It had taken on a peculiar, surreal tint. Paranoia colored every thought. He perceived dark schemes and conspiracies behind every word, and a threat in every glance. It was similar in some respects to the way he’d often felt during his brief cocaine period. He steered his Camry into Stu Walker’s driveway and parked it by rote, like a preprogrammed robot. Even that thought fueled his paranoia. How much control, really, did he have over his own body and its actions? Sometimes very little, it seemed. Yet he had no choice but to keep moving forward. He entered Stu’s house through the front door and darkness enveloped him. It was as if the world had blinked out, as if he’d suddenly ceased to exist. There was something so comforting—so tempting—about that notion. Then his eyes adjusted to the twilight gloom penetrating the living room windows that overlooked the front yard. His gaze went immediately to the sofa Kristen had been sleeping on when he first glimpsed her. She wasn’t there.
