Call Out

by L. B. Clark

  “It’s not like there’s some law that says you can’t fall in love after 30.”

  Brian smiled. “Lucky for me.” The smile faded, and I knew he was back to worrying about Dylan.

  “So he’s running from his magic because it’s screwed up his life?”

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. “That’s the story the way he tells it. There might me more to it, though. I think there’s something he’s keeping from us, but I could be wrong.”

  That there might be other considerations with this whole magic thing was something I hadn’t taken into account.

  “What London’s doing...is it dangerous?” I asked

  Brian brought his arms down to cross them tightly across his chest. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

  That wasn’t the answer I’d expected, and it wasn’t one I wanted to hear. We didn’t need anything – or anyone – else to worry about.

  “He’s made his decision, Brian,” I said. It was the only argument I had. “You didn’t ask him to do any of this. He said he was on his way to Orlando before you ever told him about Dylan.”

  “He was,” Brian admitted. “But if he hadn’t been, I’d have asked him to come. I’d have asked him to tell me if she was okay.”

  I laid my hand on his arm. “You wouldn’t have had to ask. He wouldn’t have let you ask, because he wouldn’t want you to feel like you do right now.”

  I didn’t know London well enough to say this for sure, but it was how things worked with me and Dylan, and I was willing to bet the same was true for London and Brian. It must have been, because Brian sighed and gave me a nod.

  “You’re right. Doesn’t make me feel any better, but you’re right.”

  “I think the only thing that’ll make any of us feel better is finding Dylan.” My stomach growled, and I added, “And maybe some food.”

  Brian managed a smile as he pushed away from the fence.

  “And you really need to learn your right from your left,” I added. “We’re supposed to be going the other way.”

  We backtracked, me in the lead and Brian trailing after, each wrapped in our own thoughts. We crossed Elizabeth, now headed in the right direction, and then a second street. We neared another intersection, and this one looked familiar. I glanced at the street sign, and then took Brian’s hand. We had reached Duval Street, the main drag of the tourist area and the street where we had spent that one amazing day with Dylan.

  I knew if we turned either direction on Duval that we’d find plenty of places to eat, but I kept walking. I wanted to avoid stirring up any more memories than necessary, and I was sure Brian felt the same way. I guess I was right, because he kept his head down as we crossed Duval, trying not to notice, not to remember.

  A little farther down the street, we came across a few restaurants. I found one advertising conch fritters and decided it would do. I got my fritters and Ashe’s Cuban sandwich, and Brian ordered for himself and London. With the amazing smells coming from the carry-out bag, the walk back to Ashe’s seemed ten times as long as the walk down had been.

  The rumbly in my tumbly had gone from embarrassing to annoying to damned near deafening by the time we got back to Ashe’s house. Brian had insisted on carrying everything – enormous food bag in one hand and drink carrier in the other – so that left me to knock on the door. London answered it. That perfect peaches-and-cream complexion was now more the color of the milk at the bottom of a bowl of Boo Berry cereal.

  I barely had time to ask, “Are you okay,” before he had me wrapped in his arms. He cradled my head against his chest, and I could hear his heart racing. I figured it was a good thing I was first through the door. I was pretty sure London would have reacted the same way regardless, and his clinging to Brian like this would have been a little awkward even for them.

  “Yup. Peachy,” he said, but I wasn’t buying it.

  “You don’t lie worth a shit,” Brian told him. “Never have.”

  “Don’t want to talk about it,” London said, and that I believed.

  I stepped back so I could see London’s face, and he let go of me. He looked embarrassed. Rubbing the back of his neck, he took a couple of deep breaths.

  “I...I’m sorry,” he said. “I shouldn’t have grabbed you like that.”

  “It’s okay,” I assured him. “I’m okay. You didn’t hurt me, or scare me, or piss me off. You are kind of worrying me though.”

  London nodded and rubbed his temple like he had a headache. I saw his hand shake as he reached out to brace himself against the doorframe. Brian looked as worried as I was.

