Free Blinded by Travis Thrasher

decide to leave your name and number with the man. He takes it without comment or reaction.
    For some reason you hold on to Jasmine’s license.
    Back on the street, you think for a moment. Maybe it’s time to head back to the hotel. Sleep is not what you need. You need a closed door and a safe room.
    A hand grabs your arm, and you swing around, ready to hit somebody.
    It’s Amanda. Jasmine’s friend. She looks frantic, out of breath, and astounded.
    “What are you doing here?”
    “Your friend disappeared.”
    “I know. Have you—did you just come from her apartment?”
    “They wouldn’t let me in.”
    “Yeah, I know. Come on.”
    She leads you back into the apartment building.
    “Hey, Danny.”
    The security guard is suddenly a little more animated, seeing her.
    “You’re back.”
    You nod and follow Amanda into the open elevator.
    “You live here too?” you ask her.
    “I come here enough. I have a key.”
    “Is Jasmine here?”
    Amanda glances at you for a second.
    “Or J? Whatever her name is.”
    “I don’t think so. I’m a little worried.”
    “Yeah, me too.”
    “Where’d she go? I got a voice mail from her.”
    “We went to a place. I forget the name. It’s got numbers—”
    “345.”
    “That’s it,” you say as the numbers ding off in the small elevator. “A couple guys sat down next to us. Scary-looking guys. She acted like she knew them.”
    “J knows everybody.”
    “She disappeared. Next thing I knew, someone was holding a gun in my face and dropping me off in some dead-end neighborhood.”
    Amanda shakes her head and laughs. “You’re having a great night, huh?”
    “I’m just a little worried for her.”
    “I’m always worried for J. That girl gives me ulcers.”
    The door opens to a small hallway with only four doors. Amanda searches through her purse and finds the key.
    “I think I stay here more than she does.”
    “How long have you guys been friends?”
    Amanda inserts the key. “Long enough. We’re quasi-sisters. More or less.”
    The door swings open, and Amanda waits for you to go in.
    “Go ahead. It’s okay.”
    You nod but you don’t feel okay. You don’t know what’s waiting behind that open doorway, inside this apartment, inside this continually evolving world.
    You take a step, then another. Amanda follows you and closes the door.
    She turns on a switch and several canned lights go on, illuminating the spacious, high-ceiling loft.
    “Nice little place, huh?”
    Everything is modern and tidy. A two-piece sofa looks like it’s never been sat on. Black is the main color, with vibrant patches of orange or red in various places. You notice the plasma television screen on the wall, the Bose speakers in all four corners of the living room, the wet bar next to a mantel full of picture frames. There is a massive painting that looks just like Jasmine.
    Amanda anticipates your question. “Some big painter in New York did that for her. For free.”
    She walks over to the kitchen and checks the phone for messages. “Want something to drink?”
    You’re thinking no, you don’t really want anything, but you say yes, sure. Yes, sure. That’s what you’ve been saying all night. Yes, sure.
    “We’ve got a
lot
of vodka. Name it and we got it. J collects it. She likes the colorful bottles.”
    “Anything.”
    “Screwdriver? Or wait, let me see.”
    She opens the stainless steel refrigerator that is stocked full of everything. You see two full packages of bagels, beer, wine, Gatorade, bottled Evian, everything in its nice, neat order.
    “I’ll take a Becks,” you say, trying to make it easier.
    “Oh, sure? We’ve got everything.”
    She hands you the beer as you continue to examine this unlived-in loft.
    “Clean, huh?”
    “Does she even live here?”
    “You can’t put J in a box.”
    Amanda fixes herself what looks like a martini. She takes a bottle out of the freezer to make it.
    “Where do you think she is?”
    “No calls,” Amanda says.