by Joy Fielding
“Who?”
Charley hung up the phone. Clearly she’d called the wrong number. “Shit. What’s the matter with you?” She tried her number again, this time with a deliberateness that would have been comical in other circumstances. The phone rang four times before being transferred to voice mail.
This is Charley Webb, her own voice informed her. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now, but if you’ll leave your name, phone number, and a short message, I’ll get back to you as soon as I can.
“Mom, it’s me,” Charley said. “Where are you? I’m at Alex’s. His number is…” What the hell was his number? She had no idea. “You’ll have to look it up. Alex Prescott in Palm Beach Gardens. Call me.” She disconnected the line, then dropped the phone to the floor, where it bounced underneath the coffee table. Who was she kidding? Her mother would never figure out how to access her messages. Maybe Bram would have the sense to figure it out. Although Bram had never been known for his good sense, she thought, and might have laughed had it not been for the heaviness in her head. Flu or no flu, she was thinking as her eyes fluttered to a close, one thing was certain: she’d never eat blueberry pancakes again. An instant later she was asleep.
She dreamed she was in a china store, shopping for teacups. “I’m a collector,” she told the saleswoman in the long peasant skirt.
“In that case,” the woman told her, “you should see these.” She led Charley into a back room filled with giant cups in a variety of pastel colors.
Glen McLaren was sitting in the cup closest to the door.
“Glen!” Charley exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”
He laughed. “It’s a small world.”
Which was when the fire alarm sounded.
“You need to get out of here,” Glen said as the ringing grew louder and more insistent.
Charley opened her eyes. The ringing continued. The phone, she realized, taking a deep breath and trying to locate it, her fingers groping along the floor. How long had she been asleep this time? She noticed the watch on her wrist as she reached under the coffee table, and tried to figure out what it said. It was either ten minutes after eleven or five minutes to two, she decided, unable to detect any difference between the small hand and the large. She grabbed the phone, pressing one button after another before stumbling onto the right one. “Hello?” she whispered into the receiver as the connection was made. “Mom, is that you?”
You have a collect call from… the voice announced as the recording paused for caller identification.
“Jill Rohmer,” a voice pronounced clearly.
Will you accept the charges? the recording continued.
“What?” Charley shouted. What was happening?
Will you accept the charges? the recording repeated, as if it understood.
Charley fought to regain control of her senses. Could Jill Rohmer really be on the other end of the line? Surely she was still dreaming. Surely this was all part of a prolonged nightmare that had started with a batch of blueberry pancakes and was ending with a collect call from a killer. But whatever it was, reality or illusion, Charley understood she had no choice but to see it through to its conclusion. “Yes,” she heard herself say. “I’ll accept the charges.”
There was a second of silence, and then Jill’s voice. “Alex?”
“Jill,” Charley said. “Is something wrong?”
Another silence. “Charley?”
“Yes. Is something…?”
“What are you doing there? I thought you were going to Disney World.”
“I’m not feeling very well.”
“What are you doing at Alex’s apartment?”
“It’s a long story,” Charley said, hoping she wouldn’t have to tell it.
“I’ve got lots of time,” Jill said, as if reading her thoughts.
Charley closed her eyes, fought the urge to succumb to unconsciousness. She had neither the strength nor energy required to deal with Jill. “Look, Alex isn’t here right now.”
“I need to speak to him. They’re threatening to cut back on my privileges. Where is he?”
“I don’t know. Can I give him a message?”
“What—now you’re his secretary?” Jill asked.
“I’ll tell him you called.”
“I’ll tell him myself. He’s my lawyer.”
“I’m sorry, Jill. I’m just not up for this conversation right now.”
“You’re not up for it?” Jill repeated angrily. “What is this? I’m being dismissed?”
“I don’t feel very well.”
“What are you up for, pray tell?”
“Good-bye, Jill.”
“Are you up for finding out who Jack is?”
Charley leaned forward, pressed the receiver tightly to her ear. “What?”
“Feeling better all of a sudden, are we?”
“Enough, Jill. I’m not in the mood for your games.”
“Really? You’re not in the mood?”
“I told you, I don’t feel well.”
“How do you feel exactly? Like you got run over by a truck? Like your insides are on fire?” She held on to the last word just long enough to get Charley’s full attention. “Like you had too many blueberry pancakes for breakfast?”
There was a loud swishing sound, as if all the air in the room had just been sucked out. Charley realized it was the sound of her body, gasping for breath. “What did you say?”
“Those pancakes are a real killer, aren’t they?” Jill continued, flippantly. “I try to avoid them myself. All those calories. It’s hardly worth it.”
“How did you know I had pancakes?”
“How do you think I know? It’s the only thing he can make, for God’s sake. I tried to tell him he should expand his horizons, but what can you do? The man may hate his mama, but he sure loves his Aunt Jemima.”
The words bounced painfully from one side of Charley’s brain to the other, refusing to settle down long enough to make sense. “What are you talking about?”
“Oh, come on, Charley. Do I really have to spell it out for you?”
