Phil Williams - 2050 - Psycho Island

“Wait.” Rebecca put her hand on the door to stop it from closing in their faces.

The old woman opened the door again.

“I probably mixed up the apartment number. I’m such a scatterbrain. I know she’s on this floor. Do you know which apartment is April Murphy’s?”

“Don’t know any April Murphy. What does she look like?”

They’d never met April either, but Rebecca repeated Lindsey’s description. “She’s pretty. Red hair. Looks young. About the same height as me.”

“Two young ladies live at the end of the hall. Last apartment on your right.” The old woman’s tone changed to a whisper. “I think they’re ladies of the night, if you know what I mean.”

Jacob and Rebecca gave each other a look of consternation.

“Thank you,” Rebecca said.

“Uh-huh.” The old woman closed the door.

They walked to the end of the hallway, and Rebecca knocked on the door. A television murmured inside.

A feminine voice spoke through the door. “Who are you?”

“I’m Rebecca. This is my husband, Jacob.” She gestured to Jacob, probably thinking the woman was watching them through the peephole. “I used to be married to April’s boyfriend, Derek. He was in an accident, and April hasn’t been returning his messages. He asked us to stop by and check on her.”

The door opened, and an early-thirties blonde stood, looking washed out, wearing sweats and no makeup.

Rebecca smiled and held out her hand. “Hi. I’m Rebecca.”

The blonde shook her hand weakly. “Krystal. April’s not here.”

“When was the last time you saw her?”

“Not since last night,” Krystal replied.

“What time?” Rebecca asked.

Krystal shrugged. “Around six.”

“You don’t seem worried. Is it normal for April not to come home?”

Krystal broke eye contact for a moment, then said, “I think she was workin’ late. Sometimes she sleeps on the couch in her office.”

Jacob thought, She’s lying .

“Is it normal for her not to answer her phone?” Rebecca asked.

“I don’t know. Prob’ly. Maybe she’s answerin’ now,” Krystal said.

“I could try her again.” Rebecca grabbed her phone from her purse and tapped the DC number that Derek had called. She disconnected the call. “Straight to voice mail.”

“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sure she’s fine.”

“Derek was worried, so it must not be like her to not return his phone calls.”

“I wish I could be more helpful.”

“What does she do for a living?” Jacob asked Krystal. He was helping only with the intention of ending the search as quickly as possible so he could go home and take a nap.

“Lindsey said she was a lawyer,” Rebecca said.

Krystal blushed, her skin color acting like a built-in lie detector. “That’s right. She’s a lawyer.”

“What firm?” Jacob asked. “If she’s still at work, maybe we could find her there.”

“I, uh, don’t know where she works.”

Jacob tilted his head. “She never talked about where she works?”

“Maybe she has something in her room that lists her firm?” Rebecca asked.

“I couldn’t let you in her room. That wouldn’t be right,” Krystal replied.

“But maybe you could go in and look. It really is important. Derek’s been badly injured, and he’s really worried about her.”

Krystal sighed. “I guess I could do that.”

A large man with sleeve tattoos walked in their direction carrying a grocery bag. Despite the lack of crime in DC, Rebecca clutched her purse. “Could we wait inside?”

Krystal frowned. “I guess so.” She moved aside.

They stepped inside, Jacob shutting the door behind them.

“Wait here. I’ll be right back,” Krystal said.

Jacob surveyed the cramped apartment. They stood by the door, the living room and the open plan kitchen in front of them. Krystal padded past the kitchen and down a short hallway, presumably to April’s bedroom. Rebecca walked into the living room, snooping. Jacob followed out of morbid curiosity.

Despite the cramped space, the apartment was tastefully furnished. Jacob recognized the elegant furniture. A top-of-the-line OLED television was nearly invisible against an original impressionist painting. Rebecca picked up a framed photo from the end table.

“Is that her?” Jacob asked.

Rebecca nodded. “I rarely see framed photos anymore. It’s nice.” She handed the frame to Jacob.

He looked at the image of Derek and April smiling, their arms around each other. They stood in Derek’s orchard, blossoms in the background as far as the eye could see. Jacob’s stomach clenched, and his heart leaped from his chest. He recognized April. She was the same redhead he’d met the night before.

Krystal appeared from the back bedrooms. “What are you doin’?”

Jacob set the picture back on the end table, his heart pounding like a drum. “Sorry. We were just looking at this picture of April and Derek.”

Krystal narrowed her eyes at Jacob and Rebecca. “Well, I couldn’t find nothin’. But I’ll have April call Derek as soon as she gets home.”

“Derek’s phone got lost or broken in the accident,” Rebecca said. “Tell April to call Warren Memorial Hospital in Front Royal. They’ll transfer her to Derek’s room.”

Krystal walked them out, shutting and latching the dead bolt behind them.

As they walked back to the elevator, Rebecca said, “I don’t think she’s a lawyer.”

“That’s none of our business,” Jacob replied, not making eye contact.

Summer wondered why they called it morning sickness. She felt nauseous all day long. She rinsed her mouth out in the sink and popped a handful of mints for the second time that day. It had been nearly three weeks since the pregnancy test, but she still hadn’t mustered the courage to tell Connor. How could she? He was dead set against a natural baby.

She feared he might suggest an abortion. Then what? How could she raise a child with the man who wanted to kill it? Summer estimated that she was only seven weeks pregnant, so she still had time to break the news to Connor before she started to show.

Summer went back to the nurses’ station. Two of her coworkers were laughing at the computer screen.

“What’s so funny?” Summer asked.

The older nurse pointed to the screen. “The guy with the tumor has an SCS of eighteen.”

The younger nurse said, “I’ve never seen anyone that low. I don’t know how he’s not in prison.”

“With a score under twenty, you lose all benefits. No UBI or Social Security or Medicare. I’m not sure he can even stay here.”

“They wouldn’t check him in if he couldn’t be here,” Summer said.

“That’s what we’re laughing at. He had a twenty-one when he came in here, so he still had access to Medicare. I assigned a bot to take care of him, and it reported him for abusive behavior.”

“What did he do?”

“He spat in the bot’s face and called it an f-ing N-word.”

“They just updated his SCS to eighteen because of the complaint,” the younger nurse said.

“I told you my guy was the best,” Vernon said, beaming.

“Is it authentic?” Naomi asked, a twinkle in her dark eyes.

“Oh, it’s authentic.”

Naomi sat in the sitting area of her congressional office with her chief of staff, Vernon Hayes and her campaign manager, Katherine Lively.

“This could ruin her,” Naomi said.

“It depends,” Vernon replied. “It’s all about timing and framing. We have to figure out a way to make Corrinne overconfident, maybe even to shame you for something comparatively insignificant, then, when we need a critical push, we release the video.”