Next Time You See Me

Chapter 1

The plan was to corner and capture the man in a Chevy Nova. Not run his car off the road, flip it, and send it crashing into a streambed.

Jesus Christ! That wasn’t supposed to happen! said a tall man known as Ripple.

Ripple and his partners used their SUV to block the entrance to the Little Indian Bridge. His statement conveyed what they all thought.

Holy shit, muttered the man known as Terrapin.

Oh my God. Sweet Christ. Did that just happen? said the man known as China.

That was unbelievable, said the short man they called Lucy.

As if a starter pistol went off, all four men ran up the hill and over to the stream where the Chevy Nova rested upside down. The tires slowly spun to a stop. Steam rushed through the grill, and the car ticked from the water being evaporated by the hot pipes of the car’s muffler.

Get the beach balls! Ripple instructed.

Get him out of the God Damn car! Terrapin shouted.

This is unbelievable, said China.

Get him out of that fucking car, Terrapin said again.

Where’s the other beach ball? Lucy said. He held a giant beach ball in his hands.

He ran to his left peering in into the night. Lucy then ran to his right and looked into the darkness for an object not easily mistaken for anything else than a beach ball.

The four men were in panic mode when another black SUV, the one in pursuit of the Chevy Nova arrived. It slowly stopped before the bridge. The headlights of both SUVs’ illuminated the area around the road where the accident took place. Off the road and down in the stream a beam from a flashlight could be seen frantically moving around.

He’s dead! China reported.

Death was certainly not the plan. China checked and rechecked the driver’s pulse, but a broken neck was a broken neck, and China knew what a broken neck looked like. This man had a broken neck.

Leave him in that car! said the man who had arrived in the chase SUV. He looked back into the SUV and said something to the driver. The man never left the door well of the chase SUV. Do not touch the dead man!

I can’t find the other beach ball! Lucy yelled in disbelief.

How could we lose a beach ball? The thing was as big as a trashcan, he thought. As Lucy darted back and forth he slipped on the wet grass and landed on his side. The giant beach ball in his hands slipped from his grasp and bounced down the hill. He stumbled to his feet and ran after the ball, his pants and shirt now wet, stained with grass and mud.

Is there anything in the car? asked the man from the chase SUV.

He had a flashlight in his hands and pointed it in the direction of the overturned Nova. He shifted the beam of light towards the SUV on the bridge.

Get that fucking vehicle off the bridge, he shifted the light beam again to the overturned car. Is there anything in that Goddamn car that’s of any use to us? he asked forcefully. They needed to leave immediately, if not sooner.

Only his cell phone, China replied.

Grab it. We need to leave, the man instructed.

Everyone back to the vehicle! Ripple yelled.

I found the beach ball. It's up in that tree. How the hell are we gonna get up there? Lucy questioned. His clothes were wet and dirty. Mud covered the left side of his face.

The man from the chase SUV took out his pistol and fired two rounds into the direction of the giant beach ball stuck in the tree. The ball deflated instantly and fell to the ground. Lucy popped the air valve of the beach ball he held as he ran to get the one shot out of the tree.

Everyone get the hell out of here, the man from the chase SUV instructed. He got back into his black SUV and drove across the bridge in the direction of the highway. Ripple put his SUV into drive and followed.

Five minutes later, a college couple returning home from a dinner date made the blind left turn of Cripple road. They noticed the overturned muscle car in the Little Indian Stream. They called the police as soon as they pulled over. They ran down to see if anyone was alive or injured. The young man slipped on the steep streambed, wiping away any footprints left by the people before him. Later, when asked by the police if the young man touched anything, the young man confessed he, in fact, touched the door, the body, and the steering wheel.

His girlfriend was in his car crying when the police arrived. She had never seen a dead body before and she threw up somewhere on the streambed near the accident. She couldn’t be sure where. She apologized over and over again as she cried to the police.

Thirty minutes later arrived a fire truck, three more police cars, and an ambulance to the scene of the accident. A short time after, the medical examiner arrived. The fireman carefully removed Bender’s body form the car. The Paramedics skillfully navigated the stretcher up the small steep hill of the streambed and put Bender’s body into the back of the ambulance. A tow truck arrived shortly after 3:15 am. It backed down the wet grass towards the Chevy Nova SS, attached cables to the car, and turned the mangled vehicle right side up. The tow truck driver then hooked straps to the front of the car, pulled it up the embankment, and finally loaded the wrecked car onto the flatbed. As the tow truck drove away, members of the fire department were overheard stating how nice of a car it was, and how it was such a shame it had been destroyed. The rain started to fall in heavy sheets as the Police concluded their investigation.