  Ashe sauntered into the living room, hands in his pockets. He looked at the tableau in the doorway and sighed. “In or out,” he said. “Pick one. You’re letting out the bought air.”

  Brian and I looked at each other, not at all sure what to do. Ashe walked up to us and clapped a hand on London’s shoulder. He was tall enough that it wasn’t an awkward gesture.

  “Shake it off, Stretch,” he said. His voice held a hint of something I hadn’t expected to hear: compassion. He stepped back and gestured for us to walk past. “Kitchen is straight through there,” he said, pointing toward and open doorway. “We’ll be along in a minute.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Brian and I went through to the kitchen. A breakfast table stood on one side of the small, neat room. Brian set down the food and drinks and then turned to me.

  “Any idea what the hell that was all about?” he asked me.

  I just shook my head.

  “Shrinks call it cognitive dissonance,” Ashe said as he stepped into the kitchen. “Big fancy way of saying his intuition is at war with what society says is acceptable. He’ll be okay.”

  I watched as Ashe moved around the small space, fetching plates and forks and coasters for our meal. We could have eaten straight from the carry-out containers, but it was Ashe’s house, and his dishes. If he wanted everything plated up, who was I to argue? I helped him set the table, and by the time we were done London had joined us. He looked a little more stable.

  The four of us sat down, and Ashe surprised me again by saying grace before we all dug in. London concentrated on his food, his face grim. His hands were steady now, though, and he’d gotten some of his color back.

  I turned my attention to my own food. I savored every bite of my fritters so I could brag to Dylan later, when we had her back safe and sound. I imagined myself telling her that she didn’t have to scare us all half to death just to get me back to Key West. She’d call me a bitch, and I’ll call her a hooker, and we’d both be really damned grateful to be there, in that moment.

  Ashe’s voice drew me out of my imaginings. He talked a little about Key West, a little about the callous destruction of the Everglades, a little about his restored El Camino. Drifting from topic to topic like a rubber raft at high tide, he filled up the awkward silence. And he never once mentioned magic.

  Chapter Seven

  After lunch – or breakfast, for most of us – Brian and I helped Ashe clear the table. None of us would let London help. Ashe insisted we leave the actual cleaning up for him to take care of later. He made coffee, which Brian and I both turned down. London just sat with his mug cradled in his hands, staring into it as if it held the answers to the great mysteries of life.

  Ashe slid back into his chair, his own steaming cup of coffee in hand. “You ready for this?” he asked.

  London shook his head but said, “As ready as I’ll ever be.” He looked up, first at Brian and then at me. “I think...I don’t want you guys here for this.”

  I didn’t know what ‘this’ was or how long it might take, but I didn’t like the idea of our little group being separated for too long. I was still trying to come up with a reasonable response when Brian asked, “Where is it we’re supposed to go, exactly?” I’d never seen Brian angry, but I could tell he was headed that way in a hurry.

  London’s eyes went wide, and I wondered if he’d ever been on Brian’s bad side before. But then Lon
don said, “That’s not what I meant.”

  Color me confused. “What’s not what you meant?”

  “Brian thinks I wanted you guys to go back to Orlando without me. But that’s...no. No, we came here together for a reason.”

  “Oh.” Sparkling wit, that’s me.

  I could almost see the anger bleed out of Brian. He sighed deeply and slumped in his chair. “I guess the question still stands,” he said.

  “If you weren’t the broken-hearted boyfriend,” Ashe said, “I’d offer you two the use of my guest room. I imagine that’d keep you both out of our hair for...at least an hour.”

  Some girls might be offended by a statement like that, but I recognized it for what it was: a combination distraction tactic and off-hand compliment. I smiled at him. “But he is,” I said. “The broken-hearted boyfriend, I mean. So...any other suggestions?”

  Ashe surprised me yet again. He smiled back at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I can think of a fair few,” he said.

  “Any that aren’t prurient?”

