by K. S. Adkins
Running my fingers over the fucking dart, yes, I said dart, I tried yanking it out, only my fingers didn’t work. “You shot me,” I slurred. “With a fucking dart? Who does that?”
If the son of a bitch answered, I didn’t hear it because I was down for the count.
When I finally managed to open my eyes, I realized I was perched upright in a chair with my wrists tied in my lap.
Still caught in a fog, I did my best to squirm and couldn’t even manage that. I was angry that I was perceived as such a wimp that I wasn’t even tied to anything.
Talk about a blow to the ego.
First thing I did was wiggle my toes, relieved I could feel them. Sore from being out cold, I rolled my neck and instantly regretted it thanks to the vertigo it caused.
Jesus Christ, what was in that dart?
Unsure of my surroundings or how long I was unconscious, I take stock of the room. What I see in the corner, perched on milk crates, steals my breath and no lie, I pissed myself.
Unable to process any of this, I heard from behind me, “So it is true. You really are terrified of small spaces. Now that is precious.”
“How do you know about that?”
“By the camera in your bedroom.”
“I knew it,” I mumbled. “There’s always a camera in the bedroom. Bad Guy 101.”
“Score one for me then.”
Breathing faster than normal, I asked, “Why are you doing this?”
“Because I hate you, Pharis Hilton, and you’re not his anymore. You divorced him, remember?”
“Ellis,” I said groggily but surely. “My name is Pharis Ellis.”
“Except that it isn’t! Not anymore!”
“You’re wrong,” I tried to yell, but it came out as a whisper.
“Stand up!” I’m ordered by way of a gun barrel pressed to my forehead.
Though it took tremendous effort on my part, I did stand and upon testing my legs made a decision.
With no weapon and not even the use of my hands, I called upon the only form of self-defense that I had. Delivering the best sack my years of ball could offer, I tagged the motherfucker with my shoulder and we both went down hard. Unfortunately for me, I couldn’t get back up.
But Casanova could and did. Still, I was primed to fight.
Dragged by my hair, I was hauled up. “Get in.”
“Hell no,” I wheezed out, trying unsuccessfully to back away. “Shoot me!”
“Get in the box!”
“No,” I argued. “Let’s get our fuck on! I’m not done yet!”
“Our what?”
“Ugh,” I groaned. “I’m stressed. You’re stressing me!”
“I don’t have time for this, I have a wedding to attend.”
Blinking and trying to piece it all together I blurted, “Well, you don’t want blood on your dress so maybe you should just go?”
“You are seriously a pain in the ass. I don’t know what he sees in you.”
“Then you weren’t looking hard enough, psycho.”
And that comment earned me a solid punch to my mouth. Having never been socked in the mouth before I can say now that it really hurt and that I felt awful for ever hitting Eddie. “Get in, bitch.”
“Fucking shoot me because I am not getting in there!”
“If I have to ask you again, you won’t like it.”
Stalling for time, I blurted, “Seriously, what are you wearing?” I may be blitzed, but I wasn’t blind.
Striking forward, I felt the needle embed in my stomach and groaned. What was with the fucking tranquilizers? As my consciousness began to fade, I threatened, “Eddie is going to kill you.”
Because the drugs were so strong, being shoved inside was easy considering my hands were tied, and I couldn’t fight. Unable to speak, let alone scream, I lie there praying my heart would give out so I wouldn’t have to endure the darkness. As the lid was closing, my phone was tossed onto my stomach and the last parting words I heard were, “Eddie will know where to find me. Ask Butch.”
And then, nothing.
My wife will literally fight you in defense of her belief that Marshawn Lynch was the greatest running back to ever play the game. On and off the field, she adored everything about the guy. Believe me when I say he felt the same way about her. And while she couldn’t wear franchise gear at work, she practically lived in the ‘beast mode’ jersey he’d given her when she’s at home.
Though she’d earned awards, rubbed elbows with the industry’s finest, her heart lied with Lynch.
So much so that when he invited us to his home in California for a Saturday barbecue, we went.
