In the bathroom, he quietly closed the door, flipped on the light, and set down his things. As he undid his tie, he thought about all the feelings swirling inside. Something could be said for pain.
Alongside the pain, he also felt hope. He would do anything to save his marriage. He loved Jane. But it was true that ever since he’d taken the executive producer’s job, which made him the ten o’clock show’s producer, their relationship had grown distant. They’d sat down one day and charted out each of their schedules, and both had been ecstatic when they realized, with careful planning, they could make both of their schedules work.
But what hadn’t been on that chart was the emotional distance they would eventually develop from running in separate directions. Jane had been elated at the increase in salary, and Hugo had finally landed his dream job. So why was this so hard? Weren’t all the fringe benefits enough to sustain them?
He decided to give his teeth a quick brush. He was stalling, but he figured his chances of starting out the conversation on a good note vastly improved if his breath was decent.
Then there was nothing else to do but go in there. He opened the door and decided to keep the bathroom light on. There was nothing that woke Jane up faster than light, which was why they had hung shades heavy enough to cloak the sun.
“Jane?”
Hugo stared at the bed, which was neatly made and empty. As if turning on another light would help, he rushed to the bedside table and turned on the lamp. Jane was gone. In her place was a white envelope, blank on the outside.
Hugo left it there and rushed to Kaylin’s room. He pushed open the door, and her bed was empty too. He ran back to his room and tore open the envelope.
In her sloppy handwriting it read, “Were at my mothers. I will call you next week.”
Hugo sat down on the bed and read the note over and over. She hadn’t even known he was late. She hadn’t even waited for him to come home. She had packed her things after she’d come to the station. Maybe before.
Hugo threw the note across the bed and kicked off his shoes. He slammed his hand against the lamp, causing it to crash to the ground. A sliver of bathroom light sliced across the bed just to his left, but everything else was dark.
“Fine!” Hugo yelled at the top of his lungs. “Fine!” he said again as he galloped downstairs. He turned on every light he could find. The entire house looked alive enough to throw a party.
In the kitchen, he opened a can of SpaghettiOs and grabbed a spoon. He turned on the television, burrowed into the couch, and put his feet on the coffee table, just like Jane hated.
Chapter 32
As big as Roarke was, he seemed small sitting behind the bars at the county jail. When he looked up and saw Ray, he looked betrayed. “I’m sorry,” Ray said, clutching the metal bars. “I should’ve been there for you.”
“If you’d been there,” Roarke said, choking up, “they would’ve believed me. I was so nervous trying to explain the letters and the break-in that I ended up sounding like Hannibal Lecter’s crazy brother. It didn’t help that I pretended I wasn’t home for the first half hour while the police were knocking.”
Ray smiled through his own tears. Roarke could always make him laugh. Roarke hadn’t been fully processed yet, but thanks to some connections he had at the jail, Ray was able to visit him in the holding cell at this late hour. It looked like a slow night. Only three other people were in there, too drunk or too high to care about what was happening around them. The stench was horrible.
Roarke finally stood, holding his back from sitting on the hard, metal bench.
“Tell me what happened,” Ray said quietly.
“I have no idea how they figured out I wrote the letters. But why am I surprised? We watch CSI enough to know they can figure out practically anything, you know?”
Ray nodded and swallowed. Now was not the right time to tell him Hayden had given him up.
“Anyway, it didn’t take much, you know. They asked a couple of questions, and then I broke down and told them everything…about my crush, the letters, breaking into her condo.” He looked up. “I didn’t mention you.” He looked back down. “Anyway, I was nervous, you know? And even as I was talking, I thought to myself that I sounded like a raging lunatic. But I couldn’t stop, and I couldn’t collect my thoughts to make any of it sound reasonable.”
Ray shook his head. “I don’t know that they have enough evidence to hold you, Roarke. I mean, you confessed to the letters and the break-in, and you gave them the reason why. Beyond that, they don’t really know what happened to Gilda.”
