![]() I wonder if, like me, she drizzled her pies with their signature hot honey. ![]() I find Christina celebrating a friend’s birthday in Mexico in 2020, ringing in New Year’s 2019 in Flatbush, at a Friendsgiving in Williamsburg in 2018. I click on the tagged friends and scroll through their photos too, searching for her. Lee is in several, often surrounded by friends. I look up the director-on Facebook, we have six mutual friends. She had produced a documentary about a street rapper in New Orleans. Her death had grabbed the headlines, but what of her life? I scour the Internet for clues. While the media lingered on these grisly details, I yearned to see more of Lee than just her last walk home. Many loops later, I can no longer feel my insides. But the footage is defiant it refuses to change. Each time she reappears on a new screen, my heart catches. I watch it over and over again, hoping for a different ending: A passerby appears on Camera 1 Lee shuts the door behind her on Camera 2 she hears the footsteps on Camera 3-and escapes. The footage is bathed in purple, giving it the aura of a paranormal horror movie. Through it all, Camera 4 is fixed on the empty street, bearing witness and void of witnesses. Unsuspecting, she walks out of camera range. Lee then appears on Camera 3, walking toward her apartment. Before the door fully shuts, the figure vanishes from Camera 1 and appears on Camera 2, slipping in behind her. Camera 2 then shows her walking through the building door. A shadowy figure shuffles up behind her, then hovers a few feet back. Camera 1 shows a woman walking up to the building and then pausing, likely to fish for keys. The paper stitched together grainy clips from her building’s four cameras and put them side by side. The New York Post had obtained security camera footage from the night of Lee’s death.
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