The Day I Lost You: A totally gripping psychological thriller

by Alex Sinclair

  I feel my legs buckle and I begin to fall to the ground. Henry guides me down to the floor, saying words I can’t process. Time slows down as I see the paramedics hunched over a body, blood on gauze. They ignore my cries.

  “Erika!” Henry shouts through the haze.

  My eyes snap up to his.

  “You don’t understand,” he says.

  “I do. She’s dead.”

  His gaze hones in tight. “No. This isn’t Alice. It’s Alan.”

  Eighteen

  Then

  “Close your eyes,” Michael said to me as we walked along the footpath. We had taken a cab all the way to Central Park from Brooklyn and had spent a few hours there relaxing on a Sunday afternoon. I almost had to pinch myself when Michael made the suggestion. We hadn’t done anything so exciting on the weekend in months. My husband was always working—at the office or at home. He barely ever had any time for me. He only cared about whether I was eating healthily enough for the baby, and how she was growing.

  “Are your eyes closed?” he asked.

  “Yes, I promise,” I said with a chuckle. We’d taken a quick stroll from the park to get some food at one of the cafés a few blocks away. Michael wanted to take me to a particular place he had told me he’d met a few clients at. Apparently, the food was the best he’d ever eaten, and the coffees were always perfect.

  I struggled to see how it could be better than some of the cafés we had around Brooklyn. Just because they weren’t in Manhattan didn’t mean the staff didn’t put as much effort into their food and drinks.

  “This had better be good,” I said. “It’s not fun being seven months pregnant in these shoes, I can tell you.”

  “Trust me, this will be worth the trip, so keep your eyes closed.”

  Michael guided me along by the elbow, helping me to avoid tripping over anything dangerous in the busy Manhattan streets. Though my eyes were still tightly closed, I could feel the people around me getting annoyed at Michael’s playful idea. I hoped the café wasn’t much further. As fun and rare as it was to goof around with him, I was feeling drained of energy, as usual.

  “Are we close?” I asked.

  “Almost there.”

  “This is crazy,” I said. “People must think we’re insane.”

  “Who cares? Let ’em stare.”

  “I knew they were all gawking at us.”

  Michael snorted. “They wouldn’t be staring if they had any idea what I’m about to show you and our baby girl.”

  As if on cue, our daughter kicked as hard as she could. I didn’t know what to make of Michael’s comment. It seemed an odd thing to say about a restaurant.

  “Here we are,” Michael said. “You can open your eyes now.”

  My lids slid apart and adjusted to the light. I gazed around, left and right, searching for the café Michael had spent all of this time hiding from me. I couldn’t see anything but apartment buildings, staring down from high up. The closest one had the name Stonework Village written on the canopy above the entrance.

  I turned to Michael in confusion. “I don’t understand? Why are we here? There’s no restaurant or café around.”

  Michael stared at me while a smile crept wider and wider across his face.

  “What is this?” I asked.

  “Home.”

  “Home?”

  “You heard me right. This is our new home. I’ve just signed the contracts to purchase an apartment in the building.”

  My mouth fell open as I tried to respond. I felt nothing but a stab of anger swelling up inside me.

  “And not just any apartment, either. I bought us one of the top-floor apartments. You can see parts of Central Park when you’re up there.”

  I shook my head and pushed past the jumbled words in my mouth. “Are you serious? Is this a joke?”

  “It’s no joke, honey. This is our new home. And the best part is, I got it for five percent under market value. A client of mine works in the building and told me the owner was desperate to sell. Can you believe it?”

  I couldn’t believe it. We hadn’t discussed this at all, and he’d gone and purchased an expensive apartment on the Upper West Side. Even with Michael’s income, there was no way we could afford this.

  “I don’t know where to start,” I said. I took a step back from him.

  “What do you mean?” he asked. “I thought you’d be happy with a surprise like this.”

  I scoffed. “There are surprises, and then there are surprises. To begin with, you bought this apartment behind my back without any discussion at all. It’s in an area you know I don’t want to live in, and it’s way out of our price range. I’m not sure how else I’m supposed to react.”

  “You are supposed to appreciate what I’ve done for our family.”

  “Appreciate? All of our money will be sucked into this thing. Aren’t you the least bit concerned about that?”

  “Not in the slightest. I got a huge promotion at work last week. They’ve almost doubled my wage. I’m going to be taking on bigger clients.”

  I slapped my hand over my mouth for a moment, trying to contain my anger. It didn’t work. “You didn’t think to lead with that? Though it still doesn’t change the fact that you didn’t discuss this with me first. You promised me months ago that we would pick a place together. You swore to me.” I felt my hands begin to clench tight as my nostrils flared.

  “I know I did, but…”

  He couldn’t even finish his sentence.

  “You lied to me, straight to my face. This building will forever remind me of that.”

  Michael shook his head with a smile I only ever saw before he was about to have a serious argument with me. “This is unbelievable. I’ve worked my ass off the last few months to get this promotion, and all you care about is that I ‘lied’ to you. People lie to each other every day, honey. I see it all the time in my job: wives lie to save their husbands from jail; parents lie to protect their children from the courtroom. It’s just the way things are.”

