by Jeff Vrolyks
Chapter Fifty One
Aaron decided he’d give it fifteen more minutes before calling it quits. The worst that could happen is Brooke consensually has sex with Paul. Worse things have happened in recent history. It would likely mean that she broke up with her boyfriend at the party, or got in some kind of fight and sought revenge by hooking up with Paul. One could speculate all night long about how it might go down. But he believed that Paul was right in his premonition. So far he had been right about everything else, so why should this be any different? He somehow knew her birthday, knew there would be a party the day after that she’d attend. All the ducks were in a row for the premonition to come true.
As he drove down some unknown residential street he noticed there were a lot of cars in a particular driveway and lining the streets. He slowed down and stopped before the house. Through the living room window he saw a gathering of kids. It was a party. There would be hundreds of parties in Fresno tonight, so the odds of this being the one Brooke was at was ridiculously slim. But it could be divinity that brought him to this street. He parked nearby and jogged to the house.
In the driveway were three boys. Aaron smelled pot.
“Sup guys?” Aaron said to them, startling them.
“Sup, bro,” one guy said.
“Hey, have you seen Brooke Stanwick here? Or Paul Klein?”
None of them knew who they were.
“Big blue eyes, buttermilk blonde hair. Pretty girl.”
“Damn,” one said.
“I’ll help you look for her,” said another and all three boys laughed.
Aaron imperiously went inside the house without notice and looked around. Several kids took notice of him, but none seemed to care. He began in the living room, then kitchen and den and finally the bedrooms. No sign of either of them. He went out the back door and saw more kids drinking beer in the back yard. He made a circle around the lawn, then bisected it, checking each and every face. No dice.
He left the house feeling despondent. He asked God why He wasn’t guiding him, and there was no subconscious voice answering him.
He got in his truck feeling his eyes prickling. It wasn’t just the idea of what Tinkerbelle’s fate was to be this night, but that Aaron had sought the help of God and didn’t get it.
He rested his forehead against the steering wheel. On a whim he grabbed his cellphone and called me. I answered.
“I’m so miserable,” Aaron began.
“Why? What’s up?”
“I feel so alone, Jay. I feel like God is ignoring me.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Brooke didn’t come over tonight.”
“Eh, not a big deal,” I said.
“It is to me.” Brief silence. “I can’t stop picturing Paul taking advantage of her.”
“Oh! Well prepare to become in a better mood. Paul isn’t in Fresno.”
“He’s not? How do you know?”
“Because he’s—” I broke off.
Aaron watched in horror as his phone shut down from want of charging.
“Damnit!” Aaron shouted. He waited for the process to end before powering it back on. The second it was on he called me again. Swiftly he said, “Make it quick, my phone is dying. Where’s Paul?”
“He’s in Sedona. Police got him cornered. Brooke is safe, man.”
“Thank God! That’s why God didn’t lead me to the party, because there was no need to! Thanks, Jay, you rock. I wish you’d have told me earlier. I’ve been driving all over town looking for her. Man…” When he noticed I wasn’t saying anything, he checked the phone and it was off.
Aaron almost left it alone and drove back, but decided he’d text me a thank you, in case I didn’t get any of his previous words. Twenty seconds later the phone was on. He summoned up text messaging and found my name, began expressing his gratitude. That’s when he got an incoming text, one not from me.
His breath caught from what he saw. His heart thumped in his chest as he examined a picture texted to him, a picture of Brooke with a dirty face and tears on her cheeks, sitting on an embankment in the dead of night, the camera’s flash showing much more than Aaron needed to see, and that’s the location of the photo: the dry riverbed. The phone number the text was issued from was unfamiliar to him, including the area code. It was an area code that I would be very familiar with, and if he had gotten that text on my phone it would have identified the caller as Maurice Esperanza. Maurice Esperanza, a man who never existed, who was the product of the imagination of the young man who had snapped Brooke’s picture: Paul Klein.
