Page 5 of Night and Day
“Unless you have any contacts in the country? Anyone at all? You can use the phone.”
“I don’t know anyone from...” That’s when Mia remembered the name. She’d last emailed him maybe three months ago, requesting a shorter edit of an immigration video they’d produced for the Finnish government. Isaiah McCarthy, video editor. Some of her colleagues had thought it strange she commissioned an editor located so far away, but it made sense. He’d been cheap, talented, and fluent in English. The perfect contractor. Being in an opposite time zone, McCarthy could turn around urgent jobs overnight without charging extra. He’d been friendly, expressing gratitude for her clear notes and swift decision-making, always signing with ‘If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to ask’. His phrasing had felt over-the-top, but she’d chalked it up to cultural differences. Now those words floated back, giving her a nudge of courage.
“Isaiah McCarthy.”
The receptionist looked up in surprise. “And where is he located?”
Mia held her breath, trying to remember anything the editor might have mentioned. His emails had been short and to-the-point. She liked that he didn’t waste her time on idle chitchat. As an editor, he had an exceptional ability to condense time without losing the essence of the story, and decent file-naming conventions – none of that ‘final-final-final-v3’ shit. Mia rubbed her forehead, wading through useless trivia for something that could help her find the guy.
“Can you please google his name plus Maven Productions? That’s the name of his business, I think.”
The lady turned back to her computer. Over her shoulder, Mia saw a glimpse of a dark blue website that loaded on her screen. She recognised the simple logo. “That’s the one!” A ray of hope shot through her for the first time in hours.
“This company is in Hamilton,” the receptionist said as she opened another page with a map. “There’s a mobile number here for Isaiah McCarthy. You can use our phone to make a call.”
Mia’s stomach lurched. “Where’s Hamilton?”
The receptionist lifted a shoulder. “About ninety minutes South.”
That didn’t sound convenient, but it wasn’t impossible. Mia’s gaze flicked to the landline phone on the desk. Could she take the phone somewhere private to make the call? Probably not, judging by the way the receptionist’s eyes tracked her every movement. She’d just have to steel her nerves and ignore the woman.
Her breath quickening, Mia reached for the offered phone. Placing the receiver against her ear, she realised it was already ringing. The receptionist had dialled the phone number.
After a long moment, she heard a grunt.
“Hello? Is this Isaiah McCarthy?”
“Yeah.”
“Great! My name is Mia Forsman. I used to work at Lounatuuli Productions. We did some business with you I believe?”
“Yeah.”
Mia swallowed, panic tightening her throat. She couldn’t tell if the gruff voice was angry, indifferent, or belonged to someone who disliked phone calls. She forced herself to continue. “This isn’t a work phone call. I just didn’t know who else to call. I just arrived in New Zealand and got mugged... well, not mugged but robbed.” she sucked in a breath, her voice turning a bit squeaky. “Anyway, since I don’t have a passport or my credit card or anything, I’m in trouble right now. I was wondering if you could help. I’ll pay you back later, I promise!”
The line was quiet for a couple of seconds, long enough for Mia’s heartbeat to skyrocket. Then Isaiah cleared his throat. “Where are you?”
“At the police station in Auckland, in the city centre. I mean, I’m not under arrest or anything. I had to report the theft—”
“Stay there. Give me ... two hours.”
“Okay.” Mia’s voice trembled. “Thank you so much,” she continued, but realised Isaiah had already ended the call.
Mia handed back the phone and sunk into the office chair, feeling like she’d been punched in the stomach.
“Did you get hold of him?” The receptionist asked.
“Yeah, he’s coming here, I think.”
Mia took her guitar, thanked the receptionist, and snuck through the side door, settling into one of the seats in the waiting area. Its minimal padding and general discomfort reminded her of airports.
Okay. She’d done this before. She was an expert at hanging in airports by now. But without her phone, laptop, or even a book to read, her hands began to fidget. Mia sighed, wiggling on the seat to find a more comfortable position. Eventually, she lay across two seats, her arms wrapped around the guitar bag. Exhaustion from the interrupted night and the heightened excitement of the day flowed down her spine, making her limbs heavy. Maybe she could shut her eyes for a bit.
As her eyelids fluttered, Mia’s mind travelled to the moment of the robbery, and a shot of alarm threw her eyes open. No, she reminded herself, closing her eyes again wouldn’t bring in any new misfortunes. She was at the police station with nothing left to lose. Comforted by the almost liberating sense of emptiness, she rested her head against the crook of her arm and allowed herself to drift off.
