Chapter 5

If Monday was bad, Tuesday was worse.

Ben’s body was not happy waking up. He had no idea that cleaning was an Olympic sport. 

He lay starfished, cursing every decision he had made that ended up with his body feeling the way it did. 

With a groan, he slowly rolled out of bed, muscles screaming in protest. He used to think of himself as active. He had worked construction in college. He ran. He hiked.

At thirty-three, he still thought of himself as young.

Apparently, his knees disagreed. He rubbed an ache in his lower back. 

He decided to take it easier today: a nice, restful day, low stress.

He needed to spend a few hours on actual work, clean out the refrigerator, and sand the plaster patches on the walls. A trip to the grocery store was needed; he couldn't survive forever on granola bars. 

An hour later, Ben was standing in the middle of his living room, baffled and definitely not stress-free. 

He couldn’t find his laptop.

He checked the car. The kitchen. The bedroom. The spare rooms.

Ben had even called his brother to see if he had accidentally taken it. 

"What is wrong with me?" He asked the empty room again. He was starting to make a habit of talking to himself, but that was a problem for later. 

He retraced his steps from the previous day. Nothing.

That was how he ended up digging through boxes in the garage, sweat dripping down his back as irritation mounted. He had used his laptop the night before moving in. Logically, it couldn’t be boxed up, but he had searched everywhere else. 

His computer was expensive. He used it for work; it held all his documents. 

Hungry and annoyed, Ben stomped back into the house. He was going to get something to eat, and maybe after that, he would have the energy to search the house again. 

He stomped into his kitchen and froze.

On the kitchen island sat his computer bag.

His laptop was inside.

The same island he had checked. Multiple times. 

He stared at it for a long moment, then let out a breath and shrugged.

“Guess I missed it,” he muttered. He had been working hard. His body and mind were exhausted; it was to be expected, given that he was a little scatterbrained. 

But the explanation didn’t sit quite right.

He thought about it off and on throughout the day as he worked, and when he went to the store for food. 

How ridiculous he probably looked, throwing a little fit, looking for something that was in front of him the whole time. But deep down, he knew that he had searched the kitchen. His bag hadn't been there. 

He wasn't used to living in such a big house. It's what he told him self. Things were easy to find when misplaced in an apartment. It's much easier for him to lose things here. He would have to be more careful 

There wasn't another explanation for it, though. Things don't just move around the house on their own.