“Yes. You really do,” Charley said forcefully. “You need to spell it out.”
“Well, let’s see then. How do I spell Jack? Oh, I know: B…R…A…M.”
Charley pushed herself to her feet as the letters smacked her right between the eyes, threatening to knock her back to the floor. “I don’t believe you.”
“What is it you don’t believe, Charley? That Bram is Jack, or that you’re not nearly as smart as you like to think you are? Who do you think suggested I contact you in the first place? You think it was a coincidence that I just happened to know the brother of the woman I asked to write my story? That’s ‘know’ in the very biblical sense of the word, by the way.”
“You’re lying,” Charley protested weakly.
“Poor, stupid little Charley, playing house with my attorney, while her brother is…where? Wait, let me guess. He’s in Disney World. Isn’t that right? And he’s not alone, is he? He’s with your children.” She snickered, an obscene sound emanating from somewhere low in her throat.
“You’re crazy.”
“And you’re such a fool. You deserve whatever happens.” The sneer in Jill’s voice was audible. “You won’t forget to tell Alex I called, will you? Oh, and happy birthday, Charley. Many happy returns of the day.”
The line went dead in Charley’s hand.
“Jill! Jill!” Charley screamed. Then, “Noooooo! It can’t be. It can’t be.” Her body began convulsing in a series of painful dry heaves, folding in on itself as she fell back against the sofa, frantically pressing in the numbers on the portable phone. “Please, Mom. Pick up. Pick up the phone,” she yelled as once again her own voice reached her ears.
This is Charley Webb. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now…
Charley pushed the button to disconnect, located the REDIAL button, and jabbed at it repeatedly. “Pick up the phone,” she commanded. “Pick up
the damn phone.”
This is Charley Webb…
Charley threw the phone across the room, only to watch it bounce against the wall and fall into Alex’s collection of classic old movies, sending several spinning across the floor. It was at that moment she heard someone calling her name.
“Charley,” the voice was yelling from the outside corridor. “What’s going on in there? Are you all right?” The door opened and Alex rushed inside, a small bag of groceries in his arms. He promptly dropped the bag to the floor and ran to Charley’s side. “What happened? I could hear you screaming all the way down the hall.”
“It’s Bram!” Charley shouted, clutching the sides of his arms in an effort to stay upright.
“What?” Alex’s eyes flew across the room. “Where?”
“He’s got my kids!”
“I don’t understand. Of course he’s got the kids.”
“He’s Jack!”
“What are you talking about?”
“My brother. He’s Jack! He’s Jack!” Charley started sobbing.
Alex guided her back to the sofa, sat down beside her. “Charley, calm down. You’re not making any sense.”
“We’ve got to call the police.”
“We will,” Alex said soothingly. “Just as soon as you tell me what’s going on.”
“Jill called.”
“Jill called here? Why?”
“She wanted to talk to you.”
“About what?”
“Something about taking away her privileges,” Charley said impatiently. “I don’t know. All I know is that she told me that my brother is Jack.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Alex began shaking his head from side to side, as if Charley were speaking a language he didn’t comprehend. “Okay, start again. You’re going to have to talk me through this word for word.”
“There isn’t time. We have to call the police.”
“When did Jill call?”
“A few minutes ago.” Charley looked at her watch, the numbers dancing in front of her eyes, refusing to stand still. “I think.”
“You think?”
“I was in bed. The phone rang,” Charley began, then stopped. “No, that’s not right. I was in bed. Something woke me up. You weren’t there…”
“I went to get us some chicken soup. I thought I’d be back before you woke up.”
“I got out of bed,” Charley continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I tried to find the phone….”
“I moved it so it wouldn’t disturb you.”
“…I threw up in the bathroom.”
Alex touched her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Then I came in here, found the phone, tried calling my mother. But she wasn’t picking up. I think I fell asleep again. I don’t know for how long. What time is it?”
“Almost noon.”
“Oh, God. I must have fallen asleep. The phone woke me up. It was Jill.”
“You’re sure?” Alex questioned. “You’re sure you weren’t dreaming?”
“I’m not sure,” Charley answered honestly. Had it been a dream? “I don’t know. I don’t know.”
“Okay. What exactly did Jill say to you?”
Charley recounted the conversation to the best of her abilities.
Alex listened carefully, then jumped to his feet, looking anxiously around the room. “Where’d you put the phone?”
“I don’t know. I threw it….”
Alex was already on the other side of the room, his eyes traveling back and forth along the floor. He finally located the phone against the far wall.
“What are you doing?” Charley asked, watching him.
“Calling the state police.”
“I don’t understand. If you think I was dreaming….”
“Nobody’s dreams make that much sense,” he said simply.
Charley burst into tears.
“Hello? Hello? Yes. I need to alert the police in Kissimee,” Alex said forcefully. “What? Yes, all right. Please hurry.” He put his hand over the receiver. “They’re trying to connect me to the right people.” He started to pace. “What really pisses me off is that I didn’t make the connection before. Of course it was no coincidence she picked you…. Hello, hello? Yes, this is an emergency. I need to get ahold of the police in Kissimee…. My name? Alex Prescott. I’m an attorney…. Yes, Prescott. Two t’s. Look. My girlfriend’s children are in danger. They’re with her brother, and we have reason to believe that…. No, don’t put me on hold. Shit! They have me on hold again.”
