Unaccounted For

A lover's quarrel turns into a woman's fight for her santiy

A

t the end of the week, he disappeared. He wasn't just gone, he was erased. Like the Egyptians scoured the memories of past pharaohs from the stones and sands of time, so everyone in the neighborhood seemed to have simultaneously and completely wiped any evidence of Vincent from their minds.

@-----@-----@

Dana was not in town that Friday night. She had gone to stay with her mother after "The First Big Fight." Her mother told her it was about time: six months with not even a single complaint was too long. Learning how to resolve differences was more important than learning to live together in harmony.

So Dana drove back the two hours back to Unity on Saturday morning, determined to reopen the wound, and work it till the end. She was hoping there might even be some of that fabled make-up sex in the end. She went up to the apartment, smiling, and put her key to the lock. It wouldn't fit.

Seriously?! she thought. He changed the fucking lock?! It wasn't that serious! She felt her anger returning from last night. It had been about Brian. The man had never grown up, and he brought the worst out in Vince. Was this Brian's suggestion for resolving a couple's fight?

Taking a deep breath and tightening her lips, she pounded on the door three times. "Vincent! I know—"

The door flew open under her hand. A dark-haired woman stood glaring at her. "What the hell are you doing? What do you want?"

Dana looked at the woman, literally dumbfounded. Vince had someone on the side? How long had this been going on right under her nose? Her anger flared hot. "Where's Vincent?!"

"I don't know a 'Vincent.'" She paused, and when Dana didn't move, she added: "You obviously have the wrong apartment; please leave!" She closed the door in Dana's face.

Dana went downstairs and wrote out an angry, hurt note on the back of the electric bill she had in her purse. She moved to the little slotted mailboxes to slide her message into Vince's mailbox. But there was no mailbox for Vince.

201 - Hansen, M
203 - Polinksy, P
205 - Jenkins, O
207 - Holcomb, L

She stared at the name tape on the box labeled 205: "Jenkins." Yesterday, it read "Gillings, V." She knew because the electric bill she was holding came out of that box. She turned over the bill and looked at the address. Only faintly could she read "20... ...ngs." It looked like the envelope had been soaked in water and then dried. As she stared at it, "...ngs" faded completely. She dropped the envelope like it was a snake.

She took out her phone, brought up her contacts, and pressed her speed-dial button for Vince. The phone made a humming noise, vibrated once as Vince's contact info appeared, then spontaneously shut off. She growled in frustration and turned it back on. When it restarted and she went back to her contacts, Vince's information was gone. Disquiet began to tickle the bottom of Dana's spine. Something was very, very wrong here.

She put her phone in her purse, glanced at the mailbox again, then crossed the street to the Starbucks where LaToya was on duty. Dana approached the counter and asked her friend, "LaToya, what the hell's going on, do you know? Where's Vince?"

"Who?"

"Oh please, LaToya, don't you fuck with me, too. I don't know what Vince told you, but it was over something stupid. He didn't have to change the locks, change the name on his mailbox, and ask all our friends to act like they don't know him. Come on!"

LaToya looked concerned. "What are you talkin' about, girl? Who are you talkin' about? Only Vince I know is Vince Vaughan, and that good looking glass o' white milk ain't showin' up around here. So— "

Dana felt the disquiet evolve into fear. She turned and ran outside, pulled out her phone and dialed Brian's number.

"Hello?"

"Where is he, dickhead?! This isn't funny!"

Boop-boop. Brian had hung up. She stared blankly at her phone.

"He's not here anymore, Dana." The voice came from right next to her, and she jumped, turning to see a tall man in a suit with incredibly blue eyes staring at her.

"Who—

"Neither are Wesley, Tom, Lyle. Soon Brian will be 'leaving,' too."

"'Who are Wesley... What?"

"See? Wesley and company have ceased to exist for you, which is good. Brian and Vincent should have been easy, too, except for your midnight run out of bounds to Mother.

Dana stood staring at him, uncomprehendingly.

"Some of you see too much, Dana. Some of you say too much. Vincent was one of the latter."

"He... I don't..."

"There's no sense asking you what he said to you; you probably wouldn't know anyway. But wheels are in motion now, Dana, and the shadows need to remain..." He grinned a wolfish grin. "Shadowy."

He looked up over Dana's shoulder, and she whirled, afraid of what might be there. But there was nothing, and when she turned back around, the man was gone, too.

She decided to go to the police, but her feet wouldn't seem to take her there. She wound up in Rosemound Park, instead, confused and frightened. Where had she been going? Police? What for?

Vincent... The word formed in her mind like an echo from a distant past.

She turned her steps once again toward the police station but found herself on a bench looking out over the river. She shivered as a tear rolled down her cheek; but she didn't know why she was crying, couldn't remember why she was crying.

She looked out over the smooth water drifting by, drifting by, quietly carrying away need, fear, and memory, smoothly drifting by... Dana dozed in the sun, utterly exhausted.

@-----@-----@

At the end of the week, she disappeared, and everyone in the neighborhood seemed to simultaneously and completely wipe any evidence of Dana from their minds...

NOTES: ▶︎

Word Count: 1,000
Submitted for "The Writer's Cramp" 
1/12/26
Prompt: Begin the story using the "At the end of the week, he disappeared;" must include genre Mystery