Vera can not clean the kitchen again. The dining room is spotless, every speckle of dust has been coaxed from her home. She lies on the couch, meaningless images flashing across the TV. She didn't realize how much free time she would have without her work to keep her occupied. She sighs and gazes up at the ceiling. Perhaps she could learn how to make a new dish for dinner that night, she mulls. 

The lab is super boring without you, Oly texts.

I'm bored without the lab too, Vera replies.

Vera almost looks forward to the admin of getting her car back the next day. But when the next days rolls around, slowly and lazily, removing the clamp from her car tire turns out to be an easy process. She pays the fine and the car is freed of it's metal shackle within two hours. She's back at home by midday.

As she strolls through the front door and sees the time, she groans. How could only half of the day be gone? She can't possibly clean again, or face watching the nothing that was always on TV. Perhaps a trip to the shops to restock the pantry. Yes, she smiles to herself, that's a good plan.

On her way to the shop, she  wonders about who must have watched her walk to the forest, meet Davorin there and take pictures. Then send them into the press. It could be the old man Martin, but these days she seems to have multiple sets of eyes on her at all times. Who would even notice if she was working on the project to investigate the fire, anyway?

As if hearing her thoughts, a news headlines flashes into her field of vision as she drives. 

Investigation into the forest fire launched, one says.

Girl accused of starting fire sacked.

I was not sacked, she thinks with a scowl.

Vera sees the shop come into view, and the idea of facing the people in there feels overwhelming, so she drives on, heading for a shop a bit further towards the edge of town, where fewer people will know her. But instead of driving to a shop, she realizes that she has arrived at the cottages near the outside of town, often occupies by guests or passers-by. 

She parks the car in the street and looks around. Nobody appears to be in the area, no joggers on the streets or dog-walkers. It's quiet. Who was even around here to take pictures of her walking to the forest, she wonders.

Vera slips from the car and up the walkway to the front door. She knocks.

There is no answer. 

There is no shuffling noise, or any noise from within. She waits another minute or two before knocking again. Then a third time, even louder this time. Nothing.

Vera calls out Davorin's name and still hears nothing. Perhaps he is out on another jog. But her nerves are rattled after the photographs near the forest, she feels exposed out here in front of the door. She calls out again, gently she tries the door handle and is surprised when it opens. She steps quickly inside and closes the door, first taking a quick peek outside to see if anyone was watching. Nobody is around.

Vera turns, her back leaning against the closed door, hoping to see Davorin at the table, glass of rum in hand. But it's empty and quiet. 

Something feels strange this time, although that might just be because she is in here, uninvited. It's still within the place. It's so neat and uncluttered: a small table with chairs in a room with a single painting on the wall, no personal trinkets or sets of keys. No bag on the table or jacket slung over the chair.  

Once more, she calls out, 'Davorin?! It's Vera. Are you here?' She creases her brow, and ostentatiously, she walks into the little flat. When she peers into the kitchen she sees that it is perfectly neat and tidy, not a single dish in the sink, not a single mug on the counter.

It dawns on her then that the place is not occupied. Her heart sinks.

He left.

She walks around to the door on the other side of the kitchen. A small bedroom. The bed is made, no clothes to be seen. Vacant. 

Vera feels a loneliness envelop her. She has no way of contacting him. As she walks back to the front door, eager to be out before being caught, she notices something on the small table near the front door, usually for keys and handbags. She stops and peers at it, before picking it up. A piece of paper with rough writing on it.

You never needed the stone. Everything you need is already within you. 

Perhaps she is alive. Perhaps you just don't want to believe it. 

Believe. -Davy

On the table is a grey stone, a nothing stone, a stone from the forest. It's a symbol, she knows. It's as good a stone as she will ever need.

Vera grips the stone in her hand and sighs. He didn't say goodbye.

She turns and gazes at the small, neat space. What visitor will occupy it next?