If you were deranged, if you were mindless enough to put all your efforts in one place, on one thing, it was only a matter of time before that thing would turn up missing. Peter sat alone in the kitchen with a beer in his hand. It was his second beer, and he tried not to drink it all at once. He had come home from work and made dinner; he had eaten dinner, he had cleaned up after dinner and put Gwen’s untouched plate in the fridge, and she was still not home. He paced in a line from the bedroom to the kitchen. He crushed the beer can in his hand. It was nine o’clock before he allowed himself to walk down the narrow stairs that led to Iva’s apartment and knock on the door. Iva answered in a bathrobe. Her dark hair was gathered into a spout at the top of her head, and she was yelling in what he assumed to be Czech into a cell phone. Immediately, she seemed older than he first had guessed. He didn’t know why he’d pegged her as Gwen’s age. She opened the door wider for him to step inside.
What do You think about The Night Gwen Stacy Died?
