The Stares of Strangers

by Jennifer L. Jennings

  I could hear music playing inside, a rock song I vaguely recognized from the eighties.

  Out of curiosity, I twisted the doorknob fully expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t.

  I knocked again louder and called out in a friendly voice. “Hello? Trent? Are you home?”

  No reply.

  Maybe he was visiting a friend in a different unit and just forgot to turn the music off. Trying to decide my next course of action, I heard another noise and this one baffled me. From inside Trent's apartment, it sounded like someone was choking on a chicken bone. Or throwing up.

  I knocked again. “Hey, Trent. Is everything okay in there?”

  Still no reply.

  I grabbed the nozzle of my pepper spray and slowly opened the door. The place looked exactly like a young bachelor's pad. Empty beer bottles lined the kitchen counter. Pizza boxes were scattered over a makeshift dining room table.

  A flat screen TV dominated the living room area, with an Xbox and gaming paraphernalia. I realized the music was coming from the TV. Some kind of rock music video show.

  Keeping one hand on the door knob, I called out a third time. “Trent?”

  I heard the choking sound again, louder this time. It was coming from another room. I followed the sound and, as I rounded the corner, I looked down. My body stiffened. Trent was lying on the bathroom floor curled into a fetal position, a puddle of vomit next to his mouth. On the sink, several prescription bottles appeared to be empty.

  I reached into my purse for my cell phone, dialed 911 and explained to the operator about a possible overdose, probably an attempted suicide.

  Once I knew the ambulance was on the way, I leaned over Trent and said in a soothing voice. “Someone will be here in a few minutes to help you, okay?”

  I grabbed a face towel from the shelf and soaked it with cool water, intending to clean his face up but, as I leaned over, he began shaking violently like some kind of seizure.

  All I could do was stand there and watch helplessly. Having never witnessed such an event, I was afraid Trent might bash his head on the toilet or the bathtub. I snatched a damp towel hanging from the shower rod, folded it and placed it under his head. As sweat dripped from his face, I could feel the heat radiating from his body. When I touched his arm, he was burning up.

  I didn’t know what else I could do for him other than sit beside him, offering soft words of encouragement. My heart went out to him. Had he really felt so depressed over Penny that he'd wanted to end his life? I inspected the empty prescription bottles: oxycodone, diazepam and temazepam. Yikes.

  Thank God, a few seconds later I heard sirens.

  The police were the first to arrive, followed by the paramedics less than a minute later. Luckily, I knew the policeman from a prior case I was involved in.

  As soon as the paramedics hoisted Trent onto the stretcher they wheeled him away, notifying me that they were taking him to Mercy Hospital in downtown Bridgeport.

  Officer Bouchard kindly asked me to answer a few questions.

  “Sarah, how do you know this young man?”

  Still a bit frazzled from all the excitement, I took a deep breath and let it out. “His ex-girlfriend is my client. I just came here to talk to him.”

  He nodded as if he understood. “What did he do to deserve a visit from a private eye?”

  “My client suspects that he stole some things from her. She didn’t report the theft because she didn’t want to get him in trouble. ”

  Officer Bouchard was a young cop, probably in his early thirties. Short and stocky, he had a crew cut and adorable brown eyes. Months ago, we’d worked together on a case involving fraudulent activity. Unlike many cops who have big egos, there doesn’t seem to be an arrogant bone in Officer Bouchard’s body which is why I respect him. Also, he doesn't look down on my profession, like most cops.

  “What did he allegedly steal from her?” he asked.

  “Personal items,” I said. “Underwear, mostly. She claims that he got into her house this morning while she was at work.”

  Trying to conceal a grin, he asked in a serious tone, “Did you find the missing garments here in his apartment?”

  “No. I’ve been busy trying to help Trent as much as I could before you guys got here. Would it be okay if I quickly looked around the place?”

  “Fine with me, but make sure you’re wearing gloves just in case this turns into an investigation, okay?” He made a motion of looking around as he stood there. “You didn't happen to find a suicide note?”

