John spent the evening scouring the newspapers, marking his map. Cassandra was laying on a couch nearby. Apparently, she didn’t like to be alone. The girl had been writing in her journal, what about, he hadn’t asked or cared.

He reached over to the map, circling a small alley south of the apartment. Cassandra caught the motion, looking at him curiously.

“Why are you doing that?”

John didn’t answer right away, instead he made a second mark.

“You check to see if she’s back yet?”

“I’d hear the squeaky floorboards if she was.” Cassandra offered. “That’s how I know you don’t work. Used to hear you coming and going.”

John gave a noncommittal grunt. He’d probably hear the mother throwing a fit if she came back and didn’t find her daughter. He kept checking the paper only to find Cassandra staring at the map intently, trying to figure out what he was doing.

“You’re bored,” John said. “Maybe it’s best if you wait in your apartment.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“No. Just trying to focus.”

Cassandra looked stung by that but covered.

“You’re going to be here, right? In case there’s trouble.”

John raised an eyebrow.

“Are you expecting trouble?”

“No, but I wasn’t expecting mom to leave either. . .” She hesitated. “If she doesn’t come back, what should I do?”

“Call the cops.” John answered flatly, then had a second thought. “But do me a favor, don’t tell them about the radio.”

Cassandra seemed reluctant but headed out all the same. Seeing the door close, John turned back to his paper – when he heard her scream.

He was up in an instant, racing to the door, flinging it open to find – Cassandra waiting. John looked up and down the hall, but it was empty.

“What the hell were you screaming for?”

“Making sure you’d come like you said,” Cassandra replied, matter-of-factly.

Other tenants were starting to poke their heads out, curious about the noise. Cassandra ignored them, heading back into her apartment as if nothing had happened.

It was a few hours later when John got up from his chair, stretching. He hadn’t found much, nothing he could work with, anyway. And the radio hadn’t been as much help as he’d hoped. By now the streets outside were dark.

Then, John paused, looking towards the alley. It might have been his imagination, but he’d thought he’d seen the glint of something metal there. Curious, he moved to the window. After a moment, he found a man in the corner of the alley, body pressed into a small alcove, as if he were trying to hide himself in the shadows. That glint was a knife.

The man was a predator, just waiting for some poor soul to amble by.

“Finally,” John said.

He grabbed his jacket, moving to the door only to stop just as fast.

“What do you mean she’s dead?” Cassandra demanded.

John opened his door to find both Detectives O’Malley, and Jones, in front of the girl. She looked heartbroken.

Detective Jones knelt down to her level. “Look, I’m sorry, kid. But she’s gone.”

“We need you to come with us,” O’Malley added. “Go on, go grab your things.”

Cassandra finally noticed John then, tears welling in her eyes.

“You said she would come back. . .”

She slammed the door in the detective’s face before John could reply. O’Malley went for the knob, but it was clear the kid had locked it.

John closed his own apartment’s door behind him while they were distracted, no need for them to look inside.

“You sure about her mom?”

O’Malley turned, suddenly cautious as he got a look at John’s face. He knew he was scowling, partly because of his mood, partly because he’d wasted his last few nights out. After Cassandra had left, it had only gotten worse. Hell, he probably looked feral at this point, didn’t matter. He had things to do.

O’Malley made a show of looking John over.

“Who the hell are you?”

“A Neighbor,” John replied, deadpan. The man didn’t even remember talking to him.

“Yeah, we’re sure,” O’Malley said. “Found her a few hours ago in a shop downtown.”

“Coroner thinks it might’ve been a heart attack,” Jones offered. “But we’re looking into it.”

“Heart attack?” John asked. “She was too young for that.”

“Like he said we’re looking into it.” O’Malley glared back at John. It was clear the guy was putting up a front.

Jones held a hand up to his partner.

“Listen, you know if that little colored girl has any family? If not, she’s going to foster care.”

John considered that, glancing at the door to Cassandra’s apartment. He hesitated, but only for a moment.

“I can’t speak to that. . . Like I said, I’m just a neighbor. Not my business.”

With that, John brushed past the two detectives, heading downstairs. As he did, he could distantly hear O’Malley threatening to break Cassandra’s door down.

It didn’t matter, it really was none of his business. He kept telling himself that until he was out the door.

The tears just wouldn’t stop, not even as Cassandra stepped outside. The detective, Jones, stood beside her, his partner O’Malley scowling as she wiped her eyes with a sleeve.

“You gonna cry the whole way?” O’Malley asked. “Your mom wouldn’t have wanted that.”

Cassandra glared back at the man.

“How would you know?” She glanced at Jones. “Are you even sure it was her you found.”

“She died,” O’Malley responded. “Look, I’m sorry kid, but it’s that simple.”

“She was in a store in Chinatown,” Jones added. “An occult place, had her purse and ID with her.”

“Mr. Pheng’s?” Cassandra asked.

“Yeah, any idea what she was doing there?”

“We went there a lot. Do you think he killed her?”

“Maybe,” O’Malley said. “Too early to tell.”

Cassandra looked between the two detectives, incredulous, angry. That feeling died just as quickly. They didn’t care about her mother, about her, of course they wouldn’t. But getting angry about it wouldn’t help. She glanced back at her apartment.

“. . .I left my journal. Can I run and get it? It’s… got her picture in it.”

The two detectives looked at her, skeptical.

“It’s all I have left to remember her by,” Cassandra pleaded.

“Jesus.” O’Malley hissed. Then he caught Jones frowning back at him. “. . .Fine.”

“Just be quick,” Jones instructed.

Cassandra nodded, wiping her face again before heading off. As she stepped back inside her apartment, an odd feeling overcame her.

She might never see this place again. Soon, all she would have left of her life before now would be the memories.

Suddenly, a flash of something outside caught her attention, then a muffled grunt. Curious, she moved to the window, looking down at the alley below. It was dark, but after a moment, she saw John’s face in the shadows. He was wrestling with someone, or something. It was only a glimpse before he disappeared back into the darkness.

John grabbed the would-be mugger by the neck, lifting him off his feet and slamming his head into the brick wall of the alley. The man struggled, clawing thin red lines into the flesh of John’s forearm. But John’s grip only tightened.

“What were you going to do after you took my money? Huh? Tell me!”

“Get your goddamn hands off me!” The mugger twisted in John’s grip.

Before John could react, the man pulled a gun from his waistband, firing a shot into John’s chest. Pain lanced through him; he stumbled backward before he caught his balance. Good, that was all John needed to know.

The man went rigid as acrid smoke began to pour out of him, his body shrivling as if it were being squeezed dry. The fumes moved into John as images of a life wasted on whores and boozed flashed through his mind.

It only lasted a few seconds before the man went limp. John tossed the body to the side, satiated.

And as he turned, the first thing he saw was Cassandra’s wide-eyed stare, looking right back at him.

Then she opened her mouth and screamed.