do, what kind of influence he might have with his wife.
When the twins go down for their nap on Sunday afternoon, Patrick tucks Stephanie into their bed and tells her that he’s going into the office for a bit, to catch up on some work. Then he gets into his car, but instead of turning towards downtown, to his office, he takes the highway to Newburgh. He’s already looked up Erica’s address – he found it on her job application.
He doesn’t know exactly what he has in mind. He’s so overtired and stressed that he can’t think clearly. He just feels that he must do something. He has to turn the tables somehow, but how? He must get Erica to stop this – this madness.
When he arrives in Newburgh it doesn’t take him long to locate the apartment building. It’s a five-storey building on a residential street. He wants to confront her on her own ground, to see how she likes it. He’s been too passive; it’s time to shake things up. He needs to frighten her.
He realizes that she might not be home. He hopes she is; he’s spoiling for a fight. He indulges himself for a moment – imagines knocking on her door, her surprise at seeing him and then pushing his way in. He imagines himself on her balcony, bending her back over the edge, until she’s afraid for her life. Maybe that’s all it would take. She seems willing enough to think him capable of murder.
But then he remembers her apartment number, 107 – she must be on the ground floor. He enters the building and looks at the buzzers. He wants to catch her off guard at her door if he can. A woman walks towards him from the lifts; she opens the door and he slips in behind her. He locates Erica’s apartment and knocks firmly on her door, hoping she’ll answer. No such luck – she’s not home. He clenches his jaw in frustration. But she’s on the ground floor – he can at least look in her windows, see if there’s any sign of a nine-year-old boy. He goes back outside, circling around to the back of the building. It’s fairly private. Unit 107 has a patio on the ground floor, with sliding glass doors. He creeps up to the glass and looks inside.
The place doesn’t look very lived in. He sees a pale-blue sofa, a coffee table with some newspapers on it and not much else; it’s barely furnished. There’s a galley kitchen beyond the empty dining room – a pendant light hanging over where a dining table should be – and a hall off to the right. He’s guessing it’s a one-bedroom. There’s no sign of a child. He breathes a sigh of relief. She must have taken a photo of some random kid about the right age who looks like him. Is there any length she won’t go to?
But he does see something he recognizes – his wife’s missing handbag, on the floor beside the sofa.
His heart almost stops. But before he can fully process the fact that Erica has been inside his house, he sees the door to the apartment open. Patrick steps back out of sight, but then peers carefully around the edge of the sliding glass door. Erica has entered the room, and there’s someone behind her. For a second the other person is blocked from view by Erica, but she steps away and Patrick gets another shock as he recognizes Niall. Niall closes the door behind him and then sweeps Erica into an embrace. In disbelief, Patrick watches Erica and Niall kiss hungrily and peel off their clothes on their way to the bedroom.
What the fuck is Niall doing with Erica?
Stephanie watches her husband, her stomach in knots. Patrick’s upset. His hair is a mess, as if he’s repeatedly run his hands through it, and his movements are rushed and jerky. He’s pacing the kitchen while the babies sit in their high chairs babbling and smashing their spoons against their trays. He’s just told her that he went to Erica’s apartment and saw Stephanie’s missing handbag on the floor through the window.
She’s thinking, He didn’t go to the office at all. ‘Why is she doing this?’ Stephanie asks, her voice shrill. This horrible woman has been inside her house. She’s stolen her handbag, her ID. She feels a terrible anxiety coursing through her. People can steal your ID and use it to destroy your life.