“They’re holding me on unpaid parking tickets,” Roarke sighed.
“How can they do that? Hold you in jail for a few unpaid tickets?”
“Twenty-nine.”
“Oh.”
“But it won’t be long until they bring other charges against me, Ray. You have to get me out of this.”
“I’ll do everything I can. You know I will.”
“And you’ve got to keep this off the news. Keep me out of the news. I couldn’t bear for this to get out, for my name to be attached to this, and for everyone to know I wrote those letters to Gilda.”
Ray struggled to keep his composure. He knew he couldn’t make any promises. He had no idea how to keep this out of the media. “Were any news crews around when you got arrested?”
“Only the news copter up above, circling like a stupid vulture.”
“What channel?”
“Ours.” Roarke looked up. “I’m going to become the laughingstock of the city, aren’t I?”
“I won’t let that happen.”
Roarke couldn’t hold in the tears in any longer. “You know, Ray, I’ve been fat since I was born. I was a fat toddler, a fat kid, a fat teenager, and now I’m a fat adult. One year we moved right before I went into junior high. I decided I was going to change my name, since my parents gave me a name that seemed to rhyme with every word that meant fat. So I thought long and hard and decided to go by my middle name, Roarke. I told my parents that would be my new name and not to call me anything else. But you know what? We don’t give mean kids enough credit. They’re pretty creative. At my new school, I acquired two new nicknames. Roarke the Fork and Roarke the Pork.”
Ray couldn’t look at Roarke any longer. It was breaking his heart to see his friend in such distress.
“But my parents always taught me to do the right thing. They told me that people could call me all the names they wanted, but if I did the right thing, they could never destroy my dignity. And that’s what has always kept me going, Ray. My dignity. Now I don’t even have that.”
“That’s not true,” Ray said, clutching his friend’s hand through the bars. “We’re going to clear your name, buddy. I promise. We’re going to find out what happened to Gilda, and you’ll have your dignity again.” The word promise felt so heavy on Ray’s tongue. He didn’t know what he could do, but he had to try, and he had to give his friend hope. “I’m on it right now. We’re going to figure this thing out, okay?”
Roarke nodded, and Ray could see a flicker of hope on his face. Ray squeezed his hand and turned to leave.
“What are you doing to do?”
“Trust me, my friend,” Ray said as he walked toward the door. He had no idea what he was going to do.
It wasn’t hard to find Hugo’s house in the middle of the night. It glowed like a lighthouse. Ray pulled into the driveway with his lights off and shut his car door quietly. He’d been to Hugo’s house once, back when the station used to do Christmas parties.
On the front porch, Ray hesitated before he knocked. What was he going to say? Why was he even here? He didn’t know, really. But in the parking lot of the jail, he sat in his car and prayed like he hadn’t prayed in years. If he’d been able, he would’ve gotten on his knees. He had never felt more desperate, and he knew one thing for sure: God had the answers they all needed.
Ray knocked, and to his surprise, the door flew open almost immediately
. Hugo looked like he was about to say something when his face registered it was Ray. Ray wasn’t sure who he had been expecting, but it wasn’t him. Hugo’s shirt was half untucked and his hair looked like his hand had run through it about a hundred times.
“Ray?” Hugo squeaked.
“I’m sorry to bother you at this time of night,” Ray said. “I hope I didn’t wake up your family.”
“What do you need?”
“It’s about Roarke. They arrested him tonight for parking tickets, but that’s just an excuse to hold him until they can find more evidence linking him to Gilda’s disappearance.”
Hugo blinked as if the sun had suddenly popped into the sky unannounced. “They think Roarke has something to do with Gilda?”
“It’s a long story,” Ray said. “May I come in?”
Hugo opened the door wider and glanced outside a time or two before closing the door. Hugo said, “I’ve just been up working.”
“Oh.” Ray also noticed the can of SpaghettiOs on the living-room table with a spoon sticking out the top.
