by Jeff Olah
With her shoulders tensed and her focus somewhere else, Ava closed her door, dropped her phone into her lap and finally turned. “My school …”
Natalie began backing out of the spot, cut the wheel hard to the left, and then shifted back into drive. “What, what about your school?”
Ava motioned toward Noah, biting into her lip.
“He’s not even listening, just tell me already.”
Ava paused a moment, looked to be searching for the words. “That man, the one they had to shoot. The one they said was dead.”
“Yeah?”
“Sadie just texted me. He got up and started freaking out, started attacking people. They think he’s like those other people.”
Natalie drove fast toward the exit, her head on a swivel. “That’s ridiculous, just high school kids making up stories. How many times are they going to fall for—”
“No mom, she sent me a video. This guy was dead, and then he wasn’t.”
4
Owen checked the clock on the dash once again. Two minutes since the last time he checked. Three minutes since his car moved more than a few inches. Forty minutes since he last spoke to his wife. Los Angeles traffic was something he had gotten used to; however, this morning it seemed to be toying with him. He could drive his fist into the steering wheel yet again, maybe scream incessantly at the man in the white Lexus, but that wasn’t going to do anything to turn his morning around.
Over his left shoulder, the blacked-out Dodge Challenger again drifted out of its lane. He’d been driving alongside the mysterious vehicle for what seemed like an eternity, but with his exit approaching, he realized it wasn’t much more than a mile and a half. Six times in the last few minutes the driver had swerved to one side or the other, the last coming within inches of Owen’s door. He could move, change lanes, maybe slow down, let the Challenger pull away. But with the off-ramp less than a hundred yards away, his options were limited.
Owen slipped his shoulder out of the seatbelt, leaned to the right, and again reached over the console. He dipped his hand under the passenger seat and ran it along the metal brackets, his middle finger brushing the edge of his phone.
“Come on.”
With his left hand gripped to the wheel in the ten o’clock position, Owen pushed his right further into the space, his arm now beginning to cramp from the awkward position. He now held the phone between his ring and middle finger, but pulling it back against the plush interior carpeting of the Audi would be impossible.
He wasn’t ready to accept defeat, but knew he probably should. Attempting to navigate LA traffic with only half his focus wasn’t going to make things any better. His phone could wait.
Pushing away from the passenger seat, the driver riding his back bumper laid on their horn. Somehow traffic had begun to move and now the Challenger outside his window was nowhere to be found. Owen held up his right hand, let off the brake, and looked for an opening.
He slipped quickly between two vehicles also heading toward the exit, drifting into the far-right lane without incident. Ahead, the ramp was clear and as he increased his speed, he grinned as he noticed what he’d missed before. The blacked-out Challenger was now pushed into the center divider, its hood bent at a weird angle and the traffic again beginning to gridlock.
“Nice, way to add to the problem.”
At the end of the long ramp, Owen rolled to a stop, his thoughts again with his family. What if whatever was happening out there had found them, or they had found it? What if they’d been trying to reach him? What if they needed his help? He hadn’t heard any notifications from his phone, but it wouldn’t be the first time he’d missed a call or a text.
Less than a mile to Johnny’s—pull over and get his phone from its prison below the passenger seat, or just drive? His anxiety told him to find a place to pull over, but for the last several weeks he’d begun to trust that voice less and less. His rational mind had been doing all the work lately, and it had been keeping him moving in the right direction—at least it felt that way. Natalie had even commented that he seemed more normal and that felt good.
The light ahead turned green and Owen pulled into the intersection. With his decision, a rush of adrenaline forced his foot down onto the gas pedal. He’d get there and his family would be fine. This was all in his head and nothing more than his imagination running off unchecked.
There were times he told himself that he’d use his unique ability to blow things out of proportion to write a novel. He had no doubt that the stories would come—all he needed to do was let that other voice take control. Just write down all the horrific scenarios he never was able to rationalize. Make them real, give them life.
But that would entail much more willpower than he currently possessed. That would be giving in to the darkness, the places he dreamed about, the parts of his mind that he had trouble controlling. It was fun to think about, but he knew better than to open that door. For now, it was closed and he needed it to stay that way.
Owen slowed the Audi as he moved away from the intersection and turned into the parking lot. Looking back toward the Italian restaurant, he eyed the white Mercedes GL, and not another vehicle anywhere in the lot.
Natalie stood leaning into the luxury SUV with her back against the passenger door. Her auburn hair hung in dense ringlets, dancing off her shoulders as it framed her deep blue eyes and the most perfect set of lips anyone had ever seen. He was truly a lucky man, the proof just feet away.
As he pulled alongside, his heart began to race. He told himself to get it together before opening the door and facing his wife, but the pressure building in his temple was too much.
He turned off the engine, opened his door and quickly stepped out. Natalie held her phone to her ear and smiled evenly as she met his gaze.
Owen mouthed “Where are the kids?”