  Ashe laughed. “Prurient. Are you trying to sound like a college textbook or a trashy romance novel?” He shook his head. “What I suggest is you two make yourselves at home. Living room couches are comfortable, TV setup is self-explanatory, and the bathroom is the first door on your right down the hall. I have a shop set up out back that’ll suit me and Stretch.”

  London left the room, coming back just a moment later with Dylan’s dress. He followed Ashe out the kitchen door to the back yard, and Brian and I wandered into the living room. Brian settled in on the sofa, his guy instincts leading him straight to the remote control. I kicked off my Converse and curled up in a battered recliner, hoping to be able to rest for a while if not sleep. I closed my eyes and listened to small snippets of sound from the TV as Brian flicked through the channels. Though it wasn’t the most soothing sound in the world, I could mostly ignore it. But when Brian settled on a channel, the sounds weren’t ones I could ignore.

  There is nothing – and I mean nothing – quite as annoying as sneakers squeaking on a basketball court. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard.

  I know how most guys are about sports. Sports and porn, actually. They can watch them no matter what. They don’t have to be interested in who wins – or in getting off. It’s the male equivalent of a soap opera.

  I can’t stand those either.

  I listened to the godawful squeaking for as long as I could stand it, trying to think of a polite way to ask him to change the channel or mute the sound. Nothing came to me.

  “Brian, please, please, pretty please...make it stop.”

  He looked up me like I’d spoken Greek.

  “Mute the damned TV,” I explained.

  He muted the damned TV and set the remote on the coffee table. Sighing, he ran his hands through his hair. I noticed he did that a lot, and without making a mess out of his hair. If I picked up that habit, I’d end up looking like Einstein.

  “This is killing me,” Brian said. “The sitting. Waiting. Not being able to do a damn thing.” He ran his hands up and down his thighs, rubbing them hard against his faded jeans. “I need to be doing something. Anything. I need to not feel so fucking useless.”

  My cell rang, saving me from saying something trite and not at all helpful. I dug the phone out of my pocket and looked at the caller ID.

  “My brother,” I said to Brian. I hit the talk button on my phone and said, “I told you’d I’d call you back. Hang on a minute.”

  I struggled up out of the recliner and headed outside to talk to Alex. This conversation could get ugly, and I’d rather there were no witnesses.

  “Okay,” I said as I shut the door. “Now, do you want to rant at me, or do you want me to tell you what’s going on?”

  Alex was quiet for so long that I thought the call had dropped. Maybe he was trying to decide which option he preferred. I don’t really know.

  “Tell me what’s going on,” he said at last.

  I appreciated Alex’s effort to contain his temper. I knew he had to be worried as well as pissed off. I don’t know that I could have been as calm in his place.

  “Okay, you know I got a call while I was at the park. Your first hysterical voicemail said that Scott called you when he couldn’t get in touch with me, told you’d I’d just wandered off in the middle of the battle game.”

  “Right.”

  One syllable answers. That couldn’t be good. “It was Brian that called me.”

  “Dylan’s hot-as-hell boyfriend Brian?”

  “Yeah. That one.” I took a deep breath and let it out in a sigh. “He called to ask me if I’d heard from Dylan.”

  “You’re killing me, Lizard. Just get to the point.”

  I wanted to hit something. If I jumped straight into the middle of the story, Alex would freak. And, apparently, if I didn’t he’d bitch. Great. Just great.

  “Fine. But remember I tried to break this to you gently.”

  “Break what....” Alex started to ask. I cut him off.

  “Dylan’s missing. Brian and I haven’t heard from her since she left for the airport....god was that only yesterday morning? Shit.”

  “Whoa, what do you mean Dylan’s missing? And why am I just now hearing about it?”

  “I didn’t tell you sooner because I knew you’d want to come out here with me, and there’s no point. You’ve got work, and Blas wouldn’t like it much if you just up and left. Besides, it isn’t like there’s anything you can do that I can’t.”

  “Blas would understand,” Alex argued.

