Ruthless Creatures by J.T. Geissinger

run a hand over my hair, and try to pretend like I’m a
functioning adult.
When I get to the front door and look through the
peephole, there’s a young guy I don’t recognize standing there
with a white envelope in his hand.
When I open up, he says, “Natalie Peterson?”
“That’s me.”
“Hi. I’m Josh Harris. My dad owns the Thornwood
Apartments over on Lakeshore.”
I freeze. I stop breathing. My blood turns to ice.
David was living at the Thornwood when he disappeared.
I manage to rasp, “Yes?”
“We did some big renovations recently—the roof, lots of
interior work. Last winter was brutal—”
“And?” I interrupt, my voice climbing.
“And we found this.” Josh holds up the envelope.
Wild-eyed and terrified, I stare at it like it contains a bomb.
He looks sheepish. “Uh, my dad told me what happened.
To you. I wasn’t living here then. I was with my mom in
Denver. My parents are divorced, but, uh…”
Obviously uncomfortable, he clears his throat. “Anyway,
this envelope was caught between the wall and the back of the
mailboxes in the lobby. They’re the kind that open from the
front, you know?”
He’s waiting for me to say something, but I’ve lost the
power of speech.
I see my name and address on the front of the envelope.
It’s David’s handwriting.
I think I’m going to throw up.
“We’re not sure what happened. I mean, the outgoing box
was pretty tweaked. There was a gap on one side where it had
rusted, and I guess…I guess this just fell through the crack and