Sara walked faster, dodging sidewalk holes and avoiding further doormen and one aggressive bartender already hocking shots in plastic tubes in the open doorway. She needed to let it go. Let it all go. Start over right here, right now. Yet it was so damn hard to start over when she physically felt the past following her. It was there in the Anne Donovan case, it was there in the e-mail she’d gotten suggesting her guilt, it was there in the book Gabriel was writing, it was in the disturbing sensation that even as she walked someone was watching her, following her.

For a minute, she panicked, forgetting which cross street she wanted to turn down, and certain she’d gone too far, but then she saw the sign for Dumaine and realized that was the street Gabriel’s apartment was on. Glancing behind her as she turned onto Dumaine, she scanned the street for a clear indication of someone following her, but she only saw several women together in a cluster wearing summer business skirts, and a man hosing the street down.

God, she was totally paranoid. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling, and she walked faster and faster until she got to Gabriel’s gate, which was open. Then she jogged down the enclosure and up the stairs to his apartment, looking forward to seeing him, hearing his reassurances. There was a note on the door.

Went to library. Back soon, go on in. G

Sara ripped it off the door and turned the knob. He’d left the door open. And the gate. Plus a note indicating to anyone who happened by that he wasn’t home and everything was unlocked. He was afraid of nothing, and she was paranoid enough for the both of them, and one extra person besides. Sara went in and locked the door behind her, heart pounding from her aggressive walking.

Then she pulled out her cell phone in case she needed to call 911, and walked through his apartment, checking to make sure she was actually alone with the door locked behind her. She went through every room, even throwing open his bedroom closet and peeking behind the shower curtain. She ended in his office, and collapsed on the sofa, feeling on the verge of tears.

She fought them, hating to cry, knowing it meant she wasn’t better, despising that she was not totally and completely in control. Popping back up to distract herself, she went over to study the spoons that hung on the wall by Gabriel’s computer. She thought they were vintage, but she couldn’t be sure. She wasn’t even sure if they were technically spoons since they had holes in them, and oblong ends, more like a pie server than a spoon.