I woke up the next morning to realize I’d fallen asleep in my clothes. My head told me to just lay there for the rest of the day, but I forced myself to get up, shower, and pull something clean on, all while ignoring the giant bruise on my shin.
Breakfast seemed like a good idea, even if I wasn’t the least bit hungry. After putting a piece of toast on, I grabbed the paper off my doorstep and plopped it down on the table. Butter was about all I could handle as far as toppings went, so I scraped the bottom of my margarine tub.
Toast in hand, I headed to my table and sat down. Coffee sounded reasonably good, but I always got mine from the shop across the street and going out didn’t sound like a very good idea. The way things were going the sky would probably fall in.
Still licking the butter from my fingers, I snapped the rubber band off the paper and unrolled it. The face in the picture on the front page struck me the minute my eyes fell upon it.
Matt Stewart?
I recognize that face immediately. I recognized the defiant expression as well. What was new to me was the picture itself. It was a mug shot, but it wasn’t the one I’d seen when he was arrested for the murder of Sarah Wagner. It appeared to be an entirely new one.
My throat tightened so hard I could barely breathe, but I jumped right into the story, word by word, line by line. I blazed through the entire article in minutes then went right back to the start and read it again.
The circumstances were so similar to the ones that had been reported in the same paper a little over a year ago. A woman was found in her apartment, bludgeoned to death. Her roommate had walked into the apartment and found her lying there, just a few feet in front of the door. But there was a glaring difference this time. The roommate also found Matt Stewart leaning over the body.
Just like last time someone saw him climbing out the window and down a fire escape. But this time that someone had chased Matt down and pinned him to the sidewalk. They found the woman’s jewelry in his pocket. Her blood was all over him.
I didn’t have to set the paper down. My hands were shaking so hard the pages fluttered from my fingers as I tried to read the story for the third time. I couldn’t actually see the letters by that point. The lack of oxygen in my lungs was blurring my vision.
Telling myself to breathe wasn’t enough. I had to manually force the air in and out.
I wanted to doubt. I wanted to believe it wasn’t true. But how could I? It seemed it was now an undeniable fact. Matt Stewart was a killer. But was he the killer of Sarah Wagner? I almost literally slapped myself when that thought crossed through. Of course he was her killer! A miracle worker couldn’t convince people otherwise.
I clutched my head as my skyrocketing blood pressure brought on a monster headache, but the guilt didn’t have long to settle. I looked up at the clock over my microwave. Nine-thirty. The whole city had to know by now. Jim had to know.
All the possibilities came crashing down. Jim would undoubtedly blame Max, but what would he do about it?
Grabbing my sneakers, I ran out the door and to the elevator, slamming the down button. By the time the doors slide open, I had both sneakers, but only one tied. My doorman mentioned that as I ran off the elevator and shoved through the doors, but I didn’t take the time to explain. I just needed to get to Max before Jim.
The dance I did on the side of the road to flag down a cab could have rivaled the best cheerleader, but I caught the attention of one quickly. As soon as he pulled away from the curb, I pulled open the purse I’d thought to grab as I was running out. I was grateful to see it actually did have enough money to pay for the fare, but my cell phone was nowhere to be found. I threw it down with a growl as I remembered sticking the stupid thing on its charger the night before.
“Something wrong?” the cab driver asked.
“Yeah,” I replied, but said no more. I just dropped my head into my hands and tried to hold off the pounding.
The eternity and an half it took to get to the hospital was pure torture. I kept thinking about Jim walking into Max’s room and throttling him to death. I was sure I’d make it there and find nothing more than Max’s lifeless body.
“Have there been any visitors for him today?” I asked as I rushed to the nurse’s desk, stumbling and tripping on my loose laces the entire way.
My apparent state of insanity earned me a look from the nurse on duty, but she gave me what I wanted. A “No.”
I heaved a tremendous sigh of relief and ran to his room with all my might. The loose sneaker slipped off as I slid into his room, but I didn’t notice. I just stood there, staring at the empty bed.