  Again, Michael was using the grand wisdom of his job to justify being an asshole. I don’t know why he thought this would work.

  “I know you work hard, Michael,” I said. “No one knows that better than I do, but just because you earn all of the money doesn’t mean I don’t get a say about where we raise our child. I’m the one growing her inside me. Not you.”

  “This will be an amazing home for our child. The park is right there, there are incredible schools in the area, and she will have all of Manhattan at her fingertips.”

  I went to respond, but the words didn’t want to come out. I shook my head at him instead. There was no point in explaining how I felt.

  We stared at each other, both unwilling to concede our positions. Michael maintained his distance from me as people passed us by, swiveling around the arguing couple.

  I rubbed my belly and felt the baby kick me several times. I realized I’d let myself get all worked up over the apartment, and that had put stress upon her. I had to calm myself down immediately. I drew in a deep gulp of air and let it flow out of me. I repeated the process until I felt my heart begin to slow down.

  Michael saw me doing this and came to the same conclusion. “I’m sorry for yelling,” he said, as he took a few steps toward me. “I wasn’t thinking straight. Is she okay?”

  I heard his words in my head and tried my hardest not to turn them against him. I wanted to point out that he was only ever worried about the baby, that he didn’t care if I got hurt from an argument. I pushed out the fantasy of telling him how I felt with a long exhale. “We’re fine,” I said.

  “Good.” Michael removed his gaze from me and started rubbing my arm with his palm. I wanted to shrug him off, but the gentle touch was more than I’d felt from him in a long time.

  What happened to us? We used to be a fun couple who couldn’t get enough of one another. We were, above all other things, friends. We never let money come between us—we didn’t have any to argue over. We n
ever let anger take over. Now, it felt like we were complete strangers, thrown together to have a baby.

  Would our relationship survive the first month of her life?

  I turned to Michael, not wanting to think about the negative possibilities. “You might as well give me the tour,” I said.

  “Really?” he asked, as a smile began to form on his lips.

  I didn’t want to encourage or reward his decision to go behind my back in such a way, but what was done was done. I had no option but to deal with the reality of it all, or take some drastic measures to get myself out of the situation. I was too tired and pregnant to do the latter.

  “Let’s get one thing clear: I’m nowhere near close to forgiving you. But I guess I don’t have a choice now, do I? So let’s see what this new home of yours is like.”

  Michael gave me a nervous chuckle. “That’s the spirit, honey,” he said, as he guided me to the building. He knew this would happen. He knew I’d have no choice but to accept this place as my new home. I was seven months pregnant and jobless.

  Well played, I thought. Little did I know this building would be the end of us.

  Nineteen

  Now

  The paramedics do what they can, but Alan remains unresponsive. They have him laid out on a stretcher with a neck brace on to keep him still. He has gauze wrapped around his skull; blood is seeping through from a wound across his forehead. I think of the red splatter of liquid we found in the stairwell near level four.

  According to the paramedics, Alan sustained blunt force trauma consistent with a fall toward a concrete wall. At best, all we can guess is that he tripped down the steps and slammed head first into the hard surface. How he got up to his apartment is the real mystery.

  “We found blood on the fourth floor, leading from the stairwell to the elevator,” says Henry. “But this doesn’t make sense. How did you guys know he was injured and inside his apartment?”

  “Alan called us,” says the female paramedic.

  “Okay,” Henry replies, his brow furrowed as he turns to face the woman. “How?”

  “A delay in his injuries kicking in. He hit his head hard, but the real damage came later, when his brain began to swell with bruising. He probably called us immediately after it happened and took the elevator up to this apartment. Looks like he managed to get back inside only to collapse on the floor.”

  My head spins as I think about what this all means. I thought we were following a trail that would point us to Alice, but Alan had been the one bleeding this entire time. I feel relieved that my Bunny hasn’t been hurt, but at the same time, she is still out there and missing. Whether she is lost or is in the grip of a kidnapper, I still don’t know.

  “We’d better get going,” the paramedic says. “If you have any suspicions about Alan’s injuries, please call the police.”

  “We’ve already called the police,” I say. “They should be here soon, once the big gas leak downtown clears up.”

  “Gas leak?” the paramedic asks, as the two push Alan out of the apartment. “I wasn’t aware there was one.” The EMTs disappear out of the apartment.

  I turn to Henry with both hands raised, wanting to know why the paramedics hadn’t heard of any gas leak. Maybe these two have just come on duty and don’t know about the situation downtown. It seems plausible, until I see Henry’s eyes dart left and right.

  “Did you call the police?” I ask him. “Is there even a gas leak?”

  Henry goes to speak, but his mouth hangs open. No words come out.

  “Well?”

  “It’s too complicated to explain.”

  “Too complicated? Alice has been taken by someone and you’ve been lying to me about the police being on their way. How simple is that to explain?”

  “You don’t know if she has been kidnapped.”

  My mouth pops open in disgust. “What are you saying, exactly?”

  “That there’s no proof to suggest anyone came into this building and snatched up your daughter. You thought that blood came from her. It’s Alan’s.”

