“Thank you,” I whispered, grateful he hadn’t spoken about him in past tense. I closed the door behind him, relieved to be alone again, yet scared because it meant I had too much time for my mind to wander the desolate roads I didn’t want to travel. Sinking back down on the sofa, I allowed myself to wonder if I’d ever know the truth about Jack if he failed to come home. And then I wondered if it might be better if I didn’t.
I woke up bathed in sweat after dreaming I couldn’t breathe. The pain in my lungs, hot and searing, made me open my eyes and mouth wide as I sucked in air before coughing and struggling to get a grip. I reached out my arm, but the realization I was on the sofa, not my bed, and Jack was still missing, all sucker punched me right in the throat. Squinting at the clock I saw it was barely after 9:30 p.m., but I was wide awake and there was little point trying to get back to sleep for a few hours at least. I stood up, slipped on my shoes, grabbed my jacket and headed outside.
The winds and rain hadn’t stopped, and the air was laden with moisture, all of it dulling the crunching noise the gravel made beneath my feet. I got in my car and drove, unsure of my destination until my instincts took me to the beach. The cops had removed Jack’s truck, and there were no other vehicles in the lot, but I parked, got out and walked to the water, the wet sand squelching up into my shoes.
“Jack!” I screamed.
The waves crashed on the beach. Was he out there? Had he long slipped beneath the surface, his lungs filling with water, dragging him farther and farther to the depths and beyond? Stevens and Heron implied Jack might have taken his own life, but I couldn’t believe it, I wouldn’t. I knew him.
Do you? a little voice in my head sneered. Maybe you don’t know him at all.
I couldn’t stay at the beach with these terrible thoughts, alone and in the dark, and so I decided to go to Jack’s place to search for him, comfort, or anything to relieve the pain inside me. Sam’s Porsche sat in the driveway, but all the lights in his house were off, so I climbed the steps to Jack’s apartment without making a sound. Heron and Stevens had already checked the place for “clues,” which I’d interpreted as “suicide note,” but they’d found nothing, and while I hadn’t thought I’d be strong enough to come here, all I wanted now was to be surrounded by Jack’s things.
Using the flashlight on my phone, I searched for the spare key he left in an old flowerpot, but it wasn’t there, and when I lifted the mat, the space underneath was empty. Sam would understand if I rang his doorbell and asked him to let me into Jack’s, but as well-intentioned as he was, I couldn’t take another round of sympathetic looks and mother-hen clucking. I needed to be alone.
The lock on Jack’s kitchen window had been loose for a while, something he’d intended on fixing for days. I hoped he hadn’t got around to making the repair, and, sure enough, when I jimmied the pane it opened far enough for me to climb in. I left the lights off in case they alerted Sam to my presence, took off my shoes and walked down the hallway to Jack’s bedroom. I knew the place was empty, but still had to fight back the tears as I pushed open the door and saw his neatly made bed with the dark blue duvet cover. After stripping down to my underwear, I pulled on a pair of Jack’s pajama bottoms and an old T-shirt, clutching the latter to my chest as I finally let myself go, sobbing and begging.
“Jack,” I whispered. “Please come home.”
The sound of footsteps on the stairs outside made my breath catch in my throat and I leaped up and ran down the hall shouting, “Jack? Jack!” I pulled the front door open and looked down the stairs, ready to jump into his arms, but immediately froze. Even without seeing his face I instinctively knew this wasn’t Jack. The man was tall and wiry, wore a black hoodie he’d pulled down over his forehead, obscuring most of his features. White skin, a beard perhaps, or maybe it was a shadow, but I definitely couldn’t make out his eyes as they were hidden behind dark sunglasses nobody needed to wear at this time of night.
“Who are you?” I said, my voice sounding a lot firmer than I felt on the inside.
He glanced at me, took a slow, deliberate step forward and opened his mouth to respond when another car I’d never seen before pulled into the driveway behind us. Sam got out, and as soon as I called out to him, the man on the stairs backed off and disappeared around the side of the garage.
“Who was that?” Sam said, frowning as he walked over. “A friend of yours?”
“I don’t know.” I wrapped my arms around my middle. “One of Jack’s maybe? Someone who wanted to check up on him?” I tried to make myself believe the words, but they wouldn’t stick. Who would come looking for Jack in the dead of night? And whoever it was, why didn’t he say anything, not even to ask if Jack had been found?
Why would he run away when Sam pulled up?
“I thought you were home,” I said quickly. “I saw your car.”
“I was out for dinner. Got an Uber.” He paused for a second. “How did you get into Jack’s place? I took the spare key earlier.”
“The window.” I shrugged. “I wanted to be...you know...close to him.”
Sam gave me a small smile, nodded his understanding. “Here, use this next time.” He pulled
