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“Jay? You never call me Jay.”
“Yeah, well, Julia isn’t here, and I’m thinking you’re right.”
“Shit. Okay. So now what?”
“Well, I was going to check the security cameras, but I don’t have a master key to the security room, and I didn’t want to go digging around in her office.”
“Let’s go then.”
The fact Rosie is suggesting we check cameras is unsettling. No one really checks cameras unless something awful happens, right? That’s stuff cops do to catch criminals.
Walking into the security room is eerie, to say the least. The blue light and flickering screen savers shine enough to light the room ominously. Rosie flicks on the light, but the feeling doesn’t dissipate as I hoped it would. That sense of foreboding clings to the air.
I sit down in the chair before the screens and pull up the security camera feeds.
“Okay, we left around what, two fifteen probably?” Rosie says.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Okay, well then let’s pull up the footage from around then and see if we catch anything.” Rosie’s hand comes to her mouth, and she nervously bites at her cuticles.
We sit and scan as the footage speeds by, checking all the internal cameras. Then I see Julia leave her office around two thirty, which does not help the tightness in my chest.
“Okay, well, we know she was here then. When did she leave, and what door did she head out of?”
A little bit more searching, and as usual, she’s walking over to the back door, arms laden with the million bags she’s used to carrying.
“Switch to the outside cameras at the back?”
“Yeah. The timestamp said… what, two thirty?”
I find the marker in the video for the cameras covering the back door and parking lot, and my breath catches as the footage plays.
“You’re seeing this too, right?” I whisper.
“Yeah. The car in the back. It’s been there the entire time, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, switch to the back door.”
I press play, and everything stops.
There she is at the back door, turning to lock up. Our blond Chad approaches, and he stabs something into her neck as he grabs her from behind. Then she slowly starts to sink to the ground, bags dropping alongside her.
We watch as the guy sets her down and walks off. Later, he comes back into view with a silver sedan with no plates. He goes over, gathers her up, then throws her into the trunk. The fucking trunk. Next are her bags, thrown right on top of her motionless body, as if she’s no different than the rest of her baggage.
This is too much.
Everything is too much.
The air conditioning grows overwhelmingly loud.
The lights glare brightly.
Images on the computer screens begin to swim.
I struggle to get air into my lungs.
