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Elise was good about keeping things where they belonged and refrained from cluttering the space with things she didn’t need. Liam would have been able to tell right away if anything were amiss.

The bathroom door was closed and, less than a minute later, it was the last room to check. Liam knocked, listened, heard only the sound of running water. As he stood there, he remembered Elise telling him once she didn’t leave her front door unlocked. There were bad people out there, she’d said. “You never know what could happen.”

Screw this. Liam flung the bathroom door open. He thought he was ready for whatever he might find on the other side.

He wasn’t.

Liam Parker

Elise was lying in the bathtub. Her thin face was slack, eyes closed, mouth open. Her head hung to one side, resting against the tiles running from tub to ceiling. The mascara around her left eye was smeared down to her cheek. The faucets were on, the water spilling onto the floor and red from her blood.

It took only two steps for Liam to cross from the door to the tub. He was muttering, asking for help, from God, from anyone. He reached into the water, scooping his hands under her armpits so he could drag her out. Liam didn’t care that her blood was soaking into his clothes. He didn’t even notice. He shouted her name, hoping she’d react, maybe say something or open her eyes or give him some sign she was still alive. Because she could be. The water was warm. She was warm. Maybe it wasn’t too late.

He lifted, twisted, fought against her weight and the water. Her clothes, black slacks and blouse, clung to her body. She slipped out of his grip and back into the tub with a splash.

That was when he saw the cuts to her wrists. Telltale signs of a suicide.

It didn’t make sense. Elise wasn’t suicidal. But there was no time to think about that now. He needed to call 911. He should have called them as soon as he’d found the body, but he wasn’t thinking clearly.

Liam went for the cell in his pocket, only to realize he’d left it in the car. He looked around, trying to figure out what to do. He remembered seeing Elise’s iPhone sitting on the coffee table. He grabbed it, pressed the home button. It asked for a passcode.

Liam didn’t have time to start guessing combinations. He dropped the phone and ran back into the hall, pounded on the nearest door. No one answered. He tried another. When no one answered that one either, he ran for the stairs. They were cement and narrower than they should be. Keeping one hand above the chipped rail so he could grab it if he fell, Liam took them fast. Starting at the top of each flight, he went two or three steps and jumped to the next landing.

He bolted out of the door leading into to the lobby and nearly ran into an old woman. She was hunched over and wearing something blue with white flowers on it. Her eyes popped open and she screamed. Liam suspected it was the sight of all the blood. As he’d hauled Elise out of the water, it had gotten onto everything, but was most visible across the front of his chest where it had stained his white dress shirt.

He didn’t stop to explain or ask for help. He simply weaved around the stranger and kept going. He could hear her screaming until he exited the building and he wasn’t even sure she’d stopped then.

His car was close. As he ran toward it, he fished the keys out of his pocket, pressed the unlock button. The lights flashed. His breath swirled in front of him. The cold seeped through his wet clothes and into his skin.

Liam reached in through the passenger door and grabbed his cell from the center console. Standing in the road, hands shaking, he unlocked the device and saw a small red dot on the corner of the phone icon with the number twelve in it. When he’d pulled it out of his pocket to read the first text from Elise, he’d seen a notification announcing he’d missed a call from her, but hadn’t given it any thought. Ava had a strict “no calls” policy. His ringer had been on silent, and one missed call was no more significant than the message that had followed it. He cursed himself for not noticing the actual number of calls at the time, wondered if it would have made any difference, and dialed 911.

“Nine-one-one. How can I help?” the operator asked.

“My girlfriend needs assistance.” Liam gave her the address, and told her about the blood.

He was barely off the phone when a police car, lights flashing, rounded the corner at the end of the block.

Thank God.

He flagged down the black-and-white and the cop rolled down his window. The driver had a meaty face that crowded in on his small eyes. His partner was lean and cloaked in shadow. Before either of them could speak, Liam said, “You’re here for Elise, right? Elise Whitman? Where’s the ambulance? She needs an ambulance right away.”

“Relax. It’s coming.”

The paramedics did what they could, but Elise was gone, and the apartment immediately transformed into a crime scene. Liam hadn’t been allowed back into the unit since the first officers arrived. With the apartment’s new status, he wasn’t even allowed to wait outside her door.

“We need to make some room,” the meaty officer said, ushering Liam down the hall, past those ugly yellow walls that now looked even uglier.

Liam didn’t respond. He felt numb. He couldn’t understand why Elise would kill herself. Maybe they’d find a note.

On the elevator, the officer added, “I’m sorry for your loss” and, once they reached the lobby, “Have a seat on the bench over there. A detective will be along soon. They’ll want to talk to you.”

“Sure.” Liam didn’t see the point; the