Page 44 of Callan

They could’ve been Carmen’s steps.

Or maybe they wereCallan's, trailing across the room.

Whatever it was, I never saw him leave the building, and that bugged me immensely because I needed to know for sure he hadn’t spent time upstairs.

The possibility that he might’ve spent the night with her and left in the morning while I was asleep makes me queasy, so I’d rather not consider it.

Taking a long breath, I step out of my building and scan the street. A woman walks her dog––a white fluffy Pomeranian––and I envy her for a second as I wish I had a companion like hers.

Before I walk to the first block, I slide on my wool gloves, make sure the scarf is wrapped comfortably around my neck, my winter hat is not crooked, and my jacket is zipped up to my chin.

Since I’m out, I could buy something from the deli—an egg and cheese sandwich, maybe?

The guy around the corner cooks it best.

But first, I need to get my steps in.

By the time I make the trip back, cross the street, and order a sandwich and a cup of coffee, my legs are sore from all that walking.

This deli had been my favorite spot for breakfast since before I stopped going there because I’d lost my job, but now I plan to go back whenever I get the chance.

With my cheeks aflame from the warmth inside the deli and my hands full, I take my time to return to my building while munching on my food.

Inevitably, my eyes go up as I near the building.

My windows are barely lit while the upstairs apartment is sunk in darkness.

Carmen must’ve left.

Most windows in the building are dark, which is not surprising.

Staring at the view, a thought pops into my head.

I truly have no plans to move out of Brooklyn, but life is unpredictable in New York, and anything can happen.

I’m about to peel my gaze away and get another bite when a light flickers in my upstairs neighbor’s apartment.

Uh… What?

I draw still, still chewing on my food, my eyes trained on Carmen’s windows.

Was that light real? Or am I seeing things now?

A chill rushes down my spine, a swift reminder that it’s cold outside, and I almost lose hope the light will flash again when it glows behind her bedroom window.

The light quickly dips, and the window goes dark again.

It’s a flashlight, and someone’s in her apartment, inspecting her belongings.

That’s strange.

Absently, I swallow my food and pull to the side, my head still tilted back, my eyes on my neighbors’ windows.

What is going on?

Everything remains still for the next few moments, with no signs of an intruder, and then a car rolls down the road, and I recognize her husband’s ride.

Oh.

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