Chương 3
“Look, I’m not trying to make this worse.”
“Then don’t talk like you already know it is.”
A silence followed.
Daniel immediately regretted the sharpness in his voice.
Mark had been the person who approved his schedule changes when Claire disappeared. He had been the person who stopped asking questions after realizing Daniel did not want to answer them.
Not because Mark did not care.
Because some people cared quietly when they knew louder versions of caring could hurt.
“I told them you were here six months ago,” Mark said.
Daniel froze.
“What?”
“The bank picture.”
“How do you know about the picture?”
“They showed me.”
Daniel stood.
“What did you say?”
“That I couldn’t confirm every minute of your day.”
The answer landed harder than he expected.
“You couldn’t?”
“Daniel.”
“No. You said you were telling the truth.”
“I am.”
Mark’s voice became tired.
“I know you were working that day. I know you fixed the heating unit on the fourth floor. I know you complained about the vending machine stealing your dollar. I remember because you spent twenty minutes shaking the machine like it had personally offended you.”
Despite everything, Daniel almost smiled.
“That machine was a criminal.”
“Probably.”
The small moment disappeared quickly.
“But I don’t know what time you went to lunch,” Mark continued. “I don’t know if you walked outside. I don’t know if someone used your name somewhere.”
Daniel looked at the photograph on the table.
Someone had.
Someone who looked exactly like him.
“Why didn’t you tell them you were sure?”
“Because I’m not.”
The honesty hurt more than a lie would have.
Daniel lowered himself back into the chair.
“I need a favor.”
Mark was quiet.
“What kind?”
Daniel looked at the envelope.
“The day that picture was taken. I need the schedule records.”
“That’s not something I can just hand you.”
“I’m not asking you to break rules.”
“You’re asking me to help you fight something I don’t understand.”
Daniel looked toward the window.
A man outside was walking a dog that clearly wanted to go in the opposite direction. The man kept pulling gently on the leash while the dog pretended not to notice.
“I don’t understand it either.”
Mark exhaled.
“I’ll see what I can find.”
After the call ended, Daniel remained at the table.
The envelope had not moved.
Neither had he.
Then his eyes drifted toward the ceramic dish on the counter.
The missing spare keys.
A thought arrived slowly.
Not like a revelation.
Like something he had been refusing to pick up.
Claire had his keys.
Or someone wanted him to think Claire had his keys.
He walked to the counter and opened the drawer beneath it.
Old batteries.
Takeout menus.
A screwdriver he had bought because the cabinet door had been broken for six months and he kept pretending he would fix it.
Underneath the junk was a small black notebook.
Daniel stared at it.
He had forgotten it existed.
Claire had given it to him years ago.
“Write things down,” she had told him.
He had laughed.
“For what?”
“For when your memory starts protecting you.”
At the time, he thought she was making a joke.
He opened the notebook.
Most pages contained ordinary things.
Passwords he no longer used.
Repair notes.
A list of movies Claire wanted to watch but never got around to.
Then he found the last page.
Three words.
Not written in Claire’s handwriting.
Written in his.
DON’T TRUST ME.
Daniel stared at the sentence.
His first reaction was confusion.
His second was anger.
Because he knew the handwriting.
It was his.
But he had no memory of writing it.
A knock came from the hallway.
He closed the notebook immediately.
For a second, he considered not answering.
Then Mrs. Alvarez called through the door.
“Daniel?”
He opened it halfway.
She stood there holding a plastic container.
“I made too much soup.”
He looked at her.
“You brought soup?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I am seventy-two and live alone, which means I have made too much food approximately ten thousand times.”
The answer almost made him laugh.
Almost.
She handed him the container.
Then she noticed the notebook in his hand.
Her expression changed.
Not dramatically.
Just enough.
Daniel saw it.
“You know that?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked away.
“No.”
“You reacted like you know it.”
“I reacted like I’m tired.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
She looked down the hallway.
The old building suddenly felt smaller.
“Daniel.”
“No.”
His voice surprised both of them.
“No more people deciding what I can handle.”
Mrs. Alvarez’s mouth tightened.
“I was trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
She did not answer.
That was answer enough.
“Did Claire come here?” Daniel asked.
The question hung between them.
Mrs. Alvarez looked older than she had a moment before.
“Three years ago.”
Daniel gripped the notebook.
“You said she left.”
“She did.”
“You said she didn’t contact anyone.”
“I said I didn’t know where she went.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“No,” she admitted quietly. “It isn’t.”
The hallway noise disappeared.
Even the television behind another apartment seemed to fade.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at the floor.
“Because she asked me not to.”
Daniel felt something sharp move through his chest.
“She was here?”
“She came at night.”
“When?”
“The week before she disappeared.”
He stepped back.
“Why?”
Mrs. Alvarez looked at the apartment behind him.
Then at the notebook.
“She was afraid.”
“Of who?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m afraid too.”
That stopped him.
Not because he believed her.
Because he had never heard fear in her voice before.
Not once.
“What did she say?” Daniel asked.
Mrs. Alvarez swallowed.
“She said if anything happened, you would blame yourself.”
Daniel looked away.
Because that was exactly the kind of thing Claire would say.
She always knew where to place a sentence so it hurt.
“She left something,” Mrs. Alvarez said.
Daniel turned back.
“What?”
May you like
“She gave me an envelope.”
His stomach dropped.
