Page 89 of The Image of You

There was a time lapse leading to the fourth one. Over ten days. It made me fall to my knees as my legs buckled under me.

I can’t do this anymore. This isn’t the life I want. I’m sorry, but I don’t want to see you again. Don’t contact me—it’s over. Leave me alone, Adam. Move on with your life. I plan on doing the same. I wish you the best, but we’re done. Be happy.

* * *

The plane touched down, gliding to the gate. I let everyone go ahead of me since I wasn’t in any rush. I was completely calm as I gathered my bags and headed for the door. I hailed a cab after refusing Larry’s offer of a lift home. I was motionless in the car, not speaking at all.

I walked into the loft, feeling detached. It was dusty and unused.

Ally wasn’t here.

I didn’t bother picking up my phone to check. I’d done that from the road several times. I had no missed calls from her. No other texts.

When someone finally answered the cell phone, it wasn’t Ally. They’d only gotten that number a few days prior, they explained. They had no idea who Ally was.

Waiting for our flight home, I’d called the hospital. It took several attempts before I was finally able to get Vivian on the line. She was sad when she told me Ally had quit abruptly. Her attempts to reach her had failed as well.

I looked around the loft, realizing Ally must have been here at some point. Her shoes were missing from the floor. Her sweater that always hung by the door was gone. Walking around, I saw all her things were gone. I noticed a small item on the edge of my desk, and walking over, I picked it up, my hand shaking.

Her keys.

She’d taken her things and left her keys.

I closed my fist around them, holding so tightly, I felt the plastic on the little camera break and the edge of a key cut into my skin. Anger began to simmer, and with a roar of rage, I flung the keys away so hard they became embedded in the wall. I grabbed my coat and the keys to my motorcycle—I wasn’t done with this.

Not by a long shot.

* * *

The key code didn’t work as I punched it into the door of her building. The red light remained steady. As I was glaring at it, another tenant exited, and I grabbed the door, hurrying inside before he could stop me. I took the stairs two at a time, too impatient to wait for the elevator.

Her door was ajar, and I pushed it open, gaping at the room. The apartment was empty, except for a woman standing in the middle of the room, making notes on a thick pad. She glanced up with a frown. “The showing isn’t for another twenty minutes. How did you get upstairs?”

“Showing?”

“The apartment. It’s up for sale. I assume that’s why you are here?”

“I don’t have an appointment. I hoped I could walk through,” I said, improvising.

“Fine,” she huffed.

I looked around—for what, I had no idea—but the place was empty. I stood in the doorway of Ally’s bedroom, staring. The indents of her furniture were still in the carpet. I shook my head in confusion and turned, a glint catching my eye. I crossed the room and bent, picking up a thin gold chain in the corner—somehow overlooked. A twisted, broken nightingale hung from it, but I recognized it. It was one of many I had given to her. A burning began in my chest, and I returned to the main area after shoving the mangled metal into my pocket.

“How long has it been up for sale?”

“I got the listing last week.”

“Did you meet the woman who lived here?”

“No. I dealt with the owner. Why?”

I shrugged.

“Are you interested?”

I took her card. “I’ll let you know.”

I drove to the hospital, parking my bike on the sidewalk. I knew I’d get a ticket, but I didn’t give a flying fuck.