1 The Vacant Rowhouse

The rooms of the rowhouse were messy, in exactly the sense that Juliette disliked the most. Typical was the untidiness - the clothing strewn about the small bedroom and mail and classic novels stacked precariously on the living and dining room tables. Atypical were the collecting dust, piles of dishes, and spoiling milk. A dirty mess, a mess with the sweet yet unpleasant aroma of something not quite right. The mess of a tiny yet too expensive apartment whose resident had not been home in a long time.

Somewhere down 34th St, an empty rowhouse sat vacant, lamenting the absence of its owner like a gypsy whose love spent his nights seasons away. The rowhouse missed Juliette. Sunlight filtered through thin cotton curtains and threatened to fade the one velvet lounge she'd managed to fit into the living room. The walls creaked with the muffled sounds of the parties thrown by her neighbors, trust-funded students at Georgetown University with no cares besides fraternity matters. An antique chandelier ached to glow, yet waited impatiently for Juliette to return. The rowhouse wanted her back.

Juliette was in someone else's too-expensive apartment, in someone else's bed, under someone else's sheets and hands. A roll here, a tussle there. A reach here, a give there. Soon streetlights gave way to dawn, and his phone buzzed with a morning alarm. With a last kiss, he groaned, rolled off the bed, and disappeared into the shower.

This apartment was also empty, and also in exactly the sense that Juliette disliked the most. Young bachelors had no time to fill furniture and no inclination to decorate. A sofa, a huge tv, various video game implements. Bar paraphernalia. A rack for silk ties and leather belts. A wallet. Juliette could feel this apartment's eager, young attitude. It was ready, full of potential, full of underutilized spirit. Juliette stared at the ceiling for a minute before throwing off the sheets, shaking her short dark hair, and looking for her underwear.

The athletic, blonde twenty-something came out of the shower in a navy towel just as Juliette finished pulling on her t-shirt and black stovepipe trousers. She kissed him on the nose and then on the lips as she maneuvered past him to use his comb in his bathroom mirror. She smeared his toothpaste onto her molars and splashed water over her face, taking care to wipe last night's mascara away from under her eyes. He was still leaning in the doorframe.

"I had an amazing time with you," he said as he watched her.

She glanced at him in the mirror for a second before turning to him, grinning. "Glad to hear it."

He pulled her into a close embrace and he asked for her number. She gave it to him as she reached for her grandmother's fur-collared tan pea coat. Balancing herself on his admittedly muscular frame, she wiggled into her high heels and kissed him goodbye. He offered to get her a cab, but that would have required waiting for him to get dressed. Instead, she made her polite goodbyes and walked quickly out of the building.

It was the morning after, a time of day with which Juliette was quickly becoming more familiar than she would have liked. Mornings were bright, and chilly, and sidewalks were harder and more unfriendly than in the neon Friday night city lights. Now, judgmental overachievers jogged in luminescent colors with leashed dogs, and corner delis baked bread.

Juliette picked up a coffee and hailed a taxi. This one's apartment was in Dupont Circle, not even far from her own home in Georgetown, but she wasn't going home yet. She was going to pay a ridiculously expensive cab fare to take her into Virginia. The cab driver seemed to be Ethiopian, and he whistled along with the radio as he navigated the city. Juliette felt lucky that he didn't want to chat too much, as they sometimes do.

She pulled out her phone and called Valmont. "I know it's just past six, Val. I'm on my way. Yes, I have it for you; I picked it up last night. No, I'm not trying to be sassy. I'm just tired – you've had me out every night this week and I've got to sleep sometime soon or I'll lose my day job."

She waited for him to respond. She knew he was only being mean on the phone. When she got to his apartment, he'd be outright deadly.

The cab felt as tired as she was. The nylon cloth upholstery was burgundy and smelled faintly aged, and the heat blared out of the vents with a stale vigor. Wooden beads danced off of the Ethiopian's rearview mirror, and Juliette closed her eyes. The cab engulfed her; it was home for half an hour. It wanted her to sleep, and it coaxed with lull and lullaby. She was a baby, and it was her mother. She was a fawn, and it was her glen. But Juliette was too weary, mad at herself, and cynical to sleep. She only let the cab caress her reassuringly.

She knew what the cab was doing. The wooden rosary stared at her, smiled at her as it swayed with the movement of the automobile. It wanted conversion, acceptance, change, and alleluia.

She felt as empty and dark as her rowhouse. The cab crossed the Potomac. The water was gray, old, and didn't care about her or anyone else. It existed.

Juliette ran a finger over the object in her pocket, the object for which she'd been searching for a week straight. The object that could kill her, if Valmont wasn't happy. She laughed idiotically to herself as she thought about this object and the futility of the fact that one tiny thing could create such catastrophic effects. One tiny thing could save or end her.