  “No, just the empty prescription bottles in the bathroom.”

  Officer Bouchard collected them from the sink and placed them in a plastic evidence bag. “Well, lucky for him, you showed up here when you did. Though, I have to wonder how you got into his apartment if you found him on the bathroom floor.” His eyebrow lifted slightly.

  “I heard someone choking. The door was unlocked so I came inside to see if I could help.”

  He regarded me with a curious expression, like he might not believe that story. He probably knew that I took certain liberties. “Yeah, well I suppose you want to have a look around. I need to make some calls and notify Trent’s family, but I’ll stick around until you’re done.”

  “Thanks. I really appreciate you letting me do this.”

  While Officer Bouchard spoke to someone on his phone, I began searching the apartment, starting with the bedroom.

  The bed itself was a twin size, with a brown comforter strewn over it haphazardly, as if he’d made an attempt to make it look presentable. There were a few rock band posters taped to the wall, and a lava lamp on a dresser. I was surprised to find no pictures of Penny in his room. If he was a lovesick stalker type, wouldn't he have pictures? Maybe he kept them all on his phone or laptop.

  After opening all the dresser doors and closets, I couldn’t find one article of women’s underwear. I did, however, find his pet guinea pig. Ralph was pure white. I'd never seen an albino rodent before. I wondered who might be willing to take care of this little guy while Trent was in the hospital.

  When I was through searching the apartment, I met Officer Bouchard by the door. “Thanks for letting me do that,” I said. “I didn't find what I was looking for.”

  “But you found something else,” he said, pointing to the cage I carried by the handle.

  “Maybe one of the neighbors will take care of him until Trent comes home; if he ever comes home.”

  Officer Bouchard closed up the apartment and we descended the stairs. “I found Trent's cell phone. I'll contact his family to let them know what's happened.”

  Once outside, we noticed a small crowd had gathered in the parking lot.

  A pudgy girl in her twenties, with shaggy blonde hair, approached us. “Excuse me,” she said. “I saw the paramedics take someone out on a stretcher. Who was it?”

  Officer Bouchard turned to her and said, “Trent Olson. You know him?”

  She gasped. “Yeah. We’ve been neighbors for almost a year. Is he gonna be okay? What happened?”

  “Looks like an overdose,” he said, taking out his palm sized notebook. “What’s your name?”

  “I'm Marcy Thayer.” She shifted nervously, as if she had to pee. “I don't understand. How did he overdose? On his medication?”

  Officer Bouchard didn't reply to that. “Ms. Thayer, mind if I ask you a few questions about Trent?”

  She stood there, mute, like she hadn’t heard the question.

  “Ms. Thayer?” he prompted.

  She looked up and blinked. “Oh, sorry. Sure, what do you want to know?”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Trent?”

  “Earlier today,” she said. “Around ten o’clock. He stopped by my apartment for a few minutes, had some coffee, then left. He said he had some errands to run.”

  “Did he tell you where he was going?”

  “Not specifically, why?”

  Officer Bouchard glanced at me with a raised eyebrow before addressing Ma
rcy again. “In your opinion, Ms. Thayer, was Trent suicidal?”

  She didn't have to say a thing because the look in her eyes confirmed it. “He's been out of work because he hurt his back and his girlfriend dumped him. You can't blame him for being a little depressed.” She paused. “Hey, he’s gonna be alright, isn’t he?”

  “He's in good hands so let's hope for the best.”

  Marcy wrapped her arms around herself, shivering. “Well, if that's all, do you mind if I go back inside. It's freezing out here.”

  Officer Bouchard took down her number and said he might call her if he had more questions.

  As Marcy turned to head back to her apartment, I said, “Excuse me, my name is Sarah and I'm the one who found Trent. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

  She stopped to face me. “You're the one who called the ambulance?”

  “Yeah.”

  Her gaze lingered on my face, as if she was trying to recognize me. “Are you a friend of his?”

  “Not exactly,” I said, pointing down to Ralph's cage by my foot. “Look, would you mind taking Trent's guinea pig until he recovers? I don't know what else to do with him.”