Chapter 2

The police report on the car accident and accidental death of Steve Bender was fairly simple, and straightforward. It stated on the first of October at 0230 hours; a maroon, 1968 Chevrolet Nova SS Custom was found overturned in the Little Indian Stream off of Cripple road in Mahwhey County, Pa. Inside the vehicle, local police and fire department found the owner, one Steve Bender, dead on the scene of an apparent broken neck.

The police, after investigation, concluded the driver lost control, skidded off the road, swiped a tree with the car’s rear right quarter panel, which forced the car to tumble, and roll over and down a short but steep embankment. The investigators concluded that the car landed upside down in the stream. At the point in the road where the accident occurred, the road curved into a slight left turn. This bend in Cripple road was on a slight downgrade, leveling off before the bridge crossing over Little Indian Stream. The skid marks left by the rear tires were consistent with a car and driver trying to avoid an obstruction in the road. The police believed this to be consistent with other traffic accidents of drivers who tried to avoid a deer or small animal. Deer accidents were a common occurrence during the season in Mahwhey County, Pa.

The road conditions were classified as slick, without any hazards, with light precipitation being in the area throughout the night. This included the estimated time of the accident, which was determined to be between 0130 and 0200 hours. The skid marks from the rear tires estimated the vehicle had been traveling between 35 and 40 miles an hour at the time of the accident. The speed had been consistent with the enforced limit.

The driver of the vehicle had no traces of alcohol or drugs in his system. The medical examiner’s examination supported the claim. The driver was wearing his seatbelt, and there was no indication that his radio was on at the time. No cell phone found at the scene.

The truth of what happened to Steve Bender is an entirely different story. On the first of October, around 2 am, Steve Bender had his right foot smashed to the floor of his 1968 Chevy Nova SS, going in access of eighty miles an hour through the winding roads of Mahwhey County. He had been trying to outrun a black SUV that began chasing him shortly after he pulled out of a parking garage on the outskirts of Bowman University. The car chase lasted 15 minutes and stretched through various winding country roads.

At first, Steve Bender was able to gain some ground, but the weather conditions made it hard for his rear wheel Nova SS to handle turns at significant speed. The car’s over-steer made it impossible for Steve to navigate the loosest of corners, so he had no choice but to go hard on the brake every time he encountered a curve or turn. Breaking gave the SVU time to regain the ground lost during roads that were straight and level.

Steve was able to use his Nova’s rebuilt 388 cubic inch engine to launch himself down the country roads, but every half-mile or so, the SUV would either be able to catch up or Steve was forced to brake for a turn. Bender, who knew the area well, tried to get to a stretch of road that would give him the upper hand against the heavy, all wheel drive SUV.

Bender went hard on the brake in a turn, which threw the back end of the car out to the right to fishtail onto Whipple road. Whipple road was the key. He needed to make up ground on the road he knew best. Whipple road was a three-mile stretch of straight asphalt with slight undulations every quarter mile. The 245/40ZR17 BF Goodrich tires of the Nova struggled for grip at first as the Nova lurched forward, but they quickly grabbed the road as he straightened the Nova after the turn. He then went even harder on the gas. The 12-bolt 3.73 postreaction rear end shuttered briefly as he began cranking his way through gears three, four, and five of the T-5 Borg Warner five-speed manual transmission. The Nova was screaming at him, and he knew what the car was saying. Fourth to fifth gear pushed Steve’s body deeper into the driver's seat. The horizontal speedometer had the indicator pinned to the right. Fast wasn’t the word for the speed at which Steve Bender traveled.

The car sounded like the Devil. If it wasn’t producing the 450 HP that it was capable of, Steve swore to himself he would kick his mechanics’ ass if he got out of this chase alive. The rearview mirror vibrated so violently that he had a hard time making out how far the black SUV was down the road. It was back there though. He could see the lights as they shook in the mirror.

The engine roared with excitement and the exhaust agreed as it sent out a constant terrible rumble of power. When the Nova hit the slight undulations of the road, the car went airborne briefly and landed like a gymnast. The suspension absorbed the impact and helped the tires grip the road as quickly as they left the ground. With less than an eighth of a mile to go on Whipple road, Steve went hard on the brake. The action caused his body to crash into the seatbelt before being knocked back into his seat.

