The Day I Lost You: A totally gripping psychological thriller

by Alex Sinclair

  I turned back and watched Alice playing without a care in the world. I wondered at what point in our lives we became so scared or fearful of other people that we wouldn’t help out a desperate mother trying to do what was right by her daughter.

  Twenty-Four

  I search every level above the seventh floor until I reach the top of the stairwell. No one has seen Desmond and Alice, and they don’t want to know about it.

  I reach fourteen and bust through the door. I look left and right, but no one is around. I charge down the hallway and back again.

  I try to determine where they have gone and see 1402 nearby. Surely Desmond wasn’t going to Michael’s apartment? That would be the dumbest thing he could do right now. Then again, maybe he wasn’t a brilliant criminal. It would explain why he had spent time in jail.

  I pull out the key card I stole from Henry, unable to rule out the possibility that Alice is close by in her father’s apartment with a moronic kidnapper. I raise the master card toward the receiver each apartment has to keep the doors electromagnetically locked. Then something catches my eye.

  I turn my head down the wide but short corridor and see a child at the end who wasn’t there a moment ago. She’s a young girl, around Alice’s age, watching me from behind a support column against the wall. She is half hidden from me; I can only see one eye out, and her long hair partially covers her face.

  I smile and wave at her as I pocket the key card. She sees my friendly gesture and gives me a toothy grin in return, with a small wave of her own. She comes out from behind her protective space and continues to stare at me.

  The little girl cautiously takes a few steps toward me, both hands squeezing the small doll that she is holding in front of her. I think about the doll I stupidly came to this building for. I should have taken Alice away instead of coming here for it. She would have eventually gotten over losing the toy.

  The little girl continues to stare. “Hello,” I call out to her. I take a few steps in her direction, hoping to ask if she saw anyone come by here.

  The little girl giggles for a moment. “Hi,” she says. “Can I ask you a question?”

  I keep walking toward her, confident she won’t run off screaming. “Of course. But I’d also like to ask you a question, too, if that’s okay?”

  She contemplates what I just said by drumming her fingers on her chin in the most exaggerated, child-like fashion. “Mmm, okay,” she says.

  “What’s your question?” I ask her.

  The girl goes a little shy for a few seconds and presses her chin toward her chest, looking sheepish. She giggles again to herself, as if the question is rolling around in her head.

  I drop down into a squat in front of the girl and ask her again. “What’s your question, honey?”

  “Are you a mommy?”

  “Yes, I am. How could you tell?”

  The little girl giggles again. “Because you look like a mommy.”

  I don’t know what to think of her observation. Should I be offended or flattered? Either way, I encourage her curiosity. “That’s very clever of you to work out.”

  “It was hard. Usually, mommies have their children with them, but I could tell.”

  I need to ask the girl if she’s seen Alice, or if she’s noticed anything unusual during her keen moments of observation. “My turn to ask a question. Have you seen a little girl come through here with a bald man? She’s about your age.”

  She shakes her head at me after a few moments of thought. “Sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I say, as my head sinks lower to the ground.

  “Jessica?” a voice calls over to us from one of the apartments doorways. I turn to see a man in his early forties looking at me.

  “I’m sorry. Is she bothering you?”

  “No, not at all.”

  “Come on, Jessica. We have to get going.” The man closes up his apartment and starts moving for the elevator. Jessica follows immediately. “Bye,” she says to me, like we’ll catch up another time.

  “Bye,” I whisper. I see the man going and realize he might have seen something. “Before you go, have you seen a little girl and a bald man come through here?”

  The man doesn’t stop. “No, sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” I mutter, as I walk back toward Michael’s apartment. The elevator opens. A moment later, the steel doors roll shut, and they are gone, as if they were never here.

  I turn to 1402 and let out a long sigh. I always taught Alice not to speak to strangers the way that little girl so confidently did. Look where my great parenting has gotten Alice, though.

  I pull the key card from my pocket and raise it up to the door again. I swipe the card faster than the reader can handle and wait for the electromagnetic lock to disengage. The red light turns green, allowing me access.

  I push the door open and charge in, not wanting to waste another second.

  Twenty-Five

  Desmond could be waiting with a lead pipe, ready to strike me down the second I run inside Michael’s apartment. I don’t care. He can kill me if he feels the need; it’s the only thing that will stop me from finding Alice. She is more valuable to me than my own life could ever be.

  I rush inside and quickly see that the first part of the apartment is empty. I stumble out from its grand entryway to a vast open-plan kitchen, dining, and living space, with a step up to a lounge area. Windows grant beautiful views of the city in multiple directions.

  I search every bedroom, every area of the apartment, calling out Alice’s name every few seconds. They’re not here. Have I wasted more time I don’t have by rushing headfirst in here like a complete moron? It was so obvious Desmond wouldn’t go into Michael’s apartment, so why did I do it? Have I sealed Alice’s fate with yet another stupid decision?

