THE EMPTY APARTMENT
Maya didn’t run.
She had spent twenty-two years as a reporter. She had been threatened by politicians, stalked by suspects, screamed at by grieving families. She had learned that running made you look guilty. And she was not guilty.
She stood her ground.
“Dr. Vance,” she said. “I was just leaving.”
“Were you?” He stepped into the apartment. His shoes were expensive, leather, silent on the hardwood. “You broke into a missing woman’s home. Touched her belongings. Photographed her private journal. That’s a crime, Maya.”
“I’m aware.”
“Then you’re also aware that I could call the police right now. Have you arrested. Have your career destroyed. Have your daughter taken away.”
Maya’s blood ran cold. “Leave my daughter out of this.”
“Danny. Sixteen. Struggling in school. Distant from her mother. She’s been acting out lately, hasn’t she? Skipping class. Drinking. Hanging out with the wrong crowd.” He tilted his head. “You’re worried about her. You should be.”
“How do you know about Danny?”
“I make it my business to know about the people who come after me.” He walked to the window. Looked out at the parking lot. “You’re not the first reporter to sniff around, Maya. You’re just the most persistent.”
“What happened to the others?”
“They found other stories. Less dangerous ones.” He turned. “That’s my advice to you. Find another story.”
“I can’t. Three women are dead. A fourth is missing.”
“Three women killed themselves. A fourth walked away from her life. Tragic. But not suspicious.”
“You referred them all. You and Dr. Webb.”
Vance’s smile didn’t waver. “I treat people who are struggling. Sometimes, despite my best efforts, they hurt themselves. That’s not my fault. That’s the nature of mental illness.”
“You encouraged them to dream about the bridge.”
“I encouraged them to explore their subconscious. The bridge was a symbol. Nothing more.”
Maya stepped closer. “Clara Bennett wasn’t depressed. Her sister said she was planning a trip. Planting a garden. Adopting a cat.”
“People hide their pain.”
“Not from their sisters. Not from their roommates. Not from their cats.”
Vance was silent for a moment.
Then he said, “You’re not going to stop, are you?”
“No.”
He nodded slowly. “I was afraid of that.”
He reached into his pocket.
Maya tensed.
But he pulled out a business card. The same one he had given her at the office.
“Call me when you’re ready to listen. When you’re ready to understand.”
“I’m ready now.”
“No. You’re not.” He set the card on the bedside table. “You’re still angry. Still grieving. Still looking for someone to blame. Until you let go of that, you won’t see the truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I’m not the monster you’re looking for.”
He walked to the door.
“Lock up when you leave. And Maya? Stay away from my patients.”
He was gone.
Maya stood in the empty apartment, her heart pounding, her hands shaking.
She looked at the business card on the bedside table.
Then she photographed it too.