The Morning After

The balance of Abel’s sleep after the dream was fitful at best, not really solid enough to allow him to slip into slumber and actually get any real rest. Climbing out of bed, he wandered into the bathroom and peed without bothering to click on the light. Finished urinating, he turned on the faucet, washing his hands before splashing some cold water up onto his face. What a fucked up dream. He wasn’t quite sure where it had come from, but he was certain it wasn’t some kind of psychobabble Oedipal Complex bullshit.

Yawning, he reached over and flicked on the light, catching his weary reflection in his periphery. Dark circles under bloodshot eyes, he frowned. Grabbing his toothbrush, he cleaned his teeth before going into the kitchen and making himself a fruit and vegetable shake.

Powering down the drink without really tasting it, he checked his phone for any new messages from Lily. None. Letting out a pent up breath, he still had time so despite a shit sleep decided to grab a run. Getting himself dressed in his cold weather gear for the frigid wind blowing up the Potomac, he put on his shoes and laced them up. He hoped starting the day with a good run might clear his the overabundance of noise in his head.

Grabbing wallet and keys, he left the apartment and made his way downstairs. Once outside, it was chilly. The first few rays of the sunrise spreading fiery colors across the clear eastern sky, he put his gloves and wool knit cap on and leaned against the edge of the building, stretching his legs to get some oxygenated blood into the muscles before running. Twisting from side to side at the waist several times, he set off at a quick clip, headed for Rock Creek Park

It was good to feel the brisk morning air in his lungs as he ran, invigorating him. He wanted to check the national database to cross reference the name Lily to see if anything unusual might pop up. She had said she would let Gil go today, he hoped she was as good as her word. Elements of the dream persisted in the recesses of his mind. It was so incredibly lucid, vivid. Gil had mentioned this mystery woman of his used to visit him in his sleep, haunt his dreams. Was there some type of connection? He snorted and shook his head, scoffing at the idea. He contemplated the idea of swinging by Marilyn Foster’s office, one of the bureau’s sketch artists. The girl in his dream resembled what he had seen of the woman who had given him the surprise kiss in New Orleans. Was it fishing? Probably. Feet padding over the trail, he chuckled to himself, impressed his subconscious could create such a hot girl minus the fact she would be like over a hundred feet tall.

Completing the leg out, he circled back, kicking up his speed to a sprint to maximize the run before drawing up near the trail exit, his heavy exhales sending plumes into the icy early morning air as he walked back.

Beckett and Davies were both solid agents and would do a good job dogging leads, but she wanted to play this game with him and he was more than up to the task. He needed to try and devise a way to draw this Lily out into the open, outwit her and take her down. He hoped Gil was okay.

Crossing the street back toward his apartment, he went inside. Checking his phone and finding no new messages, he had a quick shower, killing two birds with one stone by shaving at the same time.

Climbing out of the shower and feeling refreshed, he grabbed a plain white towel from the wall-mounted towel bar, drying himself as he exited the steamy bathroom. Walking toward his bedroom, flesh puckering slightly at the cooler air outside the bathroom, he dragged the towel across his chest and midriff, stopping dead at the door to his bedroom. There, on the bed, folded neatly were the clothes Gil had been wearing the night he disappeared, including his partner’s loaded service pistol still in the hogleg holster. There was no doubting it.

Dropping the towel, he hurried over to his closet and grabbed his own gun, sliding the safety off. Unconcerned for his state of undress, “I’m armed,” he threatened, moving silently on the balls of his feet back toward the hall, ears listening intently for any unfamiliar sounds from else place in the apartment.

He knew with certainty the clothes had not been there when he left for his run. He wasn’t sure whether or not he had been in the bedroom after his run so he didn’t know if the clothes had been put there during the run or while he was in the shower. Had she been here in the apartment while he was in the shower? Why the clothes? Had to be Lily fucking with his mind, the notion making him mad.

Sweeping the apartment, it was empty. The security chain on the door was still connected, leading him to believe she had probably slipped in when he went for his run. Engaging the safety, he lay his gun on top of the counter in the kitchen. Grabbing a large black garbage bag and a small white one from under the sink, he returned to the bedroom, sliding his hand in the little white bag and using it to put all of Gil’s clothing into the larger bag before knotting it.

“Fuck you Lily,” he said aloud as he walked over to his drawer and got some underwear. Getting dressed in a suit and tie, he retrieved his weapon and holstered it. Picking up the garbage bag, he made his way down to his car, eyes darting about the parkade and wondering if she was out there, watching him, waiting for him to leave before sneaking back into his apartment. A slow smile spread across his face as an idea formulated in his head. Tossing the bag onto the passenger seat, he went back into the building and returned to his floor, stopping at his neighbor Albert Kinney’s door. Albert was an annoying busy body who made a habit of lurking at the peephole and involving himself in everybody else’s business.