Page 24 of Out for Blood
Then one day, when I came into work, they didn’t show up for their shift. They didn’t even text me, which was unusual.
The women who worked here didn’t miss shifts. Especially not Marie and Sofie and not both on the same day, without a word.
I started asking around. All the women, bartenders, waitresses, housekeeping, and everyone else who worked there, along with some regulars I had seen come in.
Nothing.
Next, I went to management.
“They quit,” they told me, too nonchalantly.
I tried asking more questions, but they wouldn’t say anything else. There was no plausible explanation for why they would quit when they came here hoping for a better life.
It felt wrong and that feeling lodged itself deep in my gut and refused to leave.
After my shift ended a few days later and still no word, I went right over to their apartment. Worry clouded my judgement on the decision to go solo.
The walk there felt farther than usual, dread in my lower abdomen, the sun going down, shadows stretching across buildings, and all I could hear was my own footsteps across the pavement.
When I reached their door, it was unlocked.
That was the first thing that made my pulse leap.
Marie never left it unlocked.
My hands began to quiver as I nudged the door open.
The putrid smell overwhelmed my senses.
The air was thick with the damp rot of forgotten food, a wet, clinging smell rising from the sink where the dishes sat steeping in cloudy water. The decay of the trash and fruit gone soft and collapsing in on itself, with flies swarming it.
It was humid in a way that doesn’t come from the heat on the island, like the apartment hasn’t breathed since they left.
But beneath it all was their absence.
Then I saw it as I walked further in and peered into the bedroom they shared. Drawers had been ripped open, clothes discarded everywhere, dishes shattered on the floor, and furniture angled out of its original place as if there was some sort of struggle.
My heart started slamming against my chest as I tripped over the carpet, rushing to get out of there.
I stood in front of the neighbor’s door, pounding on it with both fists.
No answer.
I pounded harder until the outside of my fists were sore.
Still nothing.
The third time, I didn’t hold back and used every bit of strength I had and released it.
I heard shuffling on the other side and a few locks undone and then the door creaked open, and an older woman peered out at me, her eyes wary.
She knew. She had seen me before, as recognition showed across her face.
“Where are Marie and Sofie?” I asked, my voice coming out more clipped than I meant for it to.
She tried to shut the door, but I was quicker and stopped it with my foot, putting my hand against the frame, bracing myself.
“Please,” I begged, the word breaking, “I need to know.”
