The Day I Lost You: A totally gripping psychological thriller

by Alex Sinclair

  Michael had started his new job in Manhattan and came home later and later each day. I wanted to tell him that I needed him back with me as early as possible because of my morning sickness, but he was too busy with the job he had just started. I understood he was trying to make an impression, but at the same time, I needed him more.

  My desire wasn’t from any demand to have my own personal servant waiting on me hand and foot. I just wanted him to hold me and make me feel better. I wanted reassurance that I wasn’t just some baby machine to him, but also his wife.

  It was getting later and later each day that he came home. I thought the extra hours would make him bitter and resentful of people like me who held a regular job, but he seemed to thrive on the pressure. Instead of coming home exhausted, he’d spend his night working on a case. He’d occasionally ask about the baby to ensure I was doing everything perfectly, so it grew the right way. He started to focus in on the pregnancy more than he did on me. When he texted me during the day, he began to ask more about the baby and less about how I was coping.

  “Are you going to check how my day was?” I asked him. He’d finished grilling me for the night about the baby and had jumped onto his laptop.

  He pointed his head in my direction, but his eyes stayed glued to the screen. “Sorry?”

  He hadn’t heard a word. I might as well have been talking to the thin walls of our apartment. Maybe the neighbors would care about what I had to say.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Just go back to your work. It’s more important than me, apparently.”

  Michael turned to face me fully and closed the laptop. He slid the favored device away across the small dining table and cleared his throat. “It’s not like that, honey. It’s just that I’ve got an important client starting tomorrow. I’m trying to get in front of it, is all. What did you want to talk about?”

  I shook my head. “It’s fine. I don’t want to interrupt. I just wanted to spend some time with you.”

  “Erika, please,” he said sternly. He stood up and moved in my direction. He sat down beside me on the two-seater couch we’d managed to squeeze into the living room. “I know this has been tough on you, so I want to do something to make it all better.”

  “What are you talking about?” I asked, skepticism lining my thoughts.

  “Your job.”

  “What about it?”

  “How would you like to call your boss tomorrow and tell her to stick it?”

  I tilted my head, trying to understand what he was talking about.

  “Hear me out. I’m about to get a big bonus for one of the first clients I worked on. If it goes through okay, I think we could afford for you to quit your job.”

  I exhaled, not realizing I’d been holding my breath for a few seconds. It was a habit I needed to put a stop to right away. I didn’t know if it harmed the baby in any way, but what was bad for me had to be bad for it. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

  “Why?” he asked.

  “Well, what if you lost your job?”

  Michael chuckled. “Trust me, that’s not going to happen. They love me. I can see them offering me partner one day.”

  “How can you be so sure? It’s only been two months.”

  He nodded away with raised brows. “I see where you’re coming from, but two months is a long time. Enough for a person to establish they are a team player, willing to do what it takes to win for their firm.”

  My head lowered with his words. I could hear in his voice how much he valued this new life of his. I could detect how much he wanted to be the breadwinner for his family. I could tell he was thinking this way more and more as time went on. On the one hand, it was sweet of him to want to take on the burden, but at the same time it would mean more time at the office.

  “You want me to quit my job. Why?”

  “So you can take it easy at home and avoid the frustrations of the city. Maybe if you weren’t so stressed out with work, the morning sickness wouldn’t be such a big deal.”

  “A big deal? Are you complaining about it?”

  “No, not like that. I mean maybe it wouldn’t drain you so much if you could go rest for a few hours instead of resuming your duties in a stuffy office. And it would be so much better for the baby, right?”

  “Okay,” I said, allowing the thought to sink in. Being at home would help me with my morning sickness. “Hypothetically, what would I tell my work? I’ve never quit a job before.”

  “The truth. You’re pregnant, and you need to focus on getting through that more than you need the stress of an office job.”

  I lowered my head in thought, trying to weigh up the pros and cons. I liked my admin job. I worked for a large company with a huge staff. I loved the people there, the work I did, and the social environment only an office job could provide. On the other hand, it would be nice not to have to deal with the commute and the politics that came with it. There were days when everyone managed to annoy me. Being heavily pregnant wouldn’t make that any easier.

  I glanced up into Michael’s eyes and saw how badly he wanted this. I thought about the baby and the many benefits it would get if I were to throw in the towel and stay at home. I couldn’t help but wonder if Michael’s concern seemed to focus on our unborn child above anything—or anyone—else. But I wanted to keep him happy in any way I could. With that thought and Michael’s pleading eyes, the answer was clear. I had no other choice.

  “Okay, I’ll do it. End of the week, I’ll put in my notice. A few weeks after that, I’ll be done.”

  “That’s wonderful, honey,” he said. “This will be a good thing; I promise you.” He wrapped his arms around my body and held me gently. He kissed my cheek and softly rubbed the tiny baby bump that only he knew existed. Then he stood up again to move back to his seat at the small dining table in our open-plan apartment where his laptop waited. He plonked down and opened the lid again. I watched the screen come to life, revealing boring spreadsheets and documents.

  I stared at Michael as he got back to work, while I tried to foolishly debate if I’d made the right choice by listening to him.

