Page 16 of Missing White Woman

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I woke up alone and non-naked. I checked the clock: 10:08 a.m. Early for me.

I’d fallen asleep waiting for him, didn’t hear when he came back up. He should’ve woken me. I went to get my phone to tell him just that, but it wasn’t on the side table. It also wasn’t on the dresser or under the bed. Had I left it in the kitchen? The morning was getting shittier and shittier.

No phone and no boyfriend—made worse because I didn’t know where either was.

I was almost at the bedroom door when I located Ty—or at least remembered his approximate whereabouts. He had to work today. Promised he’d be back before I woke up.

I quickly made myself presentable—I couldn’t have a repeat of how I’d looked last night. Put my hair in a head wrap and applied enough makeup to look like I didn’t have any on. Luckily, I’d packed an extra outfit—if you could even call it that. Leggings and a T-shirt—Target’s finest. But it clung where it needed to.

He’d said his job was close. No more than a five-minute drive. A fifteen-minute walk. And he probably assumed he had time before I was up. That he had at least a half hour to get back to serve me French toast and an omelet the size of the average male ego.

But I’d beat him to it. I didn’t cook much, but I could whip up some eggs. Maybe figure out a way to repurpose the tacos we never finished last night. Tasty or Bon Appétit probably had some recipe. I’d have it ready and waiting when he got back. It might not be good, but if I looked cute enough, he probably wouldn’t notice.

I was planning out what I’d say when he came back as I hit the last set of stairs down to the first floor. I felt more and more confident with each step. It was going to be a good day. An amazing one.

I was so focused on trying to manifest good vibes only, I didn’t notice the shoe until I was midway down. It was mere centimeters from the bottom step. Red sole, so at first I thought it was the work of some designer. But then I realized it was blood.

SIX

Even from a flight up, the blood looked deep enough to swim in. It wasn’t a pool so much as a river trailing from her head. Long thin lines jutting this way and that in the rectangular space, stopping just short of the gray wood in the living room.

Fear propelled me down the stairs, but common sense stopped me at the last step. The woman looked white, her body where the glass table used to be. She was face down among its remnants. I couldn’t see anything more than strands of hair soaked wet with blood. Her hands on both sides of her head as if she’d tried—and failed—to break her fall. She wore stylish blue jeans, but her top was so soaked in red I couldn’t tell the original color.

My brain finally processed what I was seeing and I instinctively retreated. Up a step. Then another and another. Staring at her all the while.

“Ty!”

I screamed it loud enough to echo throughout this cavern passing off as a house. No response. The only thing that moved, the blood seeping from the woman’s head.

That’s when I remembered. Ty was gone—and I was here, with the body of some woman who had to have broken in and fallen down the stairs sometime this morning while I’d been sound asleep.

What if she hadn’t come alone?

Fear propelled me once again down one step, then two. My mind blank except for one thought: Get out.

Survival instinct propelled me down that final stretch. I didn’t even look at her this time, just jumped over her body and the pool of blood that should’ve been inside it.

When I got outside, the street was deserted for once. Crap. I needed help. I immediately flashed on Ms. Morgane but didn’t know which house was hers. So I just went with the one closest. I ran out the gate and right to the one next door, then up the stairs. I pushed on the doorbell, then wrenched the screen open to bang on the door.

No one answered.

“Open the door!” I yelled as loud as I could, but still no one answered.

“What’s going on?”

The voice came from behind me. It was one of the women from the huddle standing on the sidewalk. The one who’d snapped at Ms. Morgane. She stared at me, annoyed, as a man walking a dog came up behind her. Orange-turned-Yellow. Today his shirt was blue. Ms. Morgane had said his name once. I struggled to remember it, happy to have something else to focus on.

I was relieved to see someone—even them. The first letter of his name was closer to the beginning of the alphabet. And it was two syllables. No, one. It was simple. I knew that. My mind went through potentials until it finally stopped at the right one.

Drew.

His name was Drew.

“Everything okay, Krista?” he said.

They kept talking while I hurried down the stairs toward them. “I don’t know. This woman”—she made it sound like the b word—“is banging on Lori’s door.”

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