  Marcy bent down and stuck her finger inside the cage. “Hey, Ralph. You must be getting cold out here.” She looked up at me with a sad smile. “Sure, I'll take him.”

  “Great,” I said. “This cage is kinda heavy, so I'd be happy to carry him up to your apartment for you.”

  She nodded. “Okay, thanks.”

  Before following Marcy inside, I waved to Officer Bouchard. “You have my number in case you need to get in touch, right?”

  “Sure,” he said with a nod. “Thanks for your cooperation, Sarah.”

  Marcy's apartment was on the third floor, directly over Trent's. Hers, however, was clean and organized and smelled like fake lilacs, probably one of those plug-in air fresheners.

  “You can set the cage anywhere you like,” she said, unraveling her scarf from her neck. “Would you like a cup of coffee to warm up?”

  “That would be heavenly, thank you.”

  She poured water into the coffee maker and invited me to have a seat at the dining room table. I removed my jacket and hung it on the back of the chair.

  “So, how do you know Trent?” she asked, back facing me as she prepared the coffee.

  “Actually, to be honest with you, I'd never met him before today.”

  Marcy turned abruptly and regarded me with a frown. “You're not some kind of debt collector are you?”

  “No, I'm a private detective. I came to ask Trent if he'd return some things he stole from his ex.”

  Marcy's eyes bulged. “What are you talking about? Penny thinks he stole something of hers?”

  “Yes, that's correct. Would you know anything about that?”

  She blinked rapidly as if appalled. “No, seriously? Penny hired a private detective? What did Trent take that was so damned important?”

  “Penny claims that Trent got into her bedroom this morning between ten and twelve and stole some of her belongings.”

  “Belongings?”

  “Undergarments,” I said. “But I didn't find them in Trent's apartment or in his truck.”

  Marcy snorted a contemptuous chuckle. “Trent is depressed, not a creeper. He'd never do something like that.”

  “I tend to agree with you.” I gave Marcy a few seconds to simmer down. “So, it sounds like you're not a big fan of Penny.”

  Marcy rolled her eyes. “Penny's biggest fan is herself. That girl is so self-absorbed it makes me sick. She's also a cock-tease.”

  Surprised by her choice of words, I didn't know what to say. Had I detected some jealously? Or was she simply being a protective friend to Trent?

  Marcy handed me a mug and sat herself down at the table. While sipping on scalding hot coffee, I took the opportunity to observe her features. She was a cute girl with a pudgy face, but the poor thing suffered from bad acne: which is probably why she'd grown her bangs so long they almost covered her eyes. “So it sounds like you and Trent are pretty tight.”

  She gave a slight shrug. “We hang out sometimes. Just as friends. Nothing more.”

  “And how many times have you met Penny?”

  “A few times. Just briefly. She and her roommates had a Halloween party and Trent invited me to tag along. Trent got all shitfaced and I had to drive him home early. We caught Penny kissing some older dude at the party and he went berserk.”

  “Jeesh,” I said. “Sounds like Penny really dragged him through the coals.”

  “I told you she was a piece of work.” Marcy shook her head. “Trent also found out that Penny and Caleb slept together. Can you believe she'd screw her best friend's boyfriend? I mean, you can't get much sleazier than that.”

  My brain almost exploded. “Hold on, back up. Did you say Penny slept with Caleb?”

  “That's what Trent told me. I guess Caleb got plastered one night and started bragging about it. He's a real scumbag, too.”

  No wonder Trent had tried to off himself. He couldn't catch a break. “If Penny was such a cock-tease, like you put it, then why would Trent even want to be with her? Why not just move on?”

  Marcy gave me that look, like I'd just asked the most stupid question in the world. “Because guys are idiots, especially around hot women and, I'll admit, Penny is hot. Heck, if I were a dude, I'd probably do her. I know some guys are into Asian women. It's like a fetish, or something.”