  Seven

  Now

  Michael doesn’t answer his cell. I got the number from his business card, which I keep in my handbag, his name embossed and shiny.

  I hand Alan back his cell. “He won’t answer. Now what?” I ask, like he has all the solutions at his fingertips.

  He scratches at his chin for a moment and comes up with an obvious idea. “We should keep searching up the stairwell. If we don’t find her, then we can knock on Michael’s door and see if he’s home. He might be able to help us locate her.”

  “Okay, yes. We have to,” I say, as my shoulders drop. If we don’t find her by the time we reach the top floor, I don’t know how I’ll cope. The thought sends a shudder down my spine. Even after going through the torture of searching the stairs, I’ll still have to show up at Michael’s without Alice. It will kill me, if it comes to that, but I have no choice.

  I start to walk for the stairs, but Alan raises his palm for me to stop.

  “Better yet, why don’t I take the stairs down and you take the stairs up to Michael’s. At least that way we can cover the entire stairwell at the same time. I’ll do a quick sweep of each floor on my way down. You just go straight up to Michael’s. If you don’t find her, knock on his door so he can help you search each floor back down. I’ll wait in the lobby for you when I reach the bottom. Hopefully, one of us finds her.”

  It’s a good idea. We won’t be wasting any time if we split up. My only concern is if Alan does find Alice on the way down. She won’t know who he is or if he can be trusted. I’ll also have no way of knowing he’s found her. I could end up confessing to Michael that I lost our daughter for no reason. I can just picture his smug face.

  “So?” Alan asks. “What do you think?”

  I close my eyes for a moment. Why did Alice have to run off and make me look like the world’s worst mother? I know it
’s not her fault, though. We should have taken the stairs somehow, like we always do. I’m such an idiot.

  “Erika?” he asks again.

  I shake the thoughts out of my head and look to Alan. “I’ll see you in the lobby,” I say, as I start to walk up the stairwell in a hurry. I stop after a few steps up and turn back to Alan.

  “What is it?” he asks.

  “If you find her, please be extra careful. She’s a sensitive little girl.”

  Alan puts his hands on his hips and stares off into the distance as if I have insulted him. “Erika, I know you don’t know me from a bar of soap, but I promise I can help you through this situation.”

  “I know you will, but it’s hard being a mom in this world. You have to understand that she is all I have.” We stare at each other for a few seconds before I turn around and start my climb. If Alan finds Alice, I’ll do whatever it takes to show him some gratitude. I’ll go on the news and tell the world what a hero he is. But right now, I need to focus on locating my daughter.

  * * *

  The climb up seems to be taking more out of me than it should. I’m not the fittest person around, but I’m also not this out of shape. The day has already drained me of energy, siphoning the life directly from my soul. Despite feeling like a dead weight on legs, I have to push forward. Alice could be just up the next landing, crying and alone, waiting for me to pick her up and tell her everything will be okay.

  If I do find her, I’m ninety-nine percent sure that I’ll end up taking her straight home and not carrying on up to retrieve her toy. I’ll buy her a new one instead. This day will have taken a lot out of my Bunny. There’s no reason she needs to see Michael and me arguing, on top of being lost for longer than I’d ever imagined losing her for.

  The floors go by in a blur. Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. Finally, I see the top level. Alice’s absence is a lump in the back of my skull. How could I have not found her yet?

  I open the unlocked door and step out onto the luxurious top floor. The corridor up here is wider and lined with quality materials and surfaces. There are only four massive apartments on this floor. Each has one quarter of the H pattern all to themselves.

  I step to the side and lean against the wall for a moment to rest. There’s little point knocking on Michael’s door without any air in my lungs.

  I take thirty seconds to catch my breath and wipe the sweat from my brow. I must look like hell by now—more so than when I first entered Stonework Village. But it doesn’t matter how I look. All that concerns me is finding Alice. Michael can help me do that. He lives here, after all, and knows who can be of use. He has to be home. I need him now, more than I have in a long time.

  There’s no way he’ll start fighting with me while Alice is still missing. Instead, he will carefully note down every mistake I have made and use it against me once his daughter has been located. It’s just the way he operates these days. We are locked in an endless cold war. I don’t care, though. He can make me look like the bad guy all he wants, as long as we find Alice.

  I push myself off the wall and make my way over to Michael’s apartment: 1402. I’m sure not owning 1401 drives his ego to work more and more hours at the office despite each of the apartments being the same size. I can’t even imagine how much this place must cost. I lived in this building for a short while, when we first had Alice. The entire time, I had no idea what the cost of the mortgage might be. Michael insisted upon handling our finances. He managed everything. All I knew was that Michael made more than enough to cover our expenses by charging clients hundreds of dollars per hour for his services.

  I find 1402 and stop in front of the door. I close my eyes for a moment and take in a big breath of air before slowly releasing it back out of my mouth. My doctor taught me this trick as a way to reset my emotions and face people with a clean slate. Who knows if it works or not? I never know what people truly think of me.

