He didn’t expect to hear much. The doors in these old vintage buildings were heavy, solid affairs. They didn’t allow much noise in or out. Jasper had been grateful for that in the past. He’d brought home more than a few noisy one-night stands, and it seemed Lacy had always slept through their encounters—and their moans and groans.
Or at least she never let on that she heard.
Jasper tried the knob. If she was really out, she wouldn’t hear the door creak open. And if she was stirring, he could offer to bring her a cup of coffee in bed. He could be a really good roomie and see if she wanted toast with that horrible bitter orange marmalade she liked.
He wished Lacy had made the coffee. It always tasted better, kind of like how his cocktails were better when he was doing the mixing.
He and Lacy complemented each other, at least in the beverage department.
He swung the door open.
The room was dark, really dark. The blind, one of those old-fashioned kinds, had been pulled all the way to the sill. Only the thinnest glow of sunlight showed around its edges.
Jasper froze. His gut was processing things much more quickly than his mind, which was usually how it worked out.
The quiet was what really got to him. There were no sounds of breathing, or snoring, or tossing in bed.
It was just—still.
Jasper took a few steps toward the bed.
And then stopped again.
Something’s wrong. He just knew it.
“Lace? Lacy? Don’t mean to wake you, but….” But what? Jasper didn’t know.
He took a few steps closer to the edge of Lacy’s brass four-poster. Only a bit of her black hair stuck out above the covers. The sight chilled Jasper, who suddenly wanted nothing more than to turn and run from the room.
“Lacy?” His whisper was urgent, willing her to stir, to throw back the covers and laugh.
He reached behind him, groping for the overhead light switch. He found it and switched on the light.
The overturned prescription bottle on the bedside table was what he noticed first. He drew in a deep breath and closed his eyes, keeping still for a moment. He knew the end of this story. He just didn’t want to accept it.
It was hard to swallow over the lump in his throat, his suddenly dry mouth. He started to say Lacy’s name once more, but couldn’t seem to find the spit or the voice to do it.
With a trembling hand, he picked up the pill bottle. Ambien. Lacy had struggled with insomnia ever since he knew her. The Ambien usually did the trick for her, although she’d sometimes sleepwalk at night and make herself a bowl of pasta or some scrambled eggs. They’d laugh about it, but Jasper was always afraid she’d burn the damn place down.
He didn’t want to look at her.
So he peered down at the bottle in his hand. Took the cap off and turned it upside down. Nothing fell out.
Jasper had no idea when she’d last refilled the medication at CVS, so he had no clue how many pills were in the bottle.Just look at the date on the bottle, dummy, he told himself. That would give him some idea of how many pills should be in there.
But he didn’t want to know. Because, maybe she refilled them yesterday, or the day before, and there would’ve been at least thirty of the tablets.
“Lacy!” It was no longer a question but a cry, helpless, wavering.
He dropped the amber pill bottle to the floor and reached for the bedclothes. With a great intake of breath, like ripping the bandage off a wound, he yanked back the covers.
He wasn’t sure what to expect. What he wanted to see was Lacy staring up at him, her eyes twinkling. She’d point and laugh at him, crying out, “Gotcha!”
What he feared seeing was an ashen Lacy, eyes bulging and staring unseeing up at the ceiling, a line of vomit dribbling out of the corner of her mouth.
But what he saw was Lacy looking as though she were deeply asleep. For once, her brow was untroubled. For once, her face looked young, innocent, and serene. For once, she seemed at peace.
Her color was good—she was always pale, but her skin seemed to glow. Maybe that was simply Jasper’s imagination. Her eyes were closed, and her hair fanned out on the pillow behind her, a sharp black contrast to the pristine white of the pillowcase.