“Oh, no. What do we do?” Charley tried to stand up, but her knees refused to hold her weight, and she fell back down again.
“You take deep breaths and try to clear your head. As soon as you feel strong enough, you go into the bedroom and get my cell phone out of my briefcase. Then you keep trying to reach your mother. Hello? Hello? For Christ’s sake, where the hell are these people?”
Charley took a succession of deep breaths, trying to reassure herself that everything would be all right. Alex was here now. And there was still a chance, however slim, that this whole stupid day was just a nightmare of epic proportions. She’d wake up to find the kids asleep in their beds, her mother and Alex on their way over, and her brother…her brother making blueberry pancakes in the kitchen.
The man may hate his mama, but he sure loves his Aunt Jemima.
“This can’t be happening.”
“It’ll be all right, Charley,” Alex assured her. “I promise you everything will be all right.”
Charley nodded, Alex’s strength pushing her off the sofa and out of the living room. By the time she reached the bedroom, she was out of breath and sweating profusely, and she had to grab the wall for support. It took her a minute to remember why she was there, another minute to locate Alex’s briefcase on the floor beside his desk, and yet another minute to figure out how to open it. The phone was immediately visible on top of a bunch of official-looking papers, and she grabbed for it, the motion sending the contents of the briefcase flying out of her hands, the official-looking papers scattering like so much debris. “Oh, God. What am I doing?” She quickly tapped in the number of her cell phone. “Please pick up. Please pick up,” she prayed, falling to her knees and trying to corral Alex’s papers inside her shaking hands.
This is Charley Webb. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now…
“No! No!”
Alex came running into the room, pulled her to her feet. “Charley, what are you doing?”
“I spilled all your papers….”
“It doesn’t matter. None of that matters.”
“Nobody’s answering my phone.”
He sat her down on the bed. “Okay, listen to me. Are you listening to me?”
Charley nodded, although his words were blurry and indistinct, as if he were underwater.
“I talked to the state police. They promised to send somebody to the motel in Kissimee.”
“Thank God,” she sighed before her panic returned. “What if they’re not there?”
“Then they’ll turn Disney World inside out. I’m going to drive up there now and meet with them….”
“I’ll come with you.” Charley tried to stand up.
“You’re staying put. You can barely move.”
“What about you? You were sick, too.”
“Not half as sick as you are.”
“Oh, God, Alex. If he hurts my children….”
“He won’t.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” He kissed her. “Now I’m going, and I’m taking my cell phone so that you can contact me as soon as you reach your mother.”
“I don’t know your number.”
“I’ll write it down. Okay? I’ll leave the number on the coffee table in the living room. You keep calling your mother, and as soon as you reach her, you call me. Have you got that? Charley, I need you to focus. Have you got that?”
“I’ll keep calling my mother.”
“And y
ou’ll phone me as soon as you reach her.”
“I’ll phone you as soon as I reach her.”
“I’ll leave the number on the coffee table,” he reiterated.
“You’ll call me as soon as you get there?” she pleaded.
“I’ll call you as soon as I get there.”
She followed him back into the living room, watched as he jotted the number for his cell phone on a piece of paper and left it on the coffee table.
“I’m leaving it right here,” he told her, moving toward the door. “You keep trying to reach your mother.”
She nodded, hanging on to the wall and crying so hard she could hardly see him anymore.
He opened the door, then hesitated, turned back. “You’ll be all right? Maybe I should take you to the hospital.”
“No. No hospital. Not until I know the kids are safe.”
“Promise me you’ll call 911 if you start to feel worse.”
“I promise.”
“You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure. Please hurry.”
They stared at each other for several more seconds. Charley waited until Alex was gone before collapsing to the floor.
CHAPTER 34
For the next hour, the only part of Charley that moved was the thumb of her right hand as it pressed, and then re-pressed, over and over again, the REDIAL button on the phone.
Press. Ring.
This is Charley Webb. I’m sorry I can’t take your call right now…
Press. Ring.
This is Charley Webb. I’m sorry…
Press. Ring.
This is Charley Webb…
Press. Ring.
This is…
“Oh, God,” Charley cried, her head lolling from side to side. She had to get up. She couldn’t just sit on the floor forever. She should get up, wash her face, brush her hair, be ready in case Alex called and she had to leave in a hurry.
Press. Ring.
This is Charley Webb…
Slowly, carefully, Charley finally managed to push herself into a standing position, although she had to lean against the wall for support.
Press. Ring.
This is Charley Webb…
She followed the wall around the corner to the bedroom, ignoring the legal documents strewn across the floor as she approached the bathroom. Standing over the sink, she tucked her hair behind her ears and splashed some cold water on her face, then found an old toothbrush in the medicine cabinet, and brushed her teeth. “That’s better,” she said, although it wasn’t really.