The power steering and power brake system that he had installed to the Nova made braking at speed almost effortless. At the intersection, Steve threw the rear end of the car out to the left, producing a right turn power slide. He then hammered down the mile or so straightway of Canton road, where he turned left onto Cripple road. If he could just get to Cripple road, he believed he might have a chance to get to the highway. All he needed to do was make it over the Little Indian Bridge before the SUV could turn the corner on. He was all but certain he could out run the SUV to his safety point; the Army Reserve Base off of Exit six. That was a distance of five miles. Steve was confident with his plan.

Steve Bender hit the brakes a little too hard at the end of Canton road. As he turned onto Cripple road, his tires began to spin without moving forward. The tires produced smoke as the rubber bore into the road. The car had twisted to the left then the right before Steve was able to correct his course. He settled the Nova into a straight line. He turned his head to look back as he pinned his right foot to the floor. He quickly lifted his foot and pinned his left foot to the floor before he repeated the whole process again in less than two seconds. With his right hand on the stick and his left hand on the wheel, he watched as the SUV struggled to stop in order to make the turn in time. The SUV overshot the road and ended up in the wet grass of the nearby farmland. The SUV back tires spun trying to gain grip. For a moment, the SUV was going nowhere fast.

That was all Steve needed to see. He whipped his head around with a smile on his face. He gripped the wheel with both hands and guided the Nova down Cripple road. The first mile went quickly. He opened up a sizable distance from the SUV. The second mile had slight twists to the right and to the left, so Steve muscled the Nova into third gear. As he did this, the engine of the Nova wailed, producing a staggering amount of torque as Steve drove hard into and out of the twists and bends. A slight uphill run to a blind left hand turn, then over the bridge, and Steve was home free. As Steve guided the Nova up the slight hill, he dumped the manual transmission into second. He dropped his speed to 35 mph for the turn. He could anticipate the freedom of the highway and the relief of escape.

Bender made the blind left turn on Cripple road and went hard on the brake. He jerked the wheel to the left then the right, but it was too late. In the middle of the road, two giant beach balls sat as obstacles. Steve couldn’t process the obstructions in time. He jerked the steering wheel to the left, which caused his car to lose control and skid off the road. On the Little Indian Bridge, there was another SUV with its high beams pointed directly into what was Steve’s line of sight. Steve’s 1968 Chevy Nova SS Custom swiped a tree, which caused the Nova to roll. The force of the roll caused his neck to snap. His dead body piloted the car into the Little Indian Stream. That was the true story of the death of Steve Bender.

Chapter 3

Al Gardner wasn’t a big sleeper. In fact, without the help of booze or a sleeping pill, sometimes both, he rarely closed his eyes for more than four hours at a time. While most people in the Philadelphia area were still asleep, Al, five days week, every Monday through Friday, no matter what the weather, ran through the streets of his beloved city.

He hated running, but he did it regardless. His forty something year old knees always hurt. His pack of cigarettes a week lungs burned, and his breathing cavities wheezed with every yard he ran. Regardless, he had become addicted to the process, and as the years went by in his life, running became a habit; something he did every day, no matter how much he wished he took up cycling.

Al ran from his apartment downtown to the Art Museum, then down along the river on Kelly Drive, into East Falls, before he turned around, and ran back home. At five in the morning, he always got a kick out of the kids from the local universities, as they put their crew boats into the water. He also marveled at the women, both young and old, who took their lives into their hands as they ran alone so early in such an empty part of town. Philly was a dangerous place, and he thought most people were insane to take the chance of being alone in the darkness of such a secluded place so early in the morning. He personally never feared running this early in the morning. His over six feet in height stature, and his ex-Army soldier’s frame, kept away any unwanted trouble.

Al was never sure how many miles he ran. He only knew the time it took. 4:45 am to 5:30 am was the time frame. As the years went by, he had to run harder and faster to get home by 5:30 am. Today it was raining. His feet had gotten soaked, and his rain gear kept the sweat of his body from naturally evaporating. This unnatural development covered him in a slimy; sweat drenched layer of film the rain couldn’t wash away. Al felt disgusting. His chest heaved in anger. His heart attempted to explode from his chest. His left thigh vibrated, as well as rang. He slowed his pace and eventually stopped under the underpass of Route 76. He tried to get to his phone before it went to voicemail. He rarely received phone calls this early in the morning. He figured someone had bad news about something.