She held up her left hand and pointed toward Johnny’s. She wasn’t speaking into the phone at the moment, only listening and dropping a few clipped words every ten to fifteen seconds. She even rolled her eyes and shook her head as she pulled the phone away from her face, briefly staring at it. “Yes Michael … I understand … and … yes, I will.”
Rolling the tension from his neck, Owen turned on his heels. He looked back toward the front doors of Johnny’s and then again scanned the lot from north to south. Nothing moved. It was as if someone forget to remind his family that it was a holiday. It felt odd, but not like he needed to be concerned.
Natalie nodded her head, offered him another quick smile and then placed the phone back to her ear. “Yes,” she said, “I’ll give you a call when I leave the office.”
As she ended the call, Owen cut his eyes at her. “Leave the office? Doesn’t he know you’re already—”
Natalie bit into her lip, tried to avoid looking directly at him. Instead she peered over his shoulder at the neon green sign hanging in the window of a twenty-four-hour dry cleaners. “Yes, he knows.”
“So?”
“I have to go back to the office, but I won’t be long. Maybe an hour or so, long before dinner, I’ll even help cook tonight.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“I wish, but unfortunately I have something scheduled with BXF Tech. And you know how long we’ve been trying to put this deal together.”
He knew what this meant to his wife’s career and also to the firm. She was on the verge of partnering and a deal like this would almost guarantee her placement. She’d been working the tech giant for what seemed like a year and with contracts in hand only needed another few hours. “What about the kids?”
“Can’t you …” Her words trailed off. “Oh no, your deal. What happened?”
He returned her smile from earlier and reached for her hand. “Not today.”
“Yeah, I figured. But what now?”
He thought for a moment about going into detail and also about running back the events from the last half hour, but knew that wouldn’t do either of them any good. She didn’
t need to hear it and he didn’t need to relive it. “Police said they should have it wrapped up sometime tomorrow. We’re gonna try to close by the end of the month.”
Natalie took a step forward, kissed him hard. “How you holding up?”
He knew what she was really asking, but for now he didn’t have an answer. “I’m fine. It can wait, I just …” Looking into his wife’s eyes, Owen had a flash of his daughter, her school. “Wait, Ava. How is she? What the hell happened at—”
“Ava’s fine. She wasn’t anywhere near where it happened, none of the kids were.” There was a look on her face that said she wasn’t telling him everything, but that he needed to leave it alone, at least for now.
And he was okay with that.
Owen thought for a moment, looked back at Johnny’s, and then turned and kissed her back. His mind was racing, telling him he needed to stop her, but knew the answer before he even asked. “There’s no way I can get you to reschedule this meeting?”
Natalie shook her head, but her smile returned. “Don’t even try it, you know what this contract means to me, to us.”
“Okay,” he said, “then let’s get some pizza.”
5
If it were possible, the interior of Johnny’s added yet another layer to his anxiety. Pushing through the doorway, only his children and a single employee remained. George, the most tenured manager, exited the kitchen, a large pepperoni in one hand and massive mushroom and olive calzone in the other. The well-muscled Italian forced a smile, but whatever this was obviously hadn’t escaped him.
“The Mercers, how’s my favorite family in the entire world?” His voice was heavy, didn’t match his enthusiasm. Owen knew what this was, knew they were keeping him from locking the doors, getting in his car, and driving away just like everyone else had.
As Owen moved to the booth he and his family had unofficially reserved years ago, well before Noah was even born, the thick smell of tomato sauce and mozzarella drifted from the kitchen, giving him hope that there was still a chance to save this day.
He eyed Ava first, offering her a silly grin and then when she turned back to her phone, he looked to Noah. “So, you guys paying today? Your mom and I might need some help with the bill.”
“DAD!” Noah slipped out of the booth and ran to him.
“Hey buddy, how was school?”
Noah turned to Natalie. His eye movement rapid and uncertain. She stared back at him with nearly the same uneasy look. “Uh.”
There it was. He had a sense that out in the parking lot she wasn’t telling him everything. As if her filtering whatever it was would soften the impact, guiding him gently into the abyss. He didn’t like how things like this typically played out in his family, but he understood why.
“Okay,” he said, “what is it … and trust me after the morning I’ve had, nothing you could tell me will come as a surprise.”
Noah took a seat across from him and sat close to his sister. He again turned his eyes to Natalie. “Um, I …”
At nearly the same time, Ava looked up from her phone and then across the table. “Dad.” She motioned to his left.
Owen looked over his shoulder, had lost himself to the moment. George now stood waiting to deliver their lunch. “I’m sorry my friend, it’s been a weird day.”
George nodded, then slid the calzone in front of him. Now with his free hand he moved aside Noah’s drink and set the oversized pepperoni and extra cheese on an aluminum stand at the center of the table. “You’re telling me.” He looked from one end of the restaurant to the other. “Weird indeed.”
Owen reached for his knife and then his fork, set them next to the plate. He needed desperately to address the elephant in the room. Not only for him but maybe for his wife too. “So, you sent everybody home?”
“No.” George looked back toward a lone television buzzing at the far side of the decades old restaurant. He stared for a brief moment and then turned back. “No one showed up today.”
