theycallmenoone

The road stretches out forever as the two drive in silence. The radio doesn’t work and they have nothing to talk about. Yellow prairie grass boarders the asphalt like a yellow brick road. A small paper package sits in Kyle’s lap and he stares out the window as Zack drives.

It takes about half an hour of driving for the scruffy chauffeur to break the speaking taboo. “So any reason in particular why we’re going?

Kyle doesn’t answer.

The GPS gives a heads up about a turn in one kilometer and Zack turns the cruise off. He coasts until he reaches 70 and then accelerates again. The car vibrates on the rumble strips and Zack slows to a stop. A semi-truck drives by. He gently touches the accelleration.

“Wait.”

Zack slams on the break and both of their seat belts catch. He twists around to look at Kyle as the cars start to scream by and there doesn’t appear to be another break in the traffic. “What was so important that we now have to wait for another gap which could take god knows how long?”

Kyle points towards the side of the road. “I think there’s a girl in the ditch.”

Zack blinks. “I’m sorry, I’m not very good with people. Was that a joke?”

The boy opens the door and gets out, leaving Zack staring after him. “Apparently not.” He throws the car into drive and goes to park in the shoulder. Then he gets out, slams the door shut, and goes to see what Kyle is on about.

HONK HONK HONK HONK

Kyle peels his eyelids back to face the morning. He sits up in bed and runs his fingers through messy hair. The car horn is still going off and a quick glance at the alarm clock on his night table has Kyle at the window. He pulls it open and sticks his head out into the fresh air. The sound is coming from a Subaru parked in front of his house. With a groan and a sign, he slams the window shut and pulls on a pair of pant before heading down the stairs. The door bell goes off just as he reaches the bottom of the stairs.

Scowling, he goes to the door and pulls it open. “Can I help you?”

“Hi, I’m Zack.” He holds out his hand. Kyle crosses his arms and Zack continues to hold his hand dangling between them for a few seconds before dropping it limp to his side. “Uh, I’m looking for Kyle Lawhorne…”

“I’m not interested in whatever you’re selling. Good bye” Kyle starts to shut the door, but Zack grabs hold.

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not any good at this. But Brent Williams was supposed to give you a ride or something, and he got in an accident last night so he asked me to do it for him. And he’s teaching this class that I really want to get into, but I’m not sure if I have the marks and my application isn’t very strong, so I’m thinking if I do this maybe I can – “

Kyle holds up both of his hands and grabs Zacks shoulders lightly so that the guy shuts up. “Brent Williams sent you?

Zack exhales a huge breath and gives one slow nod. “Yes. He said it was very important to someone named Violet and I couldn’t let him down, so can you please just put a shirt on and come with me?”

Scratching his head, Kyle shakes his head the tiniest amount and gives a small chuckle. “Unbelievable. Okay.” He shuts the door to a crack then reopens it before moving a step away.

He gives Zack a once over. “Don’t just stand there. Go wait in the car or something. I’ll be right out.” Kyle shuts the door and, after a second hesitation, locks it for good measure. He trots up the stairs shaking his head at the awkward boy who’d probably still be standing on his door step by the time he’d got down.

Brent drives towards the hotel. Chips and alcohol sit next to him in the passenger seat. A grin planted on his face.

His daughter had called him. Violet had called him. She’d asked for his help.

He can’t help, but smile ear to ear. He raises the music and sings off-key along to the radio. The windows are rolled down and the breeze blows his hair back. Water mist sprays on his face as the trickle of rain finds its way through the window, but he leaves them wide open.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling.  

Violets number shines on the display. He clicks a button on the dashboard.

” ‘ello.”

There’s silence on the other side.

“Hello?”

He hears a swallow.

“Vi?”

“Stay away from our daughter, Brent.”

Wide eyed, his grin fades to astonishment. “Lynn?”

“Just stay away.”

The phone clicks off.

Just watch the car go. Go faster and faster. Foot to the acceleration on a one way highway. The high way we all ride. On. Off. On. Off. Life. Death. Brent blinks back the blinding tears. Watches road signs. Their smears of green. The words are foreign blurs. He counts the seconds.

In a place he’s never been to, a child, he’s never met, dies.

Just stay away from his daughter. HIS daughter. He shakes his head. His knuckles are white on the steering wheel and he can feel himself shaking.

He hits the acceleration. The car whines in protest.  The dials spin to the red and lights like warning signs flash in his brain.

A flash of pink bolts in front of the car. He slams on the break. Tires squeal. Red riding hood’s little fuchsia sister blinks ocean blue eyes. He can see every line in the iris. Every yellow blond hair on her head. Every freckle.

The car spins. Every thing goes black as it goes for the ditch. Crunch. Snap.

Roll, roll, rolling. Until the car comes to rest at the top of the ditch by the fence. Brent lets out a breath. The car’s second of break is done and it rolls back down the hill to the bottom of the ditch. With his eyes closed, he can still see the pink waving in the wind like a cape or a flag. Then the darkness swallows the pink in the hick-up of red. Until the crimson too fades to black.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling. 