  I downed the last few sips of coffee and grabbed my purse. I had to go back to Penny's house and tell her what happened. “Marcy, I have to go, but I want to say I think Trent is lucky to have a friend like you. I'm sure he'll appreciate that you're taking care of Ralph.” I reached into my purse and handed her a card. “Here's my number, in case you know anyone who needs my services.”

  “Sure, I'll do that.” Marcy went and placed it on her fridge under a magnet.

  Chapter 4

  Twenty minutes later, I was back at Penny’s house. All three cars were still parked in the driveway so I knew her housemates must be around.

  When Penny opened her door and saw me standing there empty handed, her brows furrowed. She tossed her long hair over her shoulder, irritably. “I guess Trent didn't want to return my things.”

  “The situation has changed,” I said. “Mind if I come in for a few minutes?”

  “Of course, come on in.” Her expression turned grim. “Did something bad happen?”

  “Trent is at Mercy hospital right now. When I showed up at his apartment a few hours ago, I found him on the bathroom floor. His medication bottles were empty.”

  Penny’s jaw dropped and within seconds, her eyes filled with tears. “He … tried to kill himself?”

  “It appears so.”

  Penny clearly needed a moment to process this information as she went to sit down on the sofa. “Did he leave a note?”

  “I couldn't find one, nor could I find your underwear.”

  Penny shook her head, wiping her eyes, trying to compose herself. “Forget about the underwear. I just want to know if he's going to be okay.”

  “I don’t know. I'm sure the doctors are doing everything they can for him.”

  Penny stood up, a frantic look in her eyes. “I have to go tell Caleb.”

  “Look,” I said. “I know this is upsetting but, just keep in mind, Trent probably had nothing to do with the theft that occurred this morning. Which means there's someone else who got into this house and took your belongings.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Penny said, shaking it off. “I can't think about that right now. I really need to talk to Caleb.”

  I got the hint that she wanted me to leave, so I headed for the door.

  * * *

  When I got home around six, I had just enough time to jump in the shower and make myself presentable. At the tender age of 44, maintaining a beauty regimen had become a challenge. So much to fret about; gray hairs, wrinkles, muffin top and the list goes on. Even though I’m an av
id runner, pounding the pavement doesn’t keep the pounds off like it used to. Now, I’m relegated to counting calories which, for me, is a fate worse than death considering my legendary sweet tooth.

  Being that I’m a terrible cook, my meals usually consist of frozen pizza or take out. The fancy French cookware hanging in my kitchen is strictly for looks. I purchased the overpriced collection after my divorce two years ago, a house warming gift to myself. They are still in perfect condition. I figure I could always sell them on Ebay if I needed the money.

  By seven, I heard the key in the front door and knew it must be Carter. I had given him a key to my apartment last week, an important step in our relationship.

  He waltzed inside with that calm confidence, dressed in his usual faded jeans and… oh, those blue eyes ... It wasn’t often I got to see him wearing a neatly pressed, black button down shirt without the tattered leather jacket.

  He joined me in the kitchen and set a brown paper bag on the table. “You look good enough to eat,” I said.

  Carter is one of those older men who defies age. Sure, he might be a bit weathered, but it only adds to his charm. His body is in perfect condition but not from running or weightlifting. He swears by the old school routine of pushups and sit ups every single morning.

  “You look pretty amazing yourself,” he said, placing one hand on my waist and pulling me toward him. He planted a firm kiss on my lips.

  “So what did you bring us for dinner?” I asked, peeking inside the bag. “Smells like Thai?”

  “Your favorite, right?”

  “You know me so well.” I began to set the table. “Would you like beer or wine?”

  “Whatever you’re having is fine. Can’t wait to hear about your day.”

  I poured two glasses of red wine and we got busy loading our plates with pad Thai noodles and fried spring rolls. “You won’t believe what happened.”

  “Try me.”

  “Well, after meeting with Penny, she convinced me to go talk to her ex-boyfriend.”

  Carter raised an eyebrow. “Oh, you mean the The Panty Thief?”

  “Yeah. I showed up at his apartment just in time to find him near death on his bathroom floor. An overdose from prescription pills.”