Page 70 of The Accomplice
That was strange. There was only one door in the house with squeaky hinges. A door that Daniel never opened.
I threw off the covers, padded downstairs in my bare feet.
I had to know.
I went into the kitchen and saw the door to the basement open. The light was on. I slipped through the open door and quietly walked down the basement stairs.
My breath caught in my chest.
My life, the fairytale, was over. It ended that night in our basement. The walls I had built to protect myself from those thoughts had cracks. Fissures that had widened with every late night, every missed dinner, the earrings, and now this …
I was on the other side now, staring back at my past life from a new place, watching it disappear.
Nothing would ever be the same again.
Daniel stood naked in the basement, pouring soap into the laundry machine. He saw me standing at the base of the stairs and it startled him.
He said I’d almost given him a heart attack. I didn’t give him a chance to settle down, I demanded to know what the hell was going on.
Before he answered, he poured the remaining soap powder from the cup into the machine, closed it and pressed a button to begin the cycle. I’d never seen him do laundry before.
He said he’d had dinner with a client who had spilled red wine all over him and he had to get his clothes in the wash right away or they would be ruined.
His shoes were on the floor, and he was barefoot.
I asked him if his client had spilled red wine on his socks, too.
He looked at me. There was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. It reminded me of the way Mitchum looked in our movie, right before he stabbed his wife. It’s a cold, blank look.
He said he may as well put everything in the wash, while he was there, and tried to laugh it off. There was no mirth in that smile or in that hollow laughter.
I started backing away from him. I didn’t like this. I ran up the stairs, into the kitchen and put my back to the counter.
I couldn’t breathe.
Daniel came up the stairs, turned the lights off in the basement and shut the noisy door.
He stood there for a moment, looking at me. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He wasn’t embarrassed. His face was blank. Like he was looking at nothing – like I didn’t even exist. He took one step toward me, and I flinched. Pushed myself back against the counter.
He apologized again and said he was going upstairs to take a shower.
I watched him go. When he was safely upstairs I went into the downstairs bathroom, locked the door and sat on the toilet seat. I cried and rocked on that seat. I don’t know how long I was in there, but at some stage I must’ve curled up on the floor, because when I woke up, that’s where I was. The sunlight brightening the room through the window. I got up, sore from sleeping on the tiles, and opened the door. I looked out at the garage.
Daniel’s car was gone.
I poured a glass of water and found my phone upstairs beside my bed.
There were four new alerts, all from different media sites.
A woman had been found dead in an alleyway in Manhattan this morning. Her eyes had been removed. She was thought to be the latest victim of the Sandman.
I put my face in my hands and cried.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
BLOCH
The law offices of Archie Bunsen were not exactly welcoming for new clients. A steel door with a buzzer beside it on 110thStreet. It looked more like a bunker than a law practice. No sign above the door. The words ‘Bunsen Law’ were written on a slip behind the clear plastic button for the buzzer.