  My hands begin to shake as I spin around on the spot, trying to find the answers to the endless flow of questions that are assaulting my brain. A dark storm is overtaking my every thought as I feel the panic set in and grip me around the throat. I can’t breathe, my chest is closing in on itself, and I feel so dizzy I start to stumble.

  I grip my forehead to center myself, but once more I feel the sharp pain I tried to ignore in the stairwell. I pull my hand back, but there’s no blood on my hand. The thought of the vital fluid, however, intertwines with flashes of Alice’s face, making me miss my footsteps as I back up in the central living area of Michael’s apartment. I trip and fall.

  As I lie on the hard, wooden floorboards and stare at the ceiling, Alice takes over my every thought. Her soft face drowns out the pain and suffering and takes me to another world, where nothing can hurt either one of us.

  I stare at her as if she is right in front of me. Her blue eyes gaze back into mine, unblinking. “Alice,” I say, as I reach out to a body that isn’t there. “Come back to me.”

  Her eyes close for a long time. When they open, I see the same blue eyes narrowing in on me with an intensity that could only belong to Michael. His face replaces Alice’s, drowning out any beauty, swapping it for contempt and loathing.

  I can’t look away from the man who would do anything to see me lose the child we were supposed to raise together. The sneer on his lips crushes any hope I have of finding Alice and saving her from his sick plans.

  I know deep down how things reached this point. I only wish I’d tried harder to stop it. But what could have I done to prevent Michael from kidnapping Alice? That wasn’t a question I ever thought I’d be asking myself.

  I think back to Michael’s warning at the café. He was spelling it out as clear as day. He was about to do something to remove Alice from my life. I should have taken him seriously and made arrangements sooner than later. Instead, I took too long—as usual. I let my incompetence and disorganized state get in the way. Coming here today to retrieve Alice’s doll was a huge mistake.

  I stare up at the ceiling and realize I need to get off the ground before I let fatigue claim me. My heart leaps out of my chest as I shoot up and
climb to my feet. I rub my eyes and wonder how long I would have slept if I’d let it claim me.

  I let out a lungful of panicked air and hold my head for a moment with both hands. How could I even contemplate sleep at a time like this? Alice is out there with Desmond while I’m in here taking a break.

  I stumble around the apartment to perform a quick search for evidence of Alice’s abduction. I need to try and find something while I’m here—clues that might implicate Michael or tell me where Alice is being kept. I might not get another chance.

  I rummage through the belongings Michael has tucked away in one of his spare rooms. The apartment is designed for a family with two to three kids running around, not for a part-time dad who is now a bachelor. I wonder why Michael is doing all of this. Does he actually want to take care of Alice full-time? I fail to see how that would ever work with the eighty-plus hours he works per week. Does he just want her away from my influence? Am I really such a terrible mother?

  Michael has systematically removed all evidence of my existence from the apartment. Every room I go through has only his belongings. Littered everywhere are objects he feels are needed to signal his success to the rest of the world. He has no photo frames with shots of the past or the family we briefly were. This place is a shrine to him and him alone.

  I shake my head as I silently wish to myself that things had been different. I never wanted to break off what we had, but he could never forgive me for that day. I know he tried for a time to make things work, but our demise was inevitable. It makes me sick to my core that he couldn’t work through our problems and forget what happened, for Alice’s sake. I know it was asking a lot, but we could have started over.

  I reach the end of the hall and step into Michael’s office, with a grand view of a different angle of the city. Central Park is only a few blocks away, stretching out in either direction, lined by other tall apartment buildings, full of the elite of the city. A library of legal books dominates one wall. I wonder if Michael has read every one of them.

  Alice isn’t here, but there has to be something to implicate him in all of this. I approach his oversize oak desk and see little on the top except his computer, a desktop phone, and a few lamps spaced evenly apart.

  The first thing I need to do, now that I know Henry has been lying to me, is call the police. I call 911 and tell them my daughter has been kidnapped by a man in the building. I leave Michael and Alan out of the picture for now, not wanting to complicate things. The operator tells me she received a call like this only a few minutes ago and that the police are on their way now. Henry has obviously decided to do the right thing.

  I fall back into Michael’s office chair and breathe. I lean my head back with the knowledge that soon the police will arrive and tear through the building to find Alice. When I lean forward again, I see Michael’s computer is on.

  I wiggle the mouse ever so gently, not wanting to move it too far from its original position. The computer is not only on, but unlocked. I can’t believe my luck as I stare at a picture of Michael golfing with his lawyer buddies. I chuckle to myself as I freely access his private computer. Why would he leave it here like this? I guess he never thought someone would walk into the apartment. That, or he isn’t far away. Maybe he stepped out this morning and will soon be back, as his neighbor said. I move quickly.

  I need proof—something to show he planned to take Alice from me. I check his emails, making sure not to open any unread ones. I check his documents, his downloads, his search history, the files he has marked for deletion. Nothing. Not a single thing out of the ordinary.

