would be something in its archives that would give her a clue. If there was nothing there, she would look at the archives of other newspapers.
She scrolled through the pages and stopped short at an article with the headline:
WOMAN FOUND IN BROWNSTONE STAIRWELL
She read the text of the article:
A woman in her early thirties was found unconscious and bleeding at the bottom of the front steps of a brownstone in Greenwich Village last night. A resident spotted the woman and immediately called 911. She was taken to a nearby hospital with traumatic brain injuries. The identity of the woman is not yet known. Police are asking anyone who has information to please contact 311.
She read the article several times. Could that have been her? She closed her eyes, straining to remember. She and Rick often stopped for a bite to eat at a restaurant in the village. She searched the article again for an exact location of the brownstone, but no address was given. Perhaps she could get a copy of the police report. That was something she could do from her own computer. It was public information.
Ellie went to the police-blotter pages and scrolled through dozens of incident reports from that evening. There were arrests for drunk and disorderly, distribution of a controlled substance, loitering, harassment, shooting, purse snatching, breaking and entering, armed robbery . . . the list went on and on. Then she
