Why was it that I could easily manifest bad outcomes but never good ones?
Maybe I was doing it wrong, despite having watched about a gazillion TikTok videos on manifestation. Or maybe it was the fact that I could never keep the negative thoughts from creeping in and infecting the positive ones with their poison.
The words I’d spoken to Bodie left me with a heavy weight in my chest that compelled me to knock on wood every five or ten minutes as I sat in my apartment, combing through online job boards. Late in the afternoon, I’d just submitted my résumé and a writing sample to a company looking for someone to write blog posts about car insurance—a soul-draining job was better than no job at this point—when I heard a commotion out in the hallway. Thankfully, Livy was at a friend’s house for an after-schoolplaydate, so I didn’t have to field any questions from her about why the police had descended on Mr. and Mrs. Nagy’s apartment next door.
I stood in my open doorway, mouth agape as I watched uniformed officers file into my neighbors’ unit. One officer remained in the hall, stationed just outside the door. I crept closer, but the officer blocked my way before I could go more than a few steps.
“Ma’am, please return to your apartment.”
“But what’s going on?” I asked, craning my neck to see around the very tall and very muscular officer.
“Ma’am.” His voice brooked no argument.
I didn’t know if he could really ban me from the hallway—legally speaking, anyway—but I also didn’t want to press my luck. It didn’t really matter, though, because I’d already caught enough of a glimpse through the open door of the Nagys’ apartment to see that the police were searching the place.
I backed away, my legs having suddenly taken on the consistency of jelly.
It’ll be okay,I told myself.They won’t find anything to incriminate Mr. Nagy.
Except,my brain so unhelpfully reminded me,they’ve already got the murder weapon that probably belonged to him.
I returned to my apartment and was about to shut the door when Theo came cruising through it. I jumped back just in time to avoid getting my toes flattened.
“Shut the door,” she commanded.
Her voice carried such authority that I found myself obeying before I even realized that I was being bossed around by a teenager in my own home.
By the time I decided that I wanted to protest her dictatorial attitude, Theo was already wheeling her way across the kitchen, which shared a wall with the Nagys’ apartment, and appeared to be looking for something there.
Her gaze zeroed in on the air vent near the ceiling. She wheeledcloser to it with an annoyed frown on her face. “Of course it’s way up high.” She glanced over her shoulder at me. “Get a chair.”
I planted my hands on my hips, determined not to let her push me around. “Bossy much?”
She leveled a stare at me through her purple-framed glasses. “Don’t you want to know what’s happening next door?”
“I know what’s happening,” I said, feeling a hint of smugness. “The police are searching Mr. and Mrs. Nagy’s apartment.”
“Imeantdon’t you want to know if theyfindanything?”
I was about to say that of course the police wouldn’t find anything, but then I remembered how much the universe enjoyed proving me wrong. Besides, the truth was that I was itching to know what was going on in the next unit.
Grabbing the least rickety chair from the four arranged around the kitchen table, I dragged it over to the wall and stationed it beneath the air vent. I climbed onto it, but given the Mirage’s high ceilings, standing on the chair still left me far short of the vent.
“The table,” Theo suggested.
Actually, it was more an order than a suggestion, but I decided to pretend it was the latter.
Making as little noise as possible—I didn’t need the police coming to investigate what we were up to—I dragged the table over to the wall, kicked off my shoes, and climbed first onto the chair and then onto the table, reminding myself to clean it before Livy and I ate dinner that evening.
I leaned in close to the vent, almost pressing my ear against the metal grate that covered it. At first, I couldn’t hear anything other than muffled voices and cupboards opening and closing. Then a man’s voice called out, “Sir! I think I’ve got something!”
Those words lodged a heavy stone of dread in my stomach.
There was a rustling noise, and then another man’s voice. I had to strain to hear his words.
“What is it?”
The first man spoke again. “Looks like gold leaf.”