He failed in his attempt to get to his phone in time and waited for whoever had called to finish leaving a message. Al didn’t recognize the number on the caller ID at first glance. When he played the voicemail back, it only took a few words for him to recognize the voice. As he listened, Al started to feel sick. His legs began to feel weak. He found a place to sit down. His body started to shake as he forced the phone closer to his ear. He listened to the message for a second, then a third time. It caught him both by surprise, as well as disbelief. His old college sweetheart, Liz, left the message. Her voice was low and somber. Her message was grim and heartbreaking. She tried to explain to Al that her husband, one of his dearest friends, had died earlier that night.

Al wasn’t much for emotion, but he couldn’t control the tears that streamed down his cheeks from his eyes. He could feel the difference between his sweat, the rain, and the tears on his face. He started to call Liz back as soon as the message ended. He tried to dial her number, but his fingers wouldn’t let him press the right buttons on the phone. Al tried over and over again, each time his hands shook too much to get the number right.

He stuffed the phone back into his pocket, took a deep breath, and started his run home. It was harder than he thought it would be to run while crying. Al did the best he could to control his breathing. He tried to hold his breath. When that didn’t work, and after he almost passed out, he forced himself to get his emotions under control. Finally, able to get his body in tune, he picked up the pace and he ran as fast as he could for as long as he could, before breaking down again in tears. He had done this two or three times before he arrived at the front door to his apartment. He surprised himself to see the kitchen clock read five-twenty.

Once inside, he grabbed a towel, dried his hair, hands, and face. He took a deep breath and gave calling Liz another shot. His heart began to pound harder and harder as the phone rang. Al could hardly take the anticipation of Liz answering his call. Liz answered the phone crying. Al could hardly get the words he wanted to say out of his mouth.

Chapter 4

Al didn’t need to knock to enter the home of Liz and Steve Bender, but he did it out of respect. Liz greeted him at the door. She was half dressed for work, wearing heels and a black tailored business skirt. Her cream colored silk blouse was un-tucked and halfway buttoned up. Al noticed she was wearing a black, lace bra. He approved. Her blonde hair was in a tight bun and around her neck a pearl necklace. A matching set of earrings hung from her ears. She greeted Al with a soft kiss on the cheek. After a long hug that reminded Al of the past, he pulled away to look at Liz from a distance. Liz was a corporate lawyer for the company, Boggs and Link. Everything about her half-dressed body screamed importance and wealth.

She invited Al to come into the kitchen. He followed her down the hallway, and he noticed right away she looked sexier now than at Steve’s funeral the week before. He guessed that was part of her job and admired how well she kept her appearance together. She wasn’t getting any younger, but Al bet she looked better than half the women half her age at her law firm.

Liz poured Al a cup of coffee. She slid it across the kitchen island and motioned for him to have a seat. He thanked her but chose to stay standing. He looked into his coffee mug as she poured herself a mug of her own. She stood across from him as she added milk and sugar. After she had swirled the mixture together, she took a sip. Al tried to avoid eye contact but noticed the red stain of lipstick on her mug, as she held it to her chest. Al had problems around Liz. He was captivated by every little thing she did. It made him feel creepy, and he knew Liz took advantage of that fact.

You look good Al, she said. The compliment lingered without a response. After another slow sip of coffee, she asked if there was anything new in his life he had to report. Al shook his head, took a sip of coffee, and put the mug back on the kitchen island.

How are you holding up Liz? Al said.

He wanted to know why she called him over so early in the morning. He needed to be at work. Steve had been laid to rest a week ago, and they haven’t spoken since that night. He knew she wanted something. He wanted to know what that was, so he could give it to her and get on with his day.

I’m leaving for California on business in a little bit. I’ll be gone for the better part of the week, she said. Liz walked to the other side of the island so she could stand next to Al.

I was wondering if you could head up to the University and clean Steve’s apartment out for me. I’ve been so overwhelmed with everything recently. This whole thing sucks. I honestly have no idea when I’d be able to get up there to do it myself.

Of course, Al smiled. Anything I can do to help.

There shouldn’t be much in the place. He came home every weekend. I would appreciate it, she said. She had looked away before she put her mug on the table. Honestly, I’ve never been up to the University, and I’d like to keep it that way. I’m having a hard enough time walking around this house. Thinking about him.

I understand, Al said. It’s a lot to go through.

We saw each other three day a week for the last year. Who gets married to do that? she said. Liz squinted her eyes and pursed her lips in an attempt of showing regret. I feel like we wasted so much time.

