He and Lisa spent the weekend together. They went to a movie on Saturday afternoon, stayed home for dinner that night. They ate Sunday brunch at a nearby hotel. By the time Monday rolled around he was truly sorry to see her go.
He arrived at work before nine o’clock. He concentrated on his paperwork for most of the morning. After lunch he began to check in with his sales representatives across the country. He’d been neglecting them, so it felt good to get caught up. Not that there was much to glean from what they reported. Sales were soft. It had been that way for quite some time. Blair used encouraging words, while he himself was not encouraged at all.
On the subway ride home that afternoon, he decided to disembark one stop early to get a bit of fresh air.
The temperature was holding steady in the low sixties. The shops and restaurants he passed were familiar to him. There was nothing like the comfort of one’s own neighborhood, he realized.
He turned the corner to his street and made out his building. By habit, he looked up. A light was on in his fifteenth-floor condo. But he always shut off the lights when he left for work. It was one of the things he was habitual about.
Blair’s walk turned into a run.
The keys were already in hand. He unlocked the main door and rushed toward the elevator. He hit the button and then hit it again. It felt like it was taking forever.
Wait and see, a voice warned in his head. You could have left the light on by mistake.
Finally, the elevator arrived.
He stepped in.
A child holding her mother’s hand said hello. He barely acknowledged her.
He hurried out on his floor.
The door to his apartment stood open.
Cautiously, he entered the foyer and paused. There were crushed CDs and DVDs strewn across the floor. He spotted liquor bottles, including his prized Scotch, lying on their sides. Their tops had been removed and the alcohol was leaving a river of stains.
Who would do this? he asked himself needlessly, the answer clear.
He walked into his bedroom and glass crunched underfoot. The television screen had a gaping hole in it. The spread and pillows on the bed were shredded, a pastiche of colors that didn’t mesh.
Then something caught his eye.
Reluctantly, he approached the dresser and reached a hand out.
Be sure, he told himself.
He would know if this was his daughter’s blouse. Mandy sewed her name into all her clothes.
He made himself look.
He paused.
The blouse had been deliberately torn. Tentatively, he brought it close. He shut his eyes for a moment, breathing in his daughter’s familiar scent.