Not only that, Pharis showed up wearing his jersey and spent most of the day playing ball.
Out in the street.
On concrete.
My tiny wife has no clue she’s tiny.
On the field she was a giant.
She lived like one, played like one, and loved like one too.
I had lit my cigar and was reaching for my bourbon when Aaron said, “Do you think he will follow her to Miami?” God, would we ever talk about something other than this? One day, I fucking hoped so. “Griff budgeted for a security detail and the condo is being outfitted with safety measures as we speak. If the motherfucker follows, I’ll be ready.”
“Are we dealing with Casanova or someone else?” Butch asked, mirroring the exact thoughts I’d never voiced. Because Casanova, to our knowledge, didn’t break into people’s homes to graffiti and install cameras. He didn’t send letters, trash offices. He took, he tortured, he killed, period.
Everything that has happened to Pharis said personal.
Very personal.
It also says if this was Casanova, he evolved.
“That’s what keeps me up at night,” I confessed. “Neighbors haven’t seen shit, those dates panned out, security feeds at the stadium were wiped clean, those cameras could be bought anywhere and that letter was placed inside on her table. If this isn’t Casanova, then who the fuck is it?”
Slamming my drink back, I pondered that while Aaron took a call. When he hung up, he said, “Eddie, the girls got to the house. Pharis is gone.”
“What do you mean gone?”
“Door’s open, no sign of forced entry, purse is on the kitchen counter, car’s in the garage, but Pharis is gone.”
Sending my glass sailing, I roared, “Fuck!” and dialed her number only to get voicemail.
“I’ll drive,” Butch said, throwing cash down and we all hauled ass to his truck while I kept redialing.
“Units are on the way,” Aaron said, tearing down the city streets.
“Answer, baby,” I begged dead air. “Pick up the phone, superstar.”
“Almost there,” Butch said, but I didn’t respond.
We weren’t even to a stop when I jumped out and cleared the porch in a single leap.
Taking stock of the kitchen, I ignored a hysterical Bridget and furious Connie.
When Connie got in my face to scream this was my fault, I handed her off to Aaron and ordered him to handle her. What he did with the girls, I didn’t much care.
Looking around the house, Connie was right. Nothing was out of place.
“How the fuck did he get in here?” I yelled, pulling my hair at the root.
Gently, Butch placed his hand on my shoulder and said, “She was expecting the girls, Eddie. The door was unlocked.”
Right as I comprehended sirens, my phone rang displaying a FaceTime call from Pharis.
“Pharis! Where the fuck are you!”
“Eddie,” she whimpered, her voice slurred. “Sorry.”
“Baby,” I quaked. “Why is it so dark, where are you?”
“I–” she stumbled, trying to find the words. “Fugging coffin.”
If Butch and Aaron hadn’t caught me, I’d have eaten linoleum. “No,” I wheezed out. “Baby, no.”
Casanova. It was my worst nightmare come to life. My woman, my wife, buried alive.
&nb
sp; “Don’t know how long I’ve been in here, Eddie. Darted and shoved inside,” she mumbled. “Gonna be so pissed if I die like this.”
“Listen to me,” I demanded. “You have to preserve oxygen, Pharis.”
“I do? Okay, what time is it?” she asked, and the sluggishness in her tone was apparent. Whatever she was injected with she hadn’t gotten out of her system yet.
“Just after nine, superstar. Plenty of time to find you.”
“Three hours,” she growled and the light from her phone gave me just enough illumination to see the tears of fury on her face. Plainly put, I was gutted. “So how long do I have?”
When she tried sitting up and her forehead met wood she roared, “Motherfucker!”
“Pharis,” I yelled into the receiver. “Focus on me, focus on my voice!”
“O-Okay,” she forced out. “You’re the boss...”
Fuck, she was really out of it. Beginning to lose it myself, I closed my eyes and fight the fury when Butch whispered, “Let me talk to her, Eddie.”
“No.”
“I have an idea,” he pushed. “Give me the phone.”
