Damaged Goods

Chapter Thirty-Five

Before I could delve into the matter of Kandinsky's son, I had business to attend to.

I grabbed the Blaine file, stuffed the photo of Terry inside, and readied myself for an excursion.

By the time I hit the road, it was close to 1030 hours. I headed straight to Terry's apartment. I needed to give it one last look to make sure I hadn't missed a clue.

I lucked out on the weather. According to the forecast, at least three days of sunshine were in store. I cracked the windows to let the balmy early autumn breeze flow through the car. Technically, early September was still summer and it felt like it—sans the stifling humidity of a typical Maryland July or August.

The flow of air as I drove was like bath water, and its caress should've been relaxing, but it wasn't. My mind still churned with thoughts of where Terry was and what had happened to him.

Keenly alert, my gaze hopped like a flea on a griddle from the road before me to the rearview and sideview mirrors. As best as I could see, no one was following me. Being hounded by too many people made me doubly cautious, especially with the destination I had in mind.

After I arrived at Terry's place, I used my bump key to enter. There were no obvious changes. Other than the low murmur of the TV in the next apartment, the place was quiet. I started with the living room, checking for scraps of paper, address books, receipts, anything at all. As I searched, the TV upstairs was turned off and an eerie hush fell over the place. When I reached the kitchen, the refrigerator cycled on with a loud, metallic click. I jumped an inch, and my heart started to pound like crazy.

After a thorough search of the kitchen and bath, I moved to the bedroom. I peeked under the bed and did a double take. No sign of Terry's phone. Was this a good sign or a bad one?

I continued to scour the room for clues as to Terry's whereabouts. The exercise felt futile and repetitious. I stopped and sat on the edge of the bed. If insanity was doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result, I was definitely insane.

I closed my eyes, and my mind drifted back to when Terry and I had met. It was on the boardwalk in Ocean City. A summer day, years before I enlisted, when life seemed to hold the promise of an existence better than my reality.

Images from those times floated through my head, like my flashbacks to Afghanistan, except they were pleasant. My eyes snapped open, and I smacked the heel of my hand against my forehead. Could the answer be this simple?