Page 49 of Call Out
With all that level headedness aside, I switch on my laptop and stare at the search engine on the monitor. I've got umpteen financial spreadsheets to update and a multitude of credentials to review for Wini’s replacement, yet I’m hesitant to proceed.
My pulse whips up a storm of flames and snow, thrumming to an idiotic pace of anxiety. It’s these moments where bad ideas come to life. I want to know. I don’t want to know. I’m edgy and insecure.
One hand lingers on the keys while the other grips the screen, ready to slam it shut before I do something erratic.
A teeny bit of research would equip me with foresight. That way I’ll be as cool as a cucumber, and he’ll wonder why he didn’t tell me sooner. I’ll ingest a few details, rationalize it, and act like I’m the most understanding woman on the planet.
I type his name into the search bar, then gradually remove each letter with a heavy tap on the delete button. This is lunacy. Stalking is wrong. So what if he broke a girl's heart? Fine. Move on, blondie, he’s mine now. With an inept flurry of capital and lowercase letters, my fingertips tippity tap, spelling out his name. In a split second, I bash enter and hold my breath.
A man, who clearly isn’t my Danny Rocco pops up. He’s wearing round glasses, with curly hair and a creepy smile. Who knew he had a name twin in Canada? That’s the only similarity. I giggle nervously, scrolling the list. Reams of random social media accounts take up most of the page until I get to the end and click on next.
www.richmondfirstlook.com
Man arrested for death of best friend, Jeff...
Earlier this morning, local man Danny Rocco, aged 20, arrested… [see more]
An icy chillfrosts my fingers. I straighten my spine and surrender to wild palpitations as I squeeze my eyes shut. I block out the statement only to hear his voice replay in my blurry memory.
My best friend, Jeff.
Danny killed his best friend?
I’m frozen. Shocked and speechless. Instead of drilling into the story, I recoil backwards and bury my face in my palms. All the scrambled lessons of my past rip through my mind.
No bikers.
No criminals.
No murderers.
What have I done?
Sunnyville was peaceful for the most part of my shift. The main emergency was a kid who jumped off the couch and banged his nuts on the coffee table. Poor little guy. His mother thought he’d need them amputated, which made the kid even more terrified.
When I got off work and rode home, I found my bed empty. Now, I’m parking outside Viv’s place to find out why she wasn’t waiting for me. I tried to call and got hit with her sing-song voice in a message instead. Perhaps she got stuck at Blossom Grove with an avalanche of paperwork. My stomach flutters. Tomorrow, I’ll bare my soul and hope she doesn’t slay it. I’ve struggled enough over the years. Not nearly as much as Jeff’s family. Once they heard the evidence for themselves, their anger towards me faded. Thinking about them welcomes back the memory.
“Chill the fuck out,Jeff! This is bullshit. It can wait until the morning, when you’re both sober.”
“I’ll fucking kill Ryker. He knows she’s mine.” Jeff leans over the handbrake and latches onto the steering wheel. “Stop the car!”
With one hand I manage to steer straight and shove Jeff away with the other. “Back the fuck up, Jeff. Let go of the damn wheel.”
“Turn the car around, Danny.” Alcohol wafts and his rage escalates. “NOW!”
In a flash, his other hand covers mine. “Get your hands off the fucking wheel. You’re acting like an ass.”
“I want you to TURN THE FUCKING CAR AROUND.” Jeff yanks down hard. The car veers. Headlights flash. His phone clatters. Metal crumples.
My phone buzzes,pulling me to safety. The void that follows the accident is both a blessing and a tragedy. It’s a barren landscape of deleted grey matter where the aftermath hides. Probably for my own sanity.
I stroll along the path towards Viv’s front door, charged with electric energy in anticipation of her sweet body waiting for me under the sheets. In preparation, I eagerly unzip my jacket and check the ID of my caller. Zoe Palmer.
“I hope you’re calling me from rehab?” I crouch down and tip the purple planter.
“Danny, I miss you,” she purrs.
I frown, distracted by the missing spare key. “Zoe, we’ve been through this a million times. Stop calling me, and get your life together.”