She sipped her coffee and studied Al. She watched Al as she slowly put the mug to her lips. Liz lowered the mug to her chest. With her blouse still half-buttoned, she held the mug close to her body and watched Al’s eyes fixate on her chest. The steam rose from the mug. As much as Al tried, he couldn’t look away.

The best-laid plans, Liz. You were planning for the future. You guys weren’t taking it one day at a time, Al said. He seemed like he was in a trance.

Right? Liz almost yelled. She shook her head in an effort to focus on the conversation. In a couple more years, it would have been perfect. Our lives would have been on the same page, she said. Liz wiped her eyes. We just needed some more time.

Liz slowly, as if not to startle Al, moved her hand to his head. She ran her hand through Al’s hair. She closed her eyes for a moment as if she lost herself in time. When her eyes opened, they expressed a sense of loss and regret. Al tried to respond in the same way. It was hard, but he acted as if he understood. He hoped Liz appreciated the effort.

Al had heard it all before. Their marriage, the Liz and Steve Bender union, was a sham. It was the product of the two most ambitious people in a social circle. It was the Alpha female going after the Alpha male. Their marriage together was based on income and social standing. As individuals, they were assholes. Together they were the absolute power couple. It was the happiest day in Al’s life when Liz left him for another man. It broke Al’s heart when he discovered Liz left him for one of his best friends. It drove Al to the Army. It drove Al crazy when his best friend followed in his footsteps. It almost killed him when he stood next to Steve at his wedding. A part of him actually died when they both said, I do.

Without much more being said, Al kissed Liz on the cheek. He told her he ought to be going. Liz held him a little longer than Al would have liked, and refused to let go of his hand as they walked to the door. The clicking of her heels on the hardwood floor an arms length away provided a seductive yet melodramatic soundtrack to his exit out the front door. It struck Al as he opened the door and watched the rain pour down outside that for some reason, whatever it may be; Liz was holding his hand for dramatic purposes only. When she did let go, she did so in a slow and almost deliberate manner. It was another dramatically inspired action, and Al, as quickly as he could, let go. He tried to run in-between the rain drops to his car as fast as he could manage.

Chapter 5

Twenty miles outside of the greater Philadelphia area, four miles off the PA Turnpike, sits an empty business park. It’s empty parking lots, and vacant landscapes have the look of abandonment and decay. For Lease banners tied to the corners of building after building long ago were frayed and worn. The massive parking lots showed the years of neglect, with weeds that have busted though from the cracks in the asphalt the weather created. Their parking lines are faded and old. The tinted windows of building after building were covered in the dirt and grime that wind and time have left in their wake. The architecture of the buildings had the same construction. Plot after plot, road after road, brown brick facades and copper roofs tell the story of wealth and prosperity of upper-middle-class employment of a different time. The Golden Era of telemarketers, the birth of human resources, and the heyday of insurance salesmen.

All of the buildings sat vacant and unused. Except for one. It was a place unseen from the highways or main access roads. Down one of the business roads that no one uses. Past the retention basin pond, through the grove of walnut trees, a modest two-story business structure with mirrored windows and tanned walls with a green roof was open for business. Outside of this particular structure sat a parking lot. Although the weeds and cracks and faded lines were still present, something set this one building and parking lot aside from every other building within the business park. This particular building had a parking lot filled with cars.

Inside this one particular business building, the hustle and bustle of work was in motion. Phones rang, fingers typed away on keyboards of modern computers, and people talked and walked with purpose and determination. A trio of security guards occupied the front desk in the lower lobby. A dozen cleaning men patrolled the office. They emptied the trash from cans and cleaned stairwells and elevators. There was even a lunch cart lady who circled the office floor. The office had a fresh coat of gray paint, but the carpet was as dilapidated as the exterior of the building. It all seemed ordinary.

Except this wasn’t an ordinary company going about an ordinary day. The security guards carried sub-machine guns and the cleaning men emptied can's painted red with the phrases burn and shred emblazoned on the sides. They didn’t clean the stairwells as much as they patrolled them. They didn’t clean the elevators as much as they monitored what came in and out. Most of the employees carried concealed weapons. The ones who didn’t carry guns had people who protected them that did. It wasn’t ordinary at all.

The office had been set up for the clandestine gathering of confidential information within the corporate world of scientific and technical research. Their target was a company called SYNEX. Their mission was the acquisition of property SYNEX had been developing at a research facility located at the Bowman University in South Western Pennsylvania. The office had been on high alert since the accidental death of Steve Bender, the lead developer of said property for the company SYNEX. Said property was missing, and this office was in charge of the task of finding it and stealing it for their employer. The employees who worked in the office building knew their objective but didn’t know their employer. Their salaries made it easy not to ask.