“Pharis, I need you to listen to Butch for a second, okay?”
“Kay,” she replied sleepily.
Fuck. Time was running out.
I couldn’t lose her like this.
I was seven years old when I ignored my parents’ warnings, venturing out too far from our land, and you guessed it, like Timmy, I fell in the well. Only I had no Lassie. What I did have was cold bitter darkness, bugs crawling on me, and a fear unlike anything my young mind could comprehend. It was only two hours until my dad found me, but the damage was done. Not the sore ass from the whooping I received, but my fear of small dark spaces. And it’s never left me.
The shaking was making it nearly impossible to hold my phone steady. My heart was beating so hard I thought it was going to explode. My veins were filled with drugs and fury. And to top it off, I was in a fucking coffin. Because I was having trouble forming a thought that didn’t include a detailed murder, I focused on the sound of Eddie’s voice instead.
When Butch said my name, it took me a moment to focus. “Here.”
“Listen to me, Pharis, I need you to go to your settings and turn on Find my iPhone.”
While I heard what he said, I had no idea that this feature existed or how to turn it on. Even if I did, my vision was blurry, my hands were tied and I couldn’t move to raise my phone. So “can’t,” was my response.
“You can, superstar. Do it now.”
“Hands tied.”
“Pharis, honey, please. For Eddie, try.”
The worry on his face likely mirrored the fear on mine and because I wasn’t making it out of this one, I whispered, “Need to shave, Butch.”
“Dammit, Pharis, turn it on!”
“Don’t tell me how to live my life.”
Exhausted, I tuned out the screaming and closed my eyes.
But it was Eddie’s voice and the pain in it that startled me awake.
“Here,” I croaked pitifully.
“I know you’re tired,” he forced out. “I know you’re scared but you have to stay awake for me, Pharis.”
“Hard to breathe.” And it was. It felt like sludge in my chest. Distantly, I could hear Connie and Bridget crying, Aaron and Butch yelling orders too. And while I knew my time was almost up, I also knew I didn’t want Eddie to see it happen. Shit, I didn’t want it to happen.
“Turn your phone off,” I pleaded with him and felt my senses slowly coming back to me which made me panic even more. Without the numbness the drugs provided, I was going to really lose it. Like epic meltdown. “I don’t want you to see, Eddie.”
“I’m not leaving you!” he roared and had I had the ability to soothe him, I would have.
“Please,” I whispered. “At least...turn it away. Don’t watch me lose it, please.”
“I’m going to fucking find you!” he vowed. “You’re mine, Pharis! We haven’t gotten started yet! This is not how it ends!”
Thoughts scattered, I asked, “How do I have reception if I’m buried?”
“I...I don’t know.”
The more I panicked the more air I used up, so I needed to say what needs to be said before it was too late. “Eddie, I need you to know...”
“Don’t say it,” he pleaded. “Fuck, don’t tell me goodbye!”
“Okay, no goodbye then. What should we talk about?”
“Pharis,” he choked out. “Don’t leave me, baby.”
“I love you so much,” I said earnestly. “I’ll never stop. Not in this life or the next.”
As it became harder to take deep breaths, I knew time was running out and I wasn’t ready.
Instead, I freaked the fuck out because I didn’t want to go out like this.
“Eddie,” I coughed. “I’m scared. I’m pissed. I’m trapped! Fuck!”
“Listen to my voice, baby.”
Closing my eyes, I tried.
However, when my phone started beeping, I cracked a lid open and said, “Hang on Eddie, I’ve got another call.”
My wife would never know that the day she aired her first podcast I was on the other side of the door wiping my eyes. Why? Because I was so fucking proud of her I couldn’t hold it in.
It didn’t matter that the first show didn’t have too many listeners, what did matter was Pharis doing what she loved. Anytime I asked her what her top five loves were, the answers never changed.
Family, friends, football, and me. When I remind her that’s only four she always smiled and said that I get two spots.
All eyes were on me when she said she has another call.
