5.
When I wake, I'm sore and stiff, groggy from my unexpected nap on my bedroom floor. I go through the motions, cleaning our apartment, clearing the fridge of all the things that went bad while I was in the hospital. I listen to all the voicemails left by friends, some of them from that night, their voices only growing more frantic with each one left. I delete them all, choosing to send one group text to my closest friends.
I'm home, recovering. I really don't want to see anyone right now.
I switch my phone to silent and crawl into bed, burying my face in Edward's pillow and crying myself back to sleep.
A series of knocks wakes me, and when I open my eyes, the morning sun shining through my window is nearly blinding. I pull the sheet and blanket over my head, hoping to block out the sun and the knocking. But when the raps pick up again, I realize I need to answer it if I want it to stop.
Turning the locks, leaving the chain, I open the door.
My father's relieved face peeks through the crack. "Oh, good. I got worried when you didn't answer your phone." When I offer no reply, he stares. "Can I come in?"
Wordlessly, I close the door and slide the chain lock before opening it fully.
He follows me into the living room, both of us settling on the sofa. "How are you feeling?"
I shrug. "I'm not sure. Numb?"
He nods. "I guess that's to be expected."
I give him a noncommittal hum.
"I got worried when I went to see you at the hospital and they said you'd already been released."
"Sorry I didn't call," I whisper.
"I just … I don't know what to do for you, Bells. The evidence the detectives collected is … well, it's a dead end. There haven't been any sightings of Edward. I … I just feel helpless." He reaches for my hand. I let him take it. "What can I do for you? How can I make this better?"
My reply is weak, tears welling in my eyes. "I don't know."
The days don't get any easier as they turn into weeks. The case to find my husband is officially cold, and without any new leads, his file gets pushed lower in the pile with each new one added.
Even though I know our savings will only last so long, I've taken a leave of absence from work. Friends try to call, try to pull me from my self-imposed isolation, but I retreat even farther into my solitude, only coming out to get groceries. I even avoid the calls to schedule an appointment with a shrink.
But maybe I do need one.
Over and over, to the point of obsession, I check my messages, hoping, praying Edward contacts me again. Wherever he is, he's turned off his tracking. His last known location: the alley behind the club where he was taken from me.