  I knock on the thick timber door three times and stand back a little to straighten myself up and fix my hair as best I can. Part of me still wants to impress Michael. Old habits die hard, I guess. I wait roughly ten seconds and knock three times again, bashing harder. “Come on,” I say. “Please be home.”

  No response.

  Maybe Michael really isn’t home? I run through it in my head, knowing that he should be here. I made sure we came here on a Sunday morning, after he was due to get back from playing tennis with his busty instructor. He should have been trying to relax for a few hours before another week of soulless bloodsucking began again.

  “Michael?” I call out.

  “He’s not in,” says a voice to my side. I turn to see a tall, elegant woman in her late thirties coming down the hall. She must be one of the top-floor dwellers, based on her appearance. She’s wearing a white dress with a sleek woolen coat. She moves confidently in six-inch heels, her matching handbag dangling carefree by her side.

  “Have you seen a little girl around four years old on this floor?” I ask as I take a desperate step toward her.

  “Not today, I’m afraid.”

  “What about Michael? Do you know where he is?”

  “Out. He won’t be back for a few hours,” she says, coming to a stop in front of me. Her height in heels forces me to look up. I wonder if she has a driver waiting down below to whisk her away to brunch. More importantly, I wonder how she knows so much about Michael’s comings and goings.

  “How do you know he’s out?” I ask. Has Michael been sleeping with this woman? I guess it doesn’t matter if he has, but I still hate the thought of it.

  She gives me a smirk as she looks me over, silently judging my appearance. She knows I don’t belong here, on this level. At best, I could maybe get away with being a resident of one of the lower floors.

  “I’m his neighbor, Camille Tessier,” she says. I’m unsure how that answers my question. She offers me her hand like I am supposed to know her name. I accept it and give the quickest handshake possible.

  “And who might you be?”

  “Um, Erika. Michael’s ex-wife.”

  This bit of information raises Camille’s perfectly sculpted brows up. “Ex-wife, you say. And you are looking for a little girl?”

  I shuffle on the spot, remembering I don’t have time for this conversation. “Yes. My daughter’s gone missing and I need to see Michael, right away. He might know how to find her. Do you know where he has gone out to? He’s not answering his cell. It’s important I speak with him.”

  “Darling, I’m sorry to hear your daughter is missing, but I’m just his neighbor.”

  I cross my arms. “A neighbor that knows he won’t be back for a few hours.”

  Camille smiles tightly, as if she is actively trying to suppress her emotions to keep her makeup perfect. “It’s not like that, unfortunately. Don’t think I haven’t tried. I know that Michael is out because I saw him leave earlier this morning. We chatted in the hall. He said he had to rush off to an important meeting for a few hours.”

  “A meeting?”

  “You know yourself that he’s a lawyer. Surely it’s not all that surprising for him to take off on a Sunday for work?”

  “No, it’s not,” I mutter. I don’t have time for these games, but my mind throws itself back to the countless Sundays I spent alone with Alice when we should have been out enjoying life as a family of three. Michael would eventually come home, only to spend time with Alice and not me. The divorce came a mere six months into our daughter’s existence, but he worked most of that time. We never had the family life I always dreamed of.

  “Now, if you don’t mind, I must be on my way, dear.” Camille turns to leave.

  I am left feeling more panicked than when I arrived. “Wait a second,” I say to her.

  Camille lets out a huff. “What is it? I don’t have any more time to waste.”

  I don’t either, I resist saying. “Can I borrow your phone to make a quick call to Alan?”

  “Alan? Alan from this building? What possible
reason would you have to call that old busybody?”

  “He’s been helping me search the building.”

  Camille chuckles. “Darling, please tell me you haven’t fallen for that neighborhood-watch line he’s always spouting?”

  Sweat stings my brow. “What?”

  “Oh no, he’s gotten to you, hasn’t he? Alan’s not the head of the neighborhood watch. That’s just a lie he tells people. He used to work in the building as the head of maintenance. He got a big payout after they forced him to retire.”

  Maintenance. Maybe that’s where I’d seen him before. Why did he not tell me that to begin with?

  “Now he lives here,” Camille says. “Pathetic, isn’t it?”

  I ignore her snobbish statement. “How do you know that?”

  Camille’s face drops into a scowl. “Because, dear, I know who my neighbors are. Just like the felon who lives on the seventh floor, near Alan. He has been trying to hide his criminal past from the rest of us. I’m pushing for the board to have the man removed as soon as possible. Unfortunately, they have no choice but to keep his identity a secret, but I’ll find out soon enough. I mean, how can such a person even afford to live here, anyway?”

  The thought of a criminal living on the floor Alice disappeared on sends pins and needles to my fingers. I ask the only question I can as a tremor shudders through my whole body. “Does Alan know about this person?”

  “Of course he does. I suspect that he is possibly helping the man to hide his true identity, but I can’t prove it.”

  I shake my head with one hand on my skull. “Why would he do that? Why would he help a criminal?”

  Camille lets a sigh flow from her perfect lips. “Alan is nothing but a compulsive liar who is desperate for attention. If he’s helping you find your missing girl, I’d just as soon ask someone else to do it instead.”