Already Gone by John Rector Read Free Book Online Page B

looking for, but I have to do something.
    I start with her dresser, searching through clothes and jewelry. Then I move to the closet and pull down a stack of boxes. I can tell there’s nothing inside from the weight, but I still go through each one just in case.
    When I finish, I put everything back, then take Diane’s suitcase and open it on the bed.
    It’s empty.
    I start checking the side pockets. All I find is a business card with a silver crescent moon and several blue stars embossed on the front. Printed underneath, in a clean gold script, is the name LISA BISHOP, and the word PSYCHIC.
    I turn the card over.
    There’s an address and phone number printed on the back along with a handwritten note that says, “ D, we need to talk. Call me. ”
    I put the suitcase back in the closet and walk out to the living room. On the way, I grab the phone and dial the number on the card.
    I let it ring into voice mail.
    Flutes and harps followed by a woman’s voice, thanking me for calling, then asking me to leave a message.
    I don’t.
    I hang up, then sit back on the couch and let myself sink into the cushions. I close my eyes and try to make sense of what I found.
    On our first date, I took Diane to a French restaurant downtown. While we were in the bar waiting for our table, I told her it felt like we’d been there before.
    I called it déjà vu.
    She called it a chemical imbalance.
    “Your brain is hiccupping and registering the present as a memory,” she’d said. “No big deal.”
    That was Diane.
    And that Diane would never go see a psychic.
    I finish my drink then get up and pour another. I don’t care if I get drunk. I want to get drunk.
    There are too many questions, and I can’t get my head around them. I can’t focus. I keep seeing the two men sitting outside my office, and my thoughts keep returning to the same place, over and over.
    Did they take her?
    How could I have been so stupid?
    They knew where I worked, so of course they knew where I lived. I could’ve told Diane to get out of the house, to run, but I didn’t and now she’s gone.
    I take a drink and try to stop my imagination before it spins out of control. I focus on the cold ache in the center of my chest, letting it seep into the warm alcohol buzz, until the ache is all that’s left.
    Then anger.
    I walk down the hall to my office and open my desk drawer. I take out my address book and flip through the pages until I find Gabby’s number. I carry it back to the couch and pick up the phone.
    I dial the first few numbers and stop.
    I hear Diane’s voice in my head telling me not to do anything stupid, and for a moment I’m able to convince myself that calling Gabby isn’t stupid at all.
    Then the moment passes.
    If I’m going to bring Gabby in on this, I have to be sure. Once I make the call, whatever happens, I won’t be able to take it back.
    I stare at the phone in my hand for a long time, then reach for my drink and finish it.
    Promise me you won’t do anything stupid.
    In the end, I don’t make the call.
    A promise is a promise.

– 11 –
     
    I don’t sleep for a long time. Instead, I lie in bed and stare at shadows and think about Diane. Eventually I drift off, and when I do, I have the dream again.
    It’s always the same.
    In it, I’m a child, stacking building blocks on a dark carpet, watching them fall. My mother is in the next room, crying. She comes out and sits next to me.
    I keep stacking the blocks.
    “Jake,” she says. “I want you to listen to me.”
    I look up at her and wait.
    “You don’t have to be afraid, do you understand?”
    I nod and tell her I do, even though I don’t.
    She smiles, leans forward, and kisses my head. “Don’t ever be afraid, Jake, not ever.”
    I watch her get up and walk into the bathroom, closing the door behind her. I wait, but she doesn’t come out.
    Eventually, I follow.
    I stand outside, listening to the slow drip of the faucet, and then I reach out and push the door open.
    I