Weird.
All the time I lived here, I never saw a soundbox in the apartment.
My brother is always so focused on work that he has no time for fun, and I know Amos likes classical music—usually instrumental.
I ring the bell a few times, but there’s no answer. Even though I have the code, I no longer feel comfortable punching it in.
Finally, the door opens slightly and Ethan appears, but instead of inviting me in, he steps out and closes the door behind him. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Why?” I ask, suddenly suspicious.
“It’s not a good time to talk inside.”
“Not a good time?” A bad feeling starts to spread through me, but I try to stay firm. “What’s going on?” I ask as I start typing in the code.
“Lilly, don’t go in.”
Ignoring his warning, I push the door open and head toward the source of the music.
The apartment is oddly dim, and with each step, the music gets louder.
I’m shaking, and I can feel my brother behind me.
An overwhelming sense that something is very wrong takes over, turning my legs to jelly.
Finally, I reach the living room and have to blink a few times to believe what I’m seeing.
Amos is sitting in the chair by the window, a glass in his hand.
At first, all my attention is on him.
My first thought is that this scene doesn’t feel right.
He looks uncomfortable.
His gaze is on the floor, and I notice another glass on a side table, which makes me think my brother had been sitting there too.
As if to confirm that, Ethan settles back into the spot I imagined he’d occupied before I arrived. I see his face turn toward the performance playing out in front of him.
When I finally work up the courage to look at what he’s watching, I recoil as if I’ve been struck. A blonde woman is half-naked in the middle of the room, performing what looks like an erotic dance.
I freeze for a moment. This should be the point where I lose it—scream and demand to know why my boyfriend is watching this. But what runs through my mind is that I’m watching a play, something rehearsed.
A setup.
The girl’s face is so blank, so lifeless as she dances that any concern about why Amos is watching her disappears.
All I can think about is protecting her. Taking care of her.
I spent too many years living with the pain of loneliness to ignore it when I see it reflected in someone else.
I walk over to the woman, turning my back to both men. I take off the cardigan I’m wearing and drape it over her shoulders as best I can. Finally, her face lifts, and I see a bit of light in those pretty eyes.
“My name is Lilly. Come with me,” I say, taking her hand and leading her to my old room.
No one speaks.
It’s as if they’re in a trance, as if there’s nothing wrong with me interrupting the girl’s dance—and a suspicion starts to grow.
