He stumbled into the room, colliding with the door frame. Off balance, he lurched to the left – for a moment he thought he might fall – then suddenly he righted himself, taking in the scene in front of him. The whiskey was clouding his vision, everything seemed fluid and shifting, so that even the small, neat room seemed unfamiliar. Stupid really – he had been in their guest room hundreds of times, making the bed for Christine on one of her visits, but today it seemed strange and elusive, as if it were deliberately trying to frustrate him.
Marching forward, he threw the trash bag on to the bed. Kassie had slept in here while she was living with them and her meagre possessions – some old clothes, a battered laptop, a Linkin Park cap – still lay on the floor. Taking in the assorted items, Adam felt a rush of rage, this evidence of her presence in their lovely home underscoring her ruinous impact on their lives. When he’d first met Kassie, he was happy, confident, hopeful. Now he had lost his career, his reputation and, worse, much worse, than that, Faith and Annabelle. How was it possible that he had fallen so fast, so quickly?
Grabbing the cap, he stuffed it into the trash bag. A pair of pants, the laptop and a torn magazine soon followed, Adam ramming them into the plastic sack with venom. He wanted Kassie out of his house, he wanted to obliterate all evidence of her existence, to pretend for a second that this terrible catastrophe hadn’t happened.
A pair of shoes. A school textbook. A worn, black hoodie. In they went, tumbled together in his haste to be rid of them. But, as he tossed the hoodie into the sack, something fell to ground, tinkling gently as it hit the polished wooden boards. Angry, frustrated, Adam bent down to scoop up the offending item, but, as he did so, he paused.
It took him a while to bring it into focus, but … it was a key. Kassie’s house key, attached to a faded Betty Boop figurine. It caught the light, glinting up at him, urging him to pick it up. He stared at it, transfixed, taking in its golden sheen. For one absurd moment, he wondered if the key had fallen from her pocket for a reason, if he was meant to find it. He reached out a hand, even now hesitating to pick it up, wondering what would happen if he did so. But the pull was too great, the key seemed to be calling to him, so, snatching it up, he hurried from the room, leaving the trash bag where he’d dropped it.