Chapter 6

Al could not have left Philly at a worse time. The traffic was horrendous leaving the city on Saturday morning. First, there was congestion getting onto Route 76 West. Then, as he made progress past the City Line exit, he found himself stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic until the Blue Route exit. Again, after gaining some steam, he found himself stuck in second gear from the Gulf Mills exit to Valley Forge. It wasn’t until he was past the tollbooth and made it clear of the PA Turnpike ramp that he was able to shift his manual six-speed transmission into fourth. By that time, he was already pushing his left foot to the floor of his Ford Mustang GT500 and shifting into fifth gear. With his right foot pressing further and further down, he was able to find the speed he was comfortable driving. Cars and trucks lightly cluttered the Turnpike and he was able to settle the V8 engine into a rhythm that had him going a breezy eighty miles an hour. He turned up the radio and kept an eye out for slower traffic and the police.

Al bought the car mostly to leave parked in front of his mechanic shop and storage garage, Gardner and Son. It was a beautiful car, with incredible lines and a bold stance. The Mustang was usually parked right out front for his customers and clients to see as they pulled into the parking lot. The Mustang had a vibrant blue paint job with those iconic white racing stripes traveling through the center of the hood and roof. His guys always kept it showroom clean, and it served as a reminder to his high-end cliental that Gardner and Son was a world-class establishment. Even though most of his customers drove the foreign cars, Al knew everyone had a soft spot for the Shelby. More times than not, he would see his customers checking the Mustang out as they waited for their cars from the garage.

He did most of his day-to-day life on foot, which might seem strange for a man who owned and operated a garage and storage site, but that was the way it was. He lived near work, and if he wasn’t there, he was most likely running, or sitting on a bar stool at one of the local bars. The few times he did drive he enjoyed slipping in and out of traffic with the Mustang. It wasn’t without its faults. The interior cockpit was loud. There wasn’t the refinement that one would expect, and it was a devil in the turns. Aside from those little hiccups, Al could get the tires to smoke anytime he wanted, and the car sounded like a thunderstorm when he would go heavy on the gas. In a straight line, the Ford Mustang GT500 was like driving the wind. It seemed effortless and calming, which is all anyone should look for in a car.

Two hours passed by before Al even thought about where he was going and what he was supposed to do when he arrived. Liz told Al that there shouldn’t be all that much up at Steve’s weekday apartment at Bowman University. She just wanted it boxed up and brought home. Liz gave Al directions to the place. Having never been there herself, she didn’t know where it was exactly. Al figured it wouldn’t be too hard to find the apartment, so he didn’t bother inputting the address into the GPS. A little less than three hours after leaving the shop, he was cruising through the University’s downtown strip looking for the roads on a piece of paper Liz handed him back at her house the day before. He eventually found an apartment complex without much difficulty. Al pulled his car into a visitor spot and looked for Steve’s apartment number.

Steve’s apartment was on the second floor of a complex that reminded Al of his college experience. Tucked into the woods, groups of six to eight apartments stood side-by-side, two high, with an outdoor staircase as the only access to the top apartments. The complex had a ski lodge motif. The brown painted wood exteriors and their cedar roofs blended in well with their surroundings. Steve's place was in one of the corners of the complex. Al had checked the address on the paper again before he inserted the key into the door. The key unlocked the door, and Al stepped inside. He expected to uncover a place that Steve left abruptly.

Al was confused to find nothing in the apartment. He didn’t see single dish in the sink needing a wash. There weren’t any dishes at all. Not a water glass or a single utensil in the entire apartment. No TV, no radio, nothing. The fridge was empty; there wasn’t even a box of baking soda to help with the moisture. The refrigerator wasn’t even plugged in. In the bedroom, there was no bed. The closet had no clothes on the racks. The apartment was empty, but he noticed it wasn’t entirely clean. Al noticed a dust buildup on the tables and counter tops. It seemed abandoned. Al stood in the apartment’s living room confused and confounded. If he was going to make sense of this new development, Al needed a beer. He walked out of Steve's empty apartment and locked the door.

Chapter 7

Back in the office building outside of Philadelphia, a young man named Alex Marshall sat at his desk and watched his computer screen with intense concentration. A motion-activated camera had just come online