  “I know, but it doesn’t change the certainty that she is missing, does it?”

  Henry moves over to me and grabs hold of my arms. I cringe at his touch. “My boss told me to avoid calling the police unless absolutely necessary. I was just doing what I was told. Besides, a child could never get out of this building on their own without me knowing about it.”

  “Screw you! And your employer!” I yell.

  “Listen to me for a minute, Erika. What if she’s just missing? Maybe no one has taken her. Maybe she’s just hiding really well. There’s no need to involve the police in that.”

  “The police could help find her, kidnapper or not. She’s been missing for too long. This isn’t a game.” I stare at Henry and feel an overwhelming sense of rage take over my every thought. How could he be so careless about this situation? Does keeping his job mean more to him than the life of a child?

  I stumble away from him with one hand on my head. “I can’t tell you why, but I know she has been taken. I can feel it in my heart.”

  Henry’s eyes flick left and right, studying me as his brows furrow with concern. “You can’t just go running around accusing people of something only you suspect to be true.”

  “You don’t understand,” I say, as I think about Michael. I can’t spill anything about him to Henry. Not yet.

  “Tell me what it is that I don’t understand.”

  I step past him and pace around the apartment. I grab my hair as I debate what to say to Henry. I close my eyes for a moment. “I can’t. You won’t believe me. It doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ve wasted too much time. Time that Alice doesn’t have.” I turn away from him to leave.

  “Where are you going?”

  I pause, but not to answer Henry’s question. I didn’t see it when I came in; it was hidden by the open door. Toppled over behind the thick piece of timber is a colorful backpack that looks exactly like Alice’s. My hand flies to my mouth as I drop down to the floor. I lean out and grab the bag.

  “What are you doing?” Henry asks.

  I open the tiny backpack, remembering the day I bought it for Alice. I was visiting a few nearby suburbs close to where Alice and I lived, trying to get a head start on which elementary school to send her to. We dropped in to my favorite school of the three we planned on visiting that day. We hadn’t made it past the front of reception when Alice saw a colorful bag the school had on sale. It was sold for the kindergarten associated with the academy.

  Alice begged me to buy it. I’ll never forget the way her eyes lit up when I handed it over to her.

  “Thank you, Mommy,” she said, dozens of times that day. I’d never seen her love an object like that, except for her copy of Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland.

  “Whose bag is that?” Henry asked, pulling me back to the present.

  I swiveled around and stared into his eyes, fighting back the tears. “It’s Alice’s.” I open the zip of the central section and start searching inside. Every item has been taken out. I curse myself for not penning Alice’s name into the bag in case it ever went missing.

  Henry’s mouth drops open as his eyes double in size. “What the hell? Why has Alan got Alice’s backpack?”

  “That’s what I want to know,” I say. The question needs an answer. I get up from the floor and hurry back to Henry. I place the bag down on Alan’s counter and move up to the receptionist, breaching his personal space.

  “Do you see what I’m saying now? Someone has taken Alice. Alan knows who.”

  Henry closes his eyes, as if he is trying to think. “I don’t know. Maybe Alan found the bag before he fell over.”

  “And carried it all the way back here?”

  Henry takes a step back and scratches at his skull. “It might already have been on his shoulder. Maybe he didn’t realize it was still on him when he dragged himself to his apartment?”

  “That’s a big maybe.”

  I shake my head
at him as I start pacing around the apartment. There’s got to be more here. Something that implicates Alan or Desmond. Maybe Desmond stored the bag in Alan’s apartment without the old man knowing. But I can’t ask Alan directly. Considering the head injury he sustained, Alan will be lucky to be alive after today.

  “What are you doing now?” Henry groans.

  “Looking for something else to show you what I mean. There has to be another piece of evidence in this apartment to show you I’m right about my suspicions.”

  Henry stomps over to me and gets in my way. “Tell me what your suspicions are. I want to hear you say them out loud.”

  I stop moving and let out a huff of air. “Alan may or may not be involved in Alice’s disappearance.”

  “How? Just because of a backpack?”

  “Not just that. There’s also Desmond.”

  “Desmond? Who is that?”

  I frown. “I thought it was your job to know everyone who lived or worked here?”

  “I don’t, sorry. Like I said, I’ve only been here for a month. I’m still learning names and the way things are done.”

  I stare at him. “So you don’t know, do you?”

  “Know what?” he asks, crossing his arms.

  I debate telling him. Is this information worth more to me as a secret? I don’t know anymore, so I come right out and say it. “The man in apartment 707—the criminal. His name is Desmond Bracero.”

  “Bracero?” Henry asks.

  I see something ticking around in his brain; he’s trying to work out what I’m getting at. The light bulb goes off, and his eyes go wide. “Wait, what?”

  “Alan is Desmond’s father. He got him a job in maintenance here. He got him into the building, into apartment 707, despite his criminal past.”

  Henry tries to rebut my claim, but he fails to come up with any words. He shakes his head at me, his eyes filled with anguish. The truth hits him hard.

  “This is beyond crazy,” Henry says. “I mean, I knew that guy worked and lived in the building. I didn’t know he was Alan’s son, though.”