A car honks, and I rush the rest of the way to the front door.
Trying to ward off the strange feeling, I text Chrissy again:Weird to be back on Magnolia.
Her reply comes almost instantly:What? What are you doing there, Aud?
Don’t worry. Just picking up a package.
The building looks the same. Beige paint flaking off siding, cheap evergreens in decorative planters out front. Inside the atrium is at least blasting heat from an old vent, and the mailbox is still labeled “Wolfe” in faded Sharpie. There are a few packages piled in the corner, and I bend over as well as I can, shifting them to read the names.
None of which are mine.
I hesitate, phone still in hand, and it buzzes again—like a warning.
Why would you send a package to your old apartment, Audrey?
It’s a good question. One that makes my stomach roil again with nerves.
Does Konstantin know you’re there?
I tap the message box, thumb poised to type.
That’s when I see him.
Sal.
He’s leaning against the doorframe like he still belongs there. Like nothing ever changed.
“Audrey.”
His voice is cool, melodic, with that New Yorker accent. It’s no different than it ever was, but now it makes me feel nauseous.
Two men that I don’t recognize flank him. One is wiry and jittery, like he needs a fix. The other looks like he’s just stepped out of Rikers, all muscles and aggression in a wife-beater that strains over his frame.
My feet refuse to move.
Sal smiles, slow and oily. “Hey there,piccola. You look… rounder.”
I flinch. Instinctively, my hand goes to my belly.
“You’re not supposed to be here,” I say, even though it sounds childish the moment it leaves my mouth. “Konstantin—he had the cops put in an order?—”
“Oh?” Sal cocks his head. “But this is where we started. You remember? That shitty futon, the pizza boxes, all those nights I took care of you when you were too sad to do anything else. Crying and crying after the old lady died. Remember when you were almost catatonic after selling her shitty little house?” His grin is feral, cruel. “I figured we could have a little reunion.”
My pulse screams danger. Every nerve ending in my body is lit up.
“Go to hell.”
“That’s not very polite,” he replies, stepping forward.
My eyes search the tiny mail room, then the hallway behind Sal. His grin widens. “Oh, no one will come down here, love. There’s another guy watching the elevators. And, well…” He glances over his shoulder. I suddenly notice a boot twisted strangely on the ground… attached to a leg… “Your old landlord, he’s not in any state to help you right now.”
Oh, God.
The call. The strained tone to the landlord’s voice. It wasn’t annoyance; it was fear. Sal had threatened him into luring me here.
The two men box me in. There’s no door behind me, and the tiny windows in this room are frosted. No one outside will see what happens to me here.
And just like that, I realize what this is.