Hugo shook his head and laughed, but it wasn’t the kind of laugh you give after a good joke. It had a sardonic feel to it. Ray didn’t know where to begin. “The notes they found were from Roarke. I just recently found out myself that Roarke has had a crush on Gilda. Apparently he’s had one for a while.”
“Roarke and Gilda,” Hugo said, leading Ray into the living room. He gestured for him to sit down. “Who would’ve thought? Well, who knows? Maybe they’d make a great couple. You just don’t know about people. You think two people are matched up perfectly…they have a lot in common, have similar life goals, are good friends. But it can all go away, you know? There doesn’t seem to be one thing that can keep a couple together. If you could say, make sure to have A or B, that would make it a lot easier. But there is no A or B. In fact, there’s nothing in the alphabet that can give you any hope.”
Ray nodded, trying to follow, but he had no clue what Hugo was trying to say. Ray was about to continue on the subject of Roarke’s plight, but Hugo started talking again.
“You want to get drunk?”
“Excuse me?” Ray asked.
“Drunk.”
“I…uh…”
“I don’t drink much, you know. Maybe some wine now and then or a beer at my uncle’s. Things like that. But this just seems like a good time to get drunk. Everything’s falling apart. I tried some deep breathing exercises, but that didn’t really do it for me, although I was distracted for a while when I figured out I could suck my nostrils shut.”
Ray lowered his head. Hugo already sounded drunk.
“I’m sorry,” Hugo said. “I’m making you feel uncomfortable. I forgot, you’re a Christian.”
Ray sighed. A lot of people seemed to be forgetting that.
Hugo suddenly rose, went to the fridge, and opened the door. It was going to be an uncomfortable moment, but Ray was going to have to stand his ground and tell Hugo he had no plans to get drunk with him. Hugo returned with two brown-glass bottles and handed Ray one.
“Sir,” Ray said. “I’m sorry, I just can’t drink this.”
Hugo fell into the couch and said, “You don’t like root beer? We’ve got Coke, I think.”
Ray looked down at the bottle. Root beer. Embarrassment flushed his cheeks, and he took a swig. “Root beer’s fine, sir.”
“You know,” Hugo continued, “you’re single, Ray. You have the whole world in front of you. You should think about not settling down. Maybe you already have, and that’s why you’re the age you are and aren’t married.”
Ray tried to smile.
“Anyway, if you do find that special someone, you might want to talk through your whole life together. Come up with every scenario possible, and then see what the other person would do. That’s a good way to spend a date actually.”
Ray really wanted to get on with how to help Roarke, but he was in this man’s house at an obscene hour. He figured he should afford Hugo the courtesy of listening to him ruminate. Hugo waggled his finger toward a bookcase like it might be listening. “You tell that Roarke that as mismatched as he and Gilda are, I think they have a future. And tell him not to bother with premarital counseling.” Hugo took a breath and then a swig of his root beer. “This isn’t really doing it for me.”
“Doing what for you, sir?”
“Ray, I’m going to let you in on a little secret.”
Ray didn’t want to be let in on anymore secrets.
“Did you know that I’m a high-strung kind of fella?”
“You?” Ray laughed a little. “I would never think of you as high strung. Jill Clark, yes. You, no.”
“I’m high-strunger than Jill,” Hugo said, and Ray had to glance down at the bottle in his hand to make sure it was root beer. “You see, I’m on the Blue Pill. It’s real tiny. Smaller than an aspirin. It makes me calm.”
“Do you…take it regularly?” Ray asked, wondering if he might need to get it for him now. Hayden had already spilled the beans on his antianxiety medication, but Hugo looked like he needed to explain.
“Twice a day. My doctor is very strict about it. She won’t write me a prescription for anything above what I’m on. She thinks I don’t need it. She thinks the problem might be that my life, not my chemicals, are unbalanced.”
Ray started to feel like he might need to come up with an excuse to leave.
“I’m talking about the chemicals in my brain,” Hugo continued, pointing to his skull.
“I see,” Ray said. He didn’t.
