I yank back the covers and let the cool apartment air wash back over me. I have to think positively, it’s going to be a long, hard day otherwise.
After speaking to Nick last night, I googled the directions to the LAPD Headquarters on West First Street. It’s not far. I could walk but, for some reason, I much prefer the idea of driving.
I’m glad I answered Nick’s call. It took my mind off everything else. He told me about the incident with the lead actor who held up filming the night before. Nick’s a good storyteller, funny and easy to listen to. But the moral of his tale was: at the end of the day, everyone is replaceable. He’s right, I suppose, everyone is replaceable, but then that would have to include him, Emily, and me too.
I spring from the soft hold of bed, hoping to leave all those thoughts behind in the crumpled sheets. After I’ve handed everything over to Cortez, I will head back here, learn my scenes for the screen test, and get my head back in the game.
I agreed to let Nick take me out for an early dinner this evening. I’ll be back in time for an early night, and it should keep me distracted enough not to get too nervous before the screen test.
I forgo my usual early-morning swim and instead hop under the warm flow of the shower. I want to get down to the station and get this done as soon as I can.
Dressed and looking as respectable and sane as I can manage with a wardrobe full of audition clothes and event outfits, I wander into the still dark of the kitchen/living room to make a quick breakfast. The giant curtains are still tightly drawn over LA as I left them the night before. I tug back the massive folds of fabric and let golden light flood the apartment, my stomach lurching as I look down through the glass at the miniature city below, one palm braced, hard, against the glass. When I pull away a full palm print remains. I stare at it for a second, thoughts of Emily rattling around in my mind.
I turn back to the apartment, letting my thoughts rake over what I need to tell Cortez, and I head to the kitchen. It’s only when I return to the living room area, with a hot coffee and a pastry in hand, that I notice Emily’s laptop is no longer there.
I spin on the spot scanning the surrounding furniture. Panic flashes through me as I slam down my breakfast onto the table and drop onto all fours to scan beneath the sofa. Nothing. I rifle between sofa cushions and under script pages, I shake out the sofa throw. It’s not here.
I try to think straight, to calm myself, because it must be here. Somewhere. I search the living room floor again, and that’s when I realize that Emily’s phone isn’t here either. I freeze. This time I definitely haven’t moved things myself.
I let my eyes travel back to the coffee table. Emily’s apartment keys, rental agreement, and photograph are no longer here either.
I grab my handbag from beside the sofa and empty its contents out onto the floor, hoping that somehow some of what’s missing will tumble out. It doesn’t.
My hand flies to my mouth. Oh my God, there’s no doubt about it now, someone really did come into the apartment last night while I was asleep. And while I was in the next room, they took Emily’s things.
My eyes fly to the hallway. And I’m off, my socks skidding across the slippery wooden floor toward the faulty security system. I pull up sharply in front of the door but nothing is out of place. I try the door handle; it’s still locked.
Whoever it was must have come in with a key. I think of my lost keycard a few days ago then dash into the bedroom trying to keep my breathing calm and steady. Next to the bed, my own laptop is plugged into the wall; my phone is on the sheets beside my pillow. My things are here, only Emily’s are gone. Whoever came in to the apartment last night was after her stuff alone.
I head back into the kitchen dumbstruck and notice that my hands are trembling. I’m in shock. I head to the sink and blindly pour myself a glass of water from the filter tap. And it’s as I tilt my head to drink that I notice the notepad propped up against the fruit bowl. On a fresh blank page, in handwriting I do not recognize, a message: