Corbin had accused of spying. She must have taken Corbin seriously that night, because she became a lot more vigilant about pulling her curtains all the way shut, especially in the evenings. She did occasionally leave them open, but Alan had decided to attempt to curb the amount of time he spent looking out of his window. He knew it was unhealthy, and definitely immoral, along with probably being illegal.
He reconnected with some friends he’d lost touch with and accepted invitations from coworkers to get drinks after work. On one of those nights he wound up kissing an intern from Suffolk University. Bella was an avid softball player with long blond hair who photographed everything with her phone. Even though Alan was still in his late twenties, he felt like Bella came from another generation. They went to a movie, and afterward back to Alan’s place. He realized she was the only other human who had set foot in his apartment since Quinn had left. The sex was bad, perfunctory and awkward, and Bella talked nonstop out of embarrassment. After she’d fallen asleep—“Is it okay if I spend the night, even though I totally know this is just a hookup?”—Alan, wide awake, had gone into the living room. It had been a few days since he’d checked on Audrey’s apartment, but he pulled his curtains apart by an inch and looked across the way. She’d left her curtains slightly open as well. She was on the sofa, curled up asleep, her book facedown on the floor next to her. He’d seen her sleep on the sofa before. Her right hand was curled, palm out, along the center of her chest, her index finger grazing the soft skin under her chin.
Alan went to his own sofa, buried his own face into a pillow, and cried for the first time in years.
No more Audrey, he told himself.
He needed to erase her from his mind. And he’d succeeded lately. For the most part.
Then, on Saturday morning he’d found a stale, brittle cigarette and gone outside to smoke. He’d spoken to the pretty English girl—Kate something, maybe she hadn’t told him her last name—and she told him that Audrey was missing. It had been a strange and unsettling conversation. In some ways, Kate had reminded Alan of Audrey. Not the way she looked, although they shared the same pale coloring. Kate—and maybe it was just because he was meeting her face-to-face—had seemed more grounded, while Audrey had always been more ethereal. Pixieish, with her small features, long limbs, and that still quality, as though she’d never move unless it was absolutely necessary. To flip a page of her book, or take a sip of her tea. That was the difference, Alan thought. Kate, almost as pretty as Audrey, with a face that was rounder and hair that was a shade darker, was definitely not still. She shifted her weight from leg to leg when they talked. When she pushed a loose strand of hair back behind an ear, Alan noticed that her unvarnished fingernails had been bitten down to the quick.
Then the police had arrived, and Carol, Alan’s elderly neighbor from across the hall, had confirmed that a body had been found.
That evening a police officer, a woman who identified herself as Officer Karen Gibson, came to take a statement. He told her the truth. He knew Audrey Marshall by sight, but he didn’t know her.
That night Alan had slept, but it had been fitful, punctuated by thin dreams in which Audrey was with Alan in his apartment, touching him, speaking with him, whispering in his ear. He’d woken before dawn and gone to look toward Audrey’s apartment. It was dark, but he could tell that the curtain was open. He caught a flicker of movement and stared for a long time. The sky was lightening from black to orange, but the interior of Audrey’s apartment stayed dark. Still, he watched, scared to even blink too much. Then there was another suggestion of movement, a trace of light as Alan was sure he saw Audrey’s door open and shut quickly, a figure leaving the apartment.
Chapter 8
By noon on Sunday, Kate, after beginning but not finishing a lengthy e-mail to her mother, paced the perimeter of the vast apartment. She’d been awake since dawn, when she’d snuck into Audrey Marshall’s apartment and seen Alan Cherney through his window. Now, as she paced, she looked out her own windows. The sky was a milky white and