Brent blinks open his eyes.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling. 

He coughs and reaches for the cell stowed away in the glove box.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling. 

Everything aches. Everything hurts. His limbs feels like they’re coated in lead. The joints are hazy in their response and just lifting his arm feels like a feat worthy of knighthood.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling. 

He bites his tongue against the pain and strains to reach, to click the button, to make the glove box door fall open.

His eyes blink shut, and when he opens them again it seems minutes has passed. The door lies open. The phone does a jig vibrating and singing on top of the car manual and insurance. Leaning further over until muscles strain and pull apart, until he can lay a finger on the cell.

Just one finger.

He pulls the phone towards him a centimeter at a time. Wrapping his hand around it. Cradles it in his palm. The phone stops its dance as he eases back into his chair.

Brent blinks, ignores the pain in both legs. The dampness of his clothing. The heaviness  in his body. His eyes flutter shut again.

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling. 

Ding-ling-ring-di-dah-ling.

Brent flips the cell open. Coughs and puts it up to his ear. “Hello?”

Zack paces by his phone. It’s late. Too late almost certainly. Brent’s business card is black with neat white script of his name and contact information. It flutters and shakes in his hand. Ready to grow its own wings and fly out of the nestled palm. He picks up the phone. Dials the first three numbers. Hangs up.

He shakes his head. Shaggy dirty blond hair falls  over his face so that he has a mild resemblance to a mop. He stares at the business card in his hand. Watches the way the dim lamp light dances and flutters on the paper like a fire. Then he rips it in half and throws it in the garbage.

Zack stretches and rolls his shoulders. He crosses the bachelor suit not bothering to cover his yawn. He goes to the kitchen area first. The change from carpet to tile makes him shiver, and his feet protest the change until he steps onto the small rug island by the sink. Bending down, he shuffles through the cupboards. As he opens the door to each one, they spill their guts out onto the floor. Packed so tightly in chaotic gluttony that they can’t contain.

He picks up the first bag of chips to fall out and shoves the rest back in. He slams the cupboard door shut so that nothing can escape. Then he straightens up grabs a towel and begins the snack shower ritual that he’s had since he hit puberty. The bathroom door is left open as he goes about his business, and he has just stepped out of a steamy shower when the phone rings. He freezes for a second paralyzed by both the chill in the room and sound of the phone that never rings.

On the fourth ring he jogs across the room to catch the call before the answering machine. He doesn’t have time to check the caller ID.

“Hello?”

“Call Brent Williams.”

It’s a girl’s voice. She sounds in her teens and there is a sense of urgency in her tone.

Zack blinks. “What?”

“Call Brent Williams.”

She hangs up. The phone goes dead. Zack stands there blinking at the telephone that’s still in his hand and slowly puts it down. Then he kneels down to look through the trash for a ripped up business card.

Lynn wanders back towards the house just after midnight. Lights are still on in the living room and she can see movements through the curtains. The door is locked and as she fiddles with her key in the sticky lock the light goes off and she hears the thumps of hurried feet on the stairs. Lynn rolls her eyes and opens the door. She peels off her high heels and pantie hose, then climbs the stairs. She knocks twice on Violet’s door as she passes by. “I know you’re awake.” Then continues towards her own room.

She opens the door.

“Hello Mother.”

Lynn jumps at the voice and feels for the light. It flickers for a moment then floods the room.

“Violet! You scared me. What are you doing in here?”

There’s photo albums sprawled across the bed. A few of them are closed, but most are open. Violet crosses her arms.

“Who’s he?”

Lynn swallows.

“Who’s who?”

“Him.” She points to a photograph of a dark haired man holding hands with a much younger Lynn. She flips a few pages. “Or him.”

The hair has greyed some in the picture, but he has the same startling blue eyes. In the second picture he is cradling an infant Violet in a purple blanket she still has upstairs. “Same guy I’m assuming. Looks the same anyways. Don’t suppose he’s my dad. Especially since you told me my dad died in a car crash.”

Lynn’s lip twitches a little, and she gives Violet and the albums a wide berth on her way to the dresser. “Those pictures were taken before the accident.”

“Yeah, I figured that. The problem is the guy I thought I was in love with ended up being my father, and I just returned from a little rendezvous with him at the mall. But if my father’s dead it obviously can’t be him, right?” Her eye brows flare up and her face settles into unpleasant sneer. “Twin brother, I suppose?”

“You’ve been in contact with someone?”

“I’m sorry, out of everything I’ve said, the part you decide to comment on is me being in contact with someone you don’t know?”

“I’ve told you how dangerous talking to people online can -”

Violet snaps her fingers interrupting Lynn mid sentence and bring the attention back to herself. ”Focus Lynn. Not interested in a lecture. This isn’t about me. It’s about you. Now who is he?”

Lynn closes her eyes for a second and sighs heavily. “I really don’t want to talk about this right now.”

“You really don’t have the choice.”

Violets phone vibrates and she answers it automatically. “What?” Her voice is cold and toxic fills the one syllable word.