He didn’t like where this was headed, but felt the need to press on. Was it possible Natalie wasn’t listening, could she not see what this was, maybe come to the same conclusion he had?
Owen now also looked around the restaurant. “Customers?”
“You guys are the first; can’t say that this has ever happened before.”
His next question might take the conversation in a direction that could do more damage than anything else. With his children present, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea, although if it led to his wife rescheduling her meeting, it may—in the end—be worth it.
“You been watching the news?”
Natalie looked up from handing Noah one of the larger slices, pepperoni cascading off the sides. “Uh, Owen?”
He didn’t turn her way, instead he feigned ignorance and waited for George to respond. When no one spoke for a full three seconds, and a thick fog of awkwardness began to settle in, he looked toward the television over his left shoulder. “This thing is everywhere.”
George’s face turned a bright shade of pink. He looked from Owen to Natalie and then to Ava and Noah. “How’s it taste, guys?”
As if oblivious to everything beyond his plate, Noah turned up a big grin and finished chewing. “It’s super good.”
With the children turned away, Natalie reached under the table. She clamped down on his thigh and squeezed. It wasn’t enough to elicit a pain response, but just enough to tell him that she was serious. Under her breath she said, “I know what you’re attempting to do, but you need to stop. I’m going to that meeting, I have to.”
He understood. She didn’t have to hear him say so, and he wasn’t going to tell her. He’d let her do what she needed to do, but he absolutely wasn’t going to like it. He reached down, removed her hand and turned back to George, took a huge bite from the calzone, and began to nod.
“You’ve outdone yourself my friend, can’t say that I’ve ever had a better calzone.”
George looked relieved. Probably more for the fact that he was no longer in the middle of a family spat, than he was at the praise for his handiwork in the kitchen. “Nothing but the best for my favorite customers.”
“We appreciate it, can’t believe you stayed open when no one showed up.”
George almost laughed, looked like he wanted to, but then thought better of it. “No worries, I have a few things I need to get done in the office today, and my girlfriend won’t be home till later anyway.” He stepped away from the table, started to turn. “And hey, it’s on the house today.”
They finished the remainder of their lunch without much chatter, other than the rapid-fire compliments Noah offered after each piece he finished. Over the last several months, the nine-year-old had taken to sharing his feelings on just about everything while in the moment, as if every detail of his young life needed a play by play.
Noah raked his napkin across his face and then playfully nudged his sister. “That was the best pizza ever!”
Ava looked up from her phone, shook her head at her younger brother, and then went back to whatever it was she was doing.
“Okay,” Owen said, dropping a twenty on the table and turning to Natalie. “Your mom says she’s going to cook dinner tonight, what do we all want?”
Natalie reached for her purse and started to slide toward the end of the booth. “I said I’d help you with dinner.”
Owen also moved out of the booth, waited for his children, and offered his wife a hug. “So, do we need to tell George we’re leaving, maybe he wants to lock up behind us?”
“You’re doing it again.”
He was, but he couldn’t help himself. “Okay, okay. I got it. We’ll see you after your meeting.”
Natalie leaned in, kissed him on the cheek, and whispered into his ear. “Keep it together.” She pulled away and motioned toward her children. “For them.”
6
Taking the side streets now seemed like a good idea. The freeway would have been a more direct route; however, he wanted a fe
w extra minutes with his kids before they arrived at home and he lost them to their laptops and their phones. There were a few questions he wanted to ask, and although he knew Natalie would find out, the need to know had become more than he could handle.
Owen slowed the Audi and looked back at his son as they approached a stop sign. The nine-year-old brushed his sandy-brown hair away from his eyes and stared down at his tablet. The eight-inch device consuming the boy’s attention had come in handy on more than one occasion, and although he felt a twinge of guilt, for the moment he wanted to focus on Ava.
As he pulled to a stop and scanned the street ahead, Owen reached for his phone and pulled it into his lap. In the passenger seat, Ava also held her phone, but had taken to using her earbuds to listen to anything other than the inside of the car.
He didn’t blame her.
Owen switched again to his messages, moved to the thread that was only Ava, and began typing.
Hey, what happened at school today?
He turned toward her and watched as the notification appeared on her screen. She paused for a moment and then as she began to type, he took the opportunity to move through the empty intersection and continue on to the next block.
Approaching the next stop sign, he looked down at his screen and then back to Ava. She was still typing, or maybe she was deleting her original message and starting over, either way it looked like she was at least going to respond. He realized there were many ways that this could go wrong, but at the moment, he was willing to take a risk.
Owen slowly rolled into the intersection and turned left as her message lit up his screen. He only caught a quick glimpse of the first few words, but didn’t want to pull to the sidewalk and take the chance of his son asking any difficult questions. Better to wait the additional thirty seconds.
The next cross street brought the first vehicle he’d seen in over five minutes. A police cruiser had turned right and slowed to a stop ten feet from his door. Owen offered a nod and started to pull away when the officer held up his hand, motioned for him to open his window.
