Page 119 of Another Girl Lost

“This is Scarlett Crosby. I was here yesterday with Margo Larsen. I promised her a painting, and I wanted to drop it off.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“I know.”

“She’s not here.”

“I don’t suppose you could let me put it in her apartment. It’s heavy as hell.”

“Can’t let you in.”

“It’s worth fifty bucks to me not to carry this back across the street. And she’s expecting it.”

The door buzzed open. The attendant stood behind his desk, studying me. “I’ve seen you around.”

“I live across the street.” To add flavor, I smiled and fished out the fifty bucks.

“You’re going to put it in the apartment and that’s it, right?”

“You can watch me the entire time.”

He reached for keys. “Let’s do this quick.”

I followed him to the elevator and set the painting down as we waited on the door. When he opened it, I lifted the painting. The paint around the eyes was still tacky, so I was careful not to brush it against my body.

When we reached the fifth floor, he led the way to 512 and unlocked the door with a master key. I flipped on the light and moved past him, carrying the painting past an air mattress to the kitchen counter. Carefully, I set down the painting and leaned it so that it faced the front door. As soon as Margo entered and turned on the light, she’d see it.

“It’s pretty,” the attendant said.

“Thanks.” I walked to the window and stared across the street to my apartment. It was a perfect view for anyone spying on me.

“Now we got to get out of here.”

“Sure.”

We rode the elevator down in silence. Back in my studio, I reached for my sketchbook and began to redraw Della’s face. This time I drew narrower cheeks and shorter light-colored hair. This would be Della #56.

As I stared at the roughed-in face, I glanced toward the building across the street. The lights in Margo’s place remained dark. How could she be Della? It was insane to think that she was.

“She’s not Della. She’s not Della.”

And yet the feeling that she was my former cellmate would not leave me alone.

Chapter Thirty-Five

SCARLETT

Then

Ninety or so days in the basement

He’d pulled Della out the door, then shut off a breaker controlling the lights. Upstairs, the radio blared continuously, and I estimated I’d been in the dark three days.

The dark room wrapped around me, squeezing the air from my lungs. He knew I hated the dark. He knew it made me feel entombed. I’d been trying to relax, smile, and not resist, but for some reason he had decided to punish me.

When I finally heard footsteps in the hallway, I was happy and relieved. I’d not been left or abandoned. He’d come back.

However, reassurance faded as the realization of what was going to happen sank in. I pressed my back to the wall. Keys rattled and the lock turned. Light from the hallway streamed into the room, assaulting my sensitive eyes. I winced, turned away, and raised my hand against the one thing I craved more than anything.

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