The Crooked Street

48

Tabby’s eyes blinked open. The apartment around her was dark. It wasn’t dawn yet, but she was already awake.

The night had finally cooled through the open window. She lay atop Frost as he slept. Their arms were wrapped around each other on her sofa. She felt the warmth of his face buried in her hair. They’d never undressed, never touched each other. They’d kissed, they’d talked, they’d kissed again, and they’d fallen asleep.

She disentangled herself without waking him. Shack snored at the foot of the sofa, and the cat didn’t move, either. She slipped away to the bathroom, where she showered and stood for the longest time simply letting the hot water pour over her body. When she was done, she went back to the other room and stared down at Frost. She was naked and aroused, and she thought about waking him up so that he could make love to her for the first time. He’d asked her to wake him before she left.

But she didn’t. It was easier this way.

She found clothes in her closet, and she got dressed silently. She opened the refrigerator and took out a bottle of water. She sipped it and then found a pad of paper so that she could leave Frost a note.

She wrote,

After a pause, she added beneath it,

Tabby collected her wallet and keys and let herself out of the apartment and closed the door softly behind her. She took the steps slowly, as if dreading that she had to go into the world again. Outside, there was a faint pinkness in the sky, like the promise of another warm day. She was alone on Fillmore. She breathed in the air and studied the other buildings around her. There were only a few lights. Everyone else was sleeping. She watched the dark cars around her, the dark windows, the dark roofs. Her eyes went from one place to the next, all around her, with a strange unease. She listened to the rare silence, as if San Francisco were holding its breath.

It was the kind of morning where you never wanted to die, but if you did, you would die happy. Except happiness was inside with Frost, and this, she remembered, was the other world.

Tabby crossed the empty street. Her car was parked on the opposite side. She unlocked it and got inside and sat in the gloom. She slid in the key, but she didn’t turn on the motor or the radio. Not yet. Instead, she wrapped her arms around her chest and breathed in and out. She checked the mirror, which showed nothing behind her, and she studied her own green eyes as if they belonged to a stranger.

A minute passed.

Then two.

She couldn’t wait any longer. She had to do it.

Tabby reached under the front seat, took out a cell phone from its hiding place, and dialed the number.

“Identification,” the woman on the other end answered in a cool, alert voice, as if she’d been awake for hours.

“Van Ness,” Tabby said.

“Password.”

“35415.”

“Status.”

“Golden Gate.”

“Report,” the woman inquired.

“Tell Lombard I’m on the inside,” Tabby replied.