I came home after a long day of work and hoped to be able to spend the day with my girlfriend, Linda. She was still living at her own apartment until we got married. We were a traditional couple and didn’t believe in living together until we were married. It was her idea, and I was willing to honor her decision.
I took a shower and gave her a call to let her know I was going to be coming over. She picked up immediately. I expected her to be excited, but instead her voice was low and monotone.
“What’s wrong, babe? You sound like something is wrong?”
“It is nothing. I’m just not feeling well,” she replied.
“Is it alright if I come over then? If you aren’t feeling well, I can give you some space.”
“No, come over,” and then she hung up.
I pulled the phone from my ear and stared at it. This was really strange, and I thought maybe I should get over there in case she needed someone to take care of her, so I finished getting ready and jumped into my car.
I pulled up to her apartment building. My hands were shaking, and I could feel sweat pouring down my face. I was concerned and jumped out of the car and rang up to her apartment, but there was no answer. I stepped back and looked up to see all the lights were off in her apartment. Figuring she must have fallen asleep, I waited for someone else to open the door and followed in behind them; thankfully, people weren’t all that aware anymore.
I ran up the stairs and got to her door and began banging on it. There was no answer, and I began yelling.
“Linda, please come to the door.”
Still with no answer, I pulled out my own key, quickly unlocked the door, and looked around the front room. There was no sign of her there, so I ran to her bedroom. I had a feeling of dread when I ran down the hallway and flung her bedroom door open.
The bed was stripped clean, and only the mattress remained. I ran to her closets and found nothing there. It was like she had never been here. I even ran to the bathroom, and it was cleaned like someone was trying to rent out her apartment.
I decided to call her again to ask her what the hell was going on, but her mom answered instead of her.
“Margaret, where is Linda?” I asked.
Margaret began to cry, and between the sobs she said, “She is gone, Mark.”
“What do you mean she is gone? Where did she go?” I asked.
“She died, Mark. She was killed by a drunk driver last night,” she said.
I dropped the phone from my ear to try and absorb what Margaret had just told me and looked around at the empty bedroom.
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