Page 43 of Choke

Fucking breathe — pull yourself together.

Something flashes across his face. I shift my eyes to his badge: Calloway.

“Lex, everything is fine. Let’s go inside, and you can check what’s missing. If the amount is valued over a certain amount, we complete one type of report. If it is under that amount, we do a simpler form. You will be fine.”

Nodding, I allow his hand to replace mine, and he pushes the door open.

I brace for chaos and destruction, but my apartment is eerily untouched. Mildred comes screaming out of the bedroom, hoppingonto the table and then to the back of the chair. She pushes her head into my arm, purring loudly.

I scoop her into my arms and inspect her. Her pink, peach fuzz-covered body is perfect—there’s not a mark on her. Within seconds, she squirms to get down, meowing loudly with her distaste for being held. I set her down and slowly move further in, looking around. There are magazines on the floor, but Millie does that often enough.

I check the cupboards, drawers, and even underneath the couch—nothing. I go into my bedroom, which appears just as I left it. I confirm that my grandmother’s jewelry is still in the same place. After 20 minutes, I turn to Officer Calloway, and my eyebrows push together in confusion.

“Something missing?” He asks.

“No?” I say, unsure, confused. “Nothing that I can see is missing. Unless the person grabbed something so inconsequential, I don’t realize it was taken. Everything worth anything is where I left it.”

“Well, that’s excellent, Ms.—” He looks down at his paperwork for my name.

“Donnelly, and please call me Lex.” I insist.

I scan the apartment again, my gut twisting. Nothing is missing. Nothing’s out of place.

But the bathroom door is open.

I never leave it open.

Why would someone go to the effort to break in and take nothing?

Officer Calloway walks me through the report, which takes about seven minutes, given that nothing is missing. He tells me what to do if I realize something is missing. He also leaves for 15 minutes, radioing for another officer to come to stay with me. When he returns, he has a new lock. I perch on the counter and watch him work on installing it.

“Is this a common procedure?” I question.

Are cops this nice to everyone?

He laughs without looking up.

“Not really, but I get the impression you don’t know many people here.”

He’s not wrong. I have a handful of friends, mostly from work, but not anyone I could call to help with this sort of thing. I’m pretty independent and could have figured it out. Realistically, though, I wouldn’t have even thought to change the lock. He stands up, an accomplished look on his face when he hands me two new keys.

“All set. Did you change the locks when you moved in?” He asks.

I grimace.No, I did not.

He nods, smiles, and says, “I had a feeling. This should stop anyone with an old key from walking in again. If you’re scared or someone tries to come back, call.” He holds out his card before continuing, “Call 911 if it’s an emergency but feel free to call me if you have questions about the case. The chances of us catching the person are slim, but I will answer your questions.”

The act comforts me, so I tuck the card into the top drawer under my legs, which dangle over the counter’s edge.

I hop down and look up at his sweet face.

“Thanks, Officer Calloway. Really, this… you... I feel better.” I don’t know how to thank him for providing a sense of security.

My mind flashes back to when I was fifteen years old, to the kind eyes of the officer who took me to safety. I don’t think I ever thanked him, either.

“Colton.” He offers. “My name is Colton. No thanks needed. This may come as a shock, but this is literally my job.”

The joke takes my brain a second to register, and I laugh harder than is likely appropriate. My nerves are shot. He reaches for his hat on the table and turns to leave.

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