  “Bastard,” I whisper. I should have known Michael wouldn’t be careless enough to leave evidence lying around. His firm would have taught him better than that.

  I keep searching his computer, clicking on icons at random. I know I need to move on and keep looking for Alice, but I just want a few more minutes to find something. I know Michael is behind this. He has to be.

  I close everything down after another minute of fruitless searching and place the mouse where it should be. I reluctantly get up to leave Michael’s study, but notice something out of the corner of my eye I swear wasn’t there a moment ago. On one of the shelves off to the side of the study is a book that simply doesn’t belong in the stacks of boring and thick legal bibles: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. It’s not Alice’s copy. It’s too new to be. In fact, it’s still in its wrapping, as if someone had just purchased it from the shops.

  I pick up the book carefully and run my fingers over the surface, feeling the connection it holds to Alice beneath the plastic layer. In my mind, I can smell the pages of Alice’s copy and feel her warm body on my lap as I read to her. What I wouldn’t give to be reading to her right now from the safety of our home.

  What does this mean? Why does Michael have this here? Did he simply purchase something he knew would make his daughter happy, or was he planning on giving it to Alice once he had successfully taken her from me? Did he realize he would actually have to read the book when she asked him to? I think about the empty backpack downstairs and shudder at the thought.

  Clearly, Michael knew that he would need a spare copy of Alice’s Adventure’s in Wonderland if he were to keep our daughter happy and content with this forced transition. It wouldn’t be enough, though. She would miss me, right? A four-year-old child wouldn’t just forget about the person who’d raised them their entire life, would they? I had to believe that.

  I feel anger welling up inside me as I think about that creep Desmond. Why would he would risk his own skin to kidnap a little girl? How much did it take for him to cross that line? What was the going rate for a man to justify committing such a crime?

  Thoughts of Michael, Desmond, and even Alan cloud my brain as I find myself wanting vengeance on all three of them. Alan has already received some form of karma for his role in all of this. I just need the other two to suffer for what they’ve done.

  I find myself back in the living area, where I used to spend many hours sitting on the couch while tending to Alice in her bassinet. Her first six months were the hardest time of my life, but she was worth every second.

  I still remember seeing her face when they first handed her to me. How was she so soft and perfect? We come into this life so innocent and pure, only to have the world crush our spirits into dust. I shudder to think when Alice will fall victim to such cynicism.

  I don’t know where to go after I leave the apartment. Deep down I know that my time in here is an attempt to distract myself from facing the reality that Desmond has Alice in his possession. He has to still be somewhere in the building; somewhere that makes hiding a small child an easy task.

  A memory hits me in a flash: a place I used to escape to when I lived in Michael’s apartment.

  “The roof,” I say out loud.

  She has to be there. It’s close by and there is a small utility room. Enough for Michael to keep tabs on Desmond and Alice. First, I decide to call Henry and check in to see if he saw Desmond or Alice on his way down to the lobby before he called the police.

  “Nothing down this way. They must still be somewhere above level seven.”

  “Okay, thanks,” I say, before I hang up. I feel the corners of my mouth twitching into a smile. I feel more and more confident that I am honing in on Michael’s plan. His efforts to take Alice away will not defeat me. Not now. Not ever.

  Twenty-Six

  Then

  When Alice was only six weeks old, I was informed that I was suffering from postpartum depression and anxiety. When Michael’s doctor said this, the words sounded like complete nonsense, for one simple reason: they weren’t true. How could I have been diagnosed with such a thing when I loved my Bunny more than anything else in the world? This man wasn’t my doctor and knew none of my medical history.

  From the moment I met him, I didn’t trust the supposed professional my husband had paid to come visit me in the apartment. I had always seen my own doctor in Brooklyn. Now Michael w
as trying to make me believe I had problems, that I was some sort of unstable mother on the edge of losing it.

  I refused to let him manipulate me like that and influence the way I took care of Alice. For weeks he continued this narrative, driving home his concern, until he had me starting to question my own feelings. When someone whom you once loved with all of your heart pays a doctor to tell you these things, you can’t help but start to believe them.

  One Sunday afternoon, when Michael got called into work, his weeks of trying to change me rolled into one big ball of pain.

  Alice was crying again. It seemed that she never stopped for those first six weeks. How could such a small person make such a loud noise?

  I had pulled Alice, in her bassinet, out to the living area of our oversized apartment, in an attempt to change her surroundings to see if it would help her to sleep. She was struggling to stay asleep, though that’s all a newborn baby really had to get a handle on. I had read that she would sleep like a log between feeds and survive on a cycle of eating, sleeping, and pooping. She would only be awake for short times until she reached three months. That was not the case with Alice.

  Michael went back to work after three weeks. He could have taken longer off, but it was evident to all concerned that he wanted to be away from the screaming baby and the frazzled wife that accompanied her. Michael made me so angry when he told me he had to return to work; we both knew he could have gotten someone in to cover for him.