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“She looks young. Maybe early twenties.”
“Cole!”
I clench my hand tighter. My chest swells with unbearable pain. “I want to kill him.”
“I know, Cole.” Brett sighs heavily into the cell. “Fuck! I know. But listen, you gotta get out of there. There’s nothing you can do for her now.”
I look at the bed and venture to the floor where her other pink sock lies.
Was she in the middle of putting them on when he attacked her?
I turn back to her empty eyes. They stare up at me, poised for my return, waiting for me to fill them with something.
Hope?
Life?
“I was too late,” I whisper more to myself.
“Fuck, bro. It’s not your fault.”
“No,” I argue, unable to tear my eyes off her. I can’t look away. I owe her at least that. “I was held up at the job site and got stuck in traffic. If I had been here just a few minutes earlier. If I—”
“Cole! Stop it.”
“She must’ve been so scared.”
“Cole. Where are you? Are you in the kitchen? The bedroom?”
“The bedroom.”
“Alright. I need you to look at the closet. What kind of door is it? Panel? Bifold? Accordion? Pocket?”
I glance up and find the closet. “It’s bifold.”
“Good. Okay. Now, what about the door to the room? Is it that cheap-ass MDF shit or real wood?”
I turn to check it out. “It’s the cheap stuff.”
“Are you looking at it now?”
“Yeah.” I didn’t notice anything when I walked into the room. All I focused on was her.
That’s unlike me. I always take in my surroundings and photograph it in my mind, but all I could see was her lifeless, crystal-like blue eyes staring at me.
Emily.
This Julia’s name is Emily.
“Cole. I want you to walk out that door and head to your truck. Don’t look back, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay,” I agree.
Brett’s right. Not looking back and not thinking about the what-ifs is the only way I’m getting out of here.
I concentrate on the door and move my feet toward it. I walk through the place, snapping my eyes around the room, taking everything in, logging it into my brain. I push the front door open with the tips of my fingers.
My foot lands on the stoop.
