“He asked if I wanted to have dinner again next Friday.”
“What did you say?”
“I said yes.”
For the first time in weeks, I slept without imagining the worst.
The next morning, she disappeared too.
I called her before work.
No answer.
I called again during lunch.
Straight to voicemail.
I sent messages asking whether she was all right. None of them were delivered.
By evening, she finally texted me.
“Don’t contact me. Please.”
That was not Rachel.
Rachel would never send a message like that without an explanation. Even during our worst disagreement, she had called me and argued until both of us ran out of things to say.
I drove straight to her apartment.
Her car was still there.
Her lights were on.
But nobody answered the door.
I knocked until my knuckles hurt. I called her name through the door. I tried her phone again and heard nothing from inside.
A neighbor stepped into the hallway and asked whether everything was all right.
“I don’t know,” I said.
I sat in my car outside her building for almost an hour. I watched her windows, waiting for a curtain to move.
Nothing happened.