“And there is something to be said for not feeling all numbed up. Going with your gut, you know? My gut made the decision to run your story, for example.” He patted his slightly bulging belly. Then he sighed into the silence. “I’m not the person everyone thinks I am.”
Ray laughed a little. “Well, sir, I am the person nobody thinks I am.”
Hugo scratched his head and laughed. “Okay. You’re going to have explain that one.”
“I don’t know. People think of me as soft-spoken. I guess I am a little. But you know, I used to be more outspoken about my faith. In the past few years, I guess I started taking it for granted, you know? I stopped talking about it, stopped applying it to my everyday life.”
“For heaven’s sake, Ray, that’s what I like about you. Do you know what it’s like to work with Hayden Hazard? She’s always wanting to pray for me and encourage me. And even when I’m mean to her, she’s nice to me. It’s annoying. Nothing gets her worried. I think there’s a mental condition or something that causes some people not to worry. I can’t remember the name of it. Anyway…” Hugo sighed. “But she is nice.”
“What made you decide to put her in the anchor chair with no experience?” Ray asked.
“The woman has nerves of steel. Nothing gets to her. I saw her showing Tate how to look into the camera, and I realized she was going to be a natural. I have a good sense for talent.”
Ray settled into the couch. He wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon, and maybe during Hugo’s erratic rants, he might come up with a solution on how to get Roarke out of jail.
For the next forty-five minutes, Ray contemplated whether or not he should tell Hugo about the strange disappearance of every e-mail from Chad Arbus to Gilda while Hugo detailed his theory about what makes the Purple Pill better than the Blue Pill.
Chapter 33
Ray awoke and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. His head snapped to the left, and there was Hugo next to him. They were both sitting on the couch, and Hugo’s head had fallen backward. He was snoring loudly. Ray rubbed his eyes and sat up. Outside the sun was just warming the dark sky. Ray had never felt more embarrassed in his life. He looked toward the staircase, wondering if Mrs. Talley had come down to discover him on the couch.
He promptly stood up, waking Hugo. He glanced at Ray, as if not surprised to see him standing in his living room, then grabbed the remote to the television. He checked his watch as he turned t
he TV on.
“Sit down, Ray,” he ordered. Ray slowly obeyed, sitting on the edge of the couch and resisting the urge to ask if there was any coffee. He really needed an excuse to pace.
That familiar and hated News Channel 10 jingle filled the quiet around them. Ray could feel the tension build in the air as they both waited for the news to start. Their morning anchors’ normal cheery faces were replaced with serious expressions. Hugo shook his head and looked at Ray. “This isn’t good.”
“Good morning,” the woman anchor said. “Breaking news this morning concerning the disappearance of News Channel 7 anchor Gilda Braun.” Pictures flashed up of their news station, and both men groaned. Then a small insert showed Gilda’s picture, and Ray was pretty sure it was the most unflattering picture he’d ever seen of her. Her mouth looked contorted and her hair unkempt. “Last night, police conducted a search of the News Channel 7 station…”
The visuals now told the story as the screen showed a shot of the inside of their offices. As the camera turned, so did a lot of faces, right toward it, with expressions of bewilderment, despondence, and fright. The anchor’s voice smoothly added words to the pictures, as if they didn’t tell their own story. But in this case, they didn’t want the pictures to tell the story, they wanted the story to tell the pictures.
“…in connection with the disappearance of Gilda Braun. And late last night, police tell us they arrested a man they’re calling a ‘person of interest.’”
“Oh no,” Ray groaned.
“They have not released his name yet,” the anchor continued, and Ray let out a huge sigh, “but they do tell us that he wrote love letters to the anchor and that he is a News Channel 7 employee. He is being held on unrelated charges.”
“Meanwhile, executive producer Hugo Talley had no comment on the situation…” Hugo winced as they showed him putting his hand up and yelling at the reporter to get out of the station.
Hugo punched the remote, turning off the television. “This is going to make the national news.”
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