“What? Are you fucking serious?” I yelled. “Do not answer it!”
“I have to,” she said calmly. “It’s an unknown number so it’s probably that Casanova fuck and quite frankly, Eddie? I have some things to say.”
And then...
She fucking took the call.
The girls went apeshit, the guys broke shit, and as for me?
I sat there with a blank screen in one hand and stared at my wedding band on the other.
Swear to God, I couldn’t stop the hysterical laugh that bubbled out of me if my life depended on it.
Because only my woman would go toe-to-toe with that bastard on the phone.
“She’s crazy,” I said to myself, but it was Connie who wrapped herself around me and whispered, “That’s why we love her.”
“I can’t lose her,” I grated out. “We were supposed to grow old together.”
Placing her arm on my shoulder, Bridget asked, “What do you think she’s saying to him right now?”
“If I know my wife—” I smiled in agony.—“he won’t understand a word of it.”
Grabbing the back of my neck in solidarity, Butch said, “You’d have taken the call too, brother.”
“I bet you twenty bucks that motherfucker is regretting his actions right now,” Aaron said, punching me softly in the shoulder.
It was when Bridget said, “She isn’t just fighting for herself, Eddie. She’s fighting for you too," that I crumbled right where I sat.
When our friends all surrounded me with their love and touch, I cried my fucking heart out.
Somewhere out there, my woman was fighting for her life and didn’t have this comfort.
She had nothing but darkness.
And it was because I hadn’t rid her of it.
What was I thinking when I took the call?
That I was going to make Casanova sorry for ever shoving me in this wooden box, that’s what.
In the afterlife when whoever manned the gate showed me my final moments, I wanted them to be of me doing something heroic. Given my current circumstances, heroism wasn’t possible, but my voice still worked, so I planned to use it.
Disconnecting from FaceTime with Eddie, I answered the call cooing, “Miss me already?”
“You’re not dead yet.”
“Actually,
” I said, pretending to be comfortable. “I’ve just woken from a nice cat nap, and I’m preparing my Christmas list. And do you know what you’re getting this year?”
“What’s that?”
“The ghost of Christmas Pharis.”
“You are so juvenile.”
“Wait until you see how I plan to haunt you from the other side, fruit loop.”
“He watched your house, followed you everywhere, and slept under your window. Yet he doesn’t even know I exist.”
“Well, if you don’t see the romance in that...”
“Every death was for him! To notice me! I killed you over and over again, but you didn’t die. Not until I made him hurt you!”
“True,” I agreed. “That was brutal and not very nice of you at all. But regardless of what happens, crazy pants, Eddie will always be mine. I know it sucks, but such is life and dicks.”
“What?”
“Sucks and dicks? You don’t get the reference?”
“No, I don’t.”
“See, that’s why it would never work between the two of you. Eddie lives for dick jokes.”
When no rebuttal was forthcoming I added, “And me.”
“I should open that box and gut you.”
Sadly, the nut job couldn’t see my shrug, so I offered, “Yes, you should.”
“Or perhaps I’ll cut your tongue out.”
“You could,” I taunted. “But that won’t shut me up. You seem to know a lot about me so surely, you’ve caught my hand gestures. Oh, and while I’ve got you on the phone, can I just say, you are by far the biggest pussy I have ever met. I mean, plugging me with darts is dirty, but stuffing me in the box? When I get to heaven, I’m going to pretend to pray for you. Because I’m pretty sure even God thinks you’re an asshole.”
“I don’t think heaven has a place for you, Pharis.”
“You’re probably right,” I mused. “Heaven for me is Eddie, and I already have him so...”
“Not for much longer.”
“You are so bad at this kidnapper gig,” I sassed wishing this was FaceTime and not a voice call. “I mean, you called me and you’ve done nothing but give horrible comebacks. Because deep down in your black soul, you know, you fucking know, in Eddie’s eyes you are nothing. You are never going replace me. Hell, on your best day, you couldn’t carry my jock, so stop fucking playing around. You want me to die, come and do it yourself.”