  “No, Blas would put up with it because he loves you, but he wouldn’t understand. He’s practical, like me. He’d see right off that you can’t really do anything, and he wouldn’t understand you running off to Orlando just to sit around and wait, not when you can sit around and wait right where you are.”

  “Point,” Alex conceded.

  “I can’t file a missing persons report from here, but I’m working with an investigator,” I said, bending the truth until it screamed for mercy. I was so not going to try to explain the magic thing. “And believe me when I tell you that being out here does not make me feel any more useful.”

  Alex stayed silent for a moment, and I switched the phone to my other ear, waiting.

  “Do you think Brian has anything to do with it?”

  I laughed, more out of surprise than amusement. “This isn’t a Lifetime movie-of-the-week, Alex. The boyfriend isn’t the bad guy this time.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure. Brian loves her, Alex. Really loves her. This is killing him.”

  “I had to ask, but I trust your judgment. On this, anyway.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I said.

  “Anytime,” Alex said. And then, “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Yeah, there is. I know it’s asking a lot, but if you can get up to Dallas and file that missing persons report, that’d be good.”

  Alex was quiet for a moment, considering. “You’re right about me not really being able to just up and run off. My boss, not the most caring guy in the world. I might not be able to get away for a few days.”

  “Like I said, we’re working on it from this end. I just don’t want to leave any bases uncovered. If you can’t make the trip, I understand that. And if it has to wait a few days, then it just has to wait a few days.” I sighed. “I never thought I’d say this, but I really wish I knew how to get in touch with Carly. Or their parents.”

  “There’s this amazing thing called the internet. Let’s you look up phone numbers.”

  I smiled and shook my head, even though Alex couldn’t see it. “That’d be swell if the Connellys had a published number. Or Dylan’s sister had a landline.”

  “Shit. Didn’t think about that.”

  “Just do what you can, Alex. We’ll find her.” I wasn’t even sure I believed that, but I knew he needed to hear it. “I know one thing - when this is all over,
when we find Dylan and we’re all home safe and sound, I’m going to look into getting that whole GPS cell-phone tracking thing on my phone.”

  “Good idea. Of course, it won’t do much good if you get separated from the phone.”

  “Maybe we all need...subdural GPS chips or something.” No, I’m not a geek at all.

  Alex laughed. “Technology isn’t that advanced yet.”

  “And only you would know that.”

  I could hear something, and someone, in the background on Alex’s end. I heard Alex’s muffled response, and then he said to me, “Blas is home. I’m gonna go. Keep me in the loop, dammit.”

  “I will, Alex. I promise.” I would, as much as I could.

  “Later, Lizard.”

  “Bye, Alley Cat.” I hung up before he could yell at me. He hated that nickname even more than I hated ‘Lizard.’

  I dialed Dylan’s cell again, not expecting or getting any answer, before shoving my phone in my back pocket and letting myself back into the house. Brian paced around the living room, cell phone pressed to his ear. I hesitated, wondering if I should give him some privacy, but he motioned me in. I curled up on one end of the sofa and watched him.

  “Yeah,” he said, pacing toward the front door. And then, “No, you don’t need to do that. I’m okay.” He listened again as he turned to walk back toward the kitchen , and then said, “I hope not. I hope....yeah, exactly.”

  He half-sat, half-leaned on the arm of the couch. “Thanks, Adrian....I will. You don’t have to....okay, I’ll see you then....you, too. Bye.” He hit a button on the phone, then hit a few more and held it to his ear again. From the look that crossed his face, I guessed that he’d tried Dylan’s cell again, too. He slid from his perch on the sofa’s arm to slouch in its corner.

  “Adrian called,” he said.

  “I gathered.”

  He nodded. “He wanted to see how things were going with Dylan. I never thought to call and tell him what’s going on.”

  “Oh, wow. I’m sorry.”

  He laid his arm across the back of the sofa, his hand palm up. I accepted the offer, shifting a bit so I could lay my hand in his.