I watched the clock, starting to get nervous. Rachel should've been here over an hour ago. I already had popped some popcorn, got tea, and set up the movie player. The large screen in the living room that my dad often played musicals on emitted light into the room. He would be gone until all hours of the morning because of opening night being so close. Tech week is hell week, according to anyone in a theatre troupe. Rachel and I would have the house to ourselves. A ping sounded from my laptop not too far away.
The next of several dates after our first one loomed in front of us. All of our previous dates included hanging out in different places and enjoying each other's company. I slowly worked up the nerve to kiss her, and reserved that nerve for tonight. That is, if she wanted to kiss me back. I wouldn't make her do anything she felt uncomfortable with. I could probably just do the thing that you always see in movies, where one person leans in and waits for the other to complete the kiss. I mean, sure, if she doesn't complete it, I'll look a bit dorky, but that's okay. It's her right to decide if that's what she wants or not, regardless of my intentions.
Rachel's name and smiling face came up on the messenger application. A message accompanied it.
u up dear?
I frowned at the words, walking over to the laptop. I slid into my dad's giant recliner chair, a luxury I only enjoyed when he wasn't at home. Hilariously, I found out dads everywhere reserved a chair just for them. Everyone has that parent that has to sit in one particular chair all the time, even if it means making you get up so they can sit there, no matter what. My heart thudded in worry and concern. Rachel never forgot our dates, what changed tonight? My clock read nine in the afternoon.
Yeah, you okay? You were supposed to come over to my house for movie night.
I typed back, hands itching and a nervousness building up in my head. Did I do something wrong? Even if I didn't, I didn't want to sound like a jerk for calling her out about forgetting our date. Now that I reread the sentence, I really did feel like a jerk for saying that. I started hastily typing an apology when another message popped up.
oh jeez fey im so sorry i got caught up in the riddle bc i figured it out
I breathed a small sigh of relief as I read her message. I didn't mind that she got caught up in something, those kinds of things happen sometimes. Her next words, however, had me back on edge.
now that im here tho its really scary can you come plz? 201 n Manchester
Guilt strangled my chest. I couldn't go anywhere because of my dad's ruling. Heavy fingers weighed down with disappointment, I typed back a reply.
I'm grounded, no phone, already planning on sneaking out for the event. Can't. :< We can video chat from my PC?
The reply instantly arrived.
k calling
I watched as the screen lit up with her profile picture, name, and the answer or reject option. I hastily selected the answer option, pulling off the tape from my laptop camera I placed there previously because of my paranoia.
The phrase 'Connecting...' popped up over her profile picture. Once it connected, her face showed up on the screen for a split second. In that short amount of time, I recognized a look of terror and heard a shriek come from her mouth. The camera violently swayed as if she dropped it and showed the view of the ceiling. Before I could get out a choked whisper of her name, something washed over the camera and a crunching sound crackled through my speakers.
'Call Dropped. Would you like to rate the quality of your call?'
My heart refused to leave my throat. It rattled it like irons and chains, a constant ringing of reminder of what the words on the screen meant. I couldn't move, even though I wanted to. I wanted to run out the door after her and save her so that she would never have to experience any horrors.
When I regained my movement, heart still banging against the walls of my throat, I looked at the time on my laptop. The numbers read a little past nine. I could still run out and be back home before Dad knew. I didn't want to, but my eyes drifted back to the words on the screen. I had to help Rachel. Horrible troubles loomed around the corner. I would hate to think what happened, or what would happen if I didn't go to help her. Besides, if I did get caught, he would understand, right? I only went out because I was terrified for Rachel's safety. I wrote the address from our messages on my hand, pulled on my jacket, and locked the door behind me. My hands shook with fear.
The bus seemed fuller than usual, but then again, the first of Spring Break arrived. More people had off-time from work. I asked the other riders to find the address, eventually finding out that some Catholic church in town sat on that block. They told me which stop to get off the creaking bus to be as close as possible.
My feet hit the ground of Manchester Street, and I continued north after getting off the bus. The Catholic Church stretched into the air, like an immaculate fortress of holy power. I found the doors unlocked when I tested them, as most churches often are, and I pushed them open to enter.
The musty smell of candles and oil assaulted my senses, and the dim light circulated from the candles and lamps above that staff could easily reach from the second floor. Even though electricity ran through the walls, the clergy left these on at night for soul searchers, I suppose.
I noticed the lump in the middle aisle heading upward to the pulpit. Rachel lay crumpled on the ground, a bit of red staining her blonde hair at the back. She hit her head on the corner of one of the pews. Tears peaked at my eyes, and I habitually searched my pockets for my phone before remembering that I didn't have it. Then, on quick feet, I rushed to look for the phone in the church room, and dial 911.
"I wish to remain anonymous on my call in." I breathed out the teary words, and the dispatcher began asking the general questions concerning the emergency. "I'm at 201 East Manchester, the church. My friend got injured somehow. I'm not sure how, but she hit her head, and I think someone attacked her." I paused, listening to the operator. He tried to calm me down before continuing. "Yes, she's bleeding, and she's passed out." He calmly dictated a few words into my ear, and I left the phone briefly to bend down and check her pulse as the person asked. To my relief, a steady heartbeat sounded against my fingers.I dashed back to the phone, and answered. "Yes, she's alive. Please hurry." A pause entered my broken, tear-rushed speech. "Her name is Rachel Gales. Yes, we need an ambulance."
The person instructed me to remain at the scene, and to respond to the ambulance and the police when they arrived before I could go home. I hung up the phone, shivering, and waited for the approach of police sirens. My feet led me back into the main room, and I sat near Rachel. Salty spears seared down my face, and every part of me wanted to heave up my dinner. I wished I arrived sooner to prevent this, so that she didn't have to suffer whatever happened.
At first, I thought my eyes caught a sparkle from her pretty fingernail polish, but it emitted from a necklace that she clutched tightly in her hand. A red beaded necklace, something I saw somewhere before. Despite this, I couldn't place it. Did she rip that off her attacker, or was that her necklace? Since I felt so close to it, I figured it she wore it and I just never took notice. The red beads softly gleamed in the dim lighting. I wanted to pick the item up and examine it, but that would tamper with the crime scene.
The sirens finally entered the block, and so I stood up, wiping the tears from my eyes. I never thought in my life that I would have to do something like this, and yet, people rushed in like we stood in a huge crime scene made specifically for one of those police television shows. They all asked me to step back so that the forensic staff could take pictures, and then the paramedics carefully and quickly placed Rachel on a stretcher to take to the ambulance. I wanted to go with her, but two very large officers in blue uniforms and badges stood between us.
They both asked me to sit down on the pews away from the scene while other police started to examine it with a fine toothed comb. After sitting next to me, the duo asked general questions, like how I knew to show up to help, who she was, who I was, if I wanted to remain anonymous, how she got injured, what she was doing out here, and everything they could think of. The time ticked well past eleven before they exhausted all of their questions, and I felt like I cried every tear that my body would ever contain in my life time.
The first cop offered me a ride home in her cruiser, and after giving her a call back number so that the station could contact me, I accepted the ride. The ride home wracked my body with nothing but worry and despair. Even as I stepped back out of the car onto my sidewalk, I felt empty and scared. I never experienced anything so surreal, and yet, now the event quietly sat engraved in my mind.
"Hey, if you need us, call us, okay? Try to get some rest and relax, we will take care of your friend." The cop leaning out the window promised me, and I nodded, though I didn't really trust her. Honestly, if I had been more in my right mind, I wouldn't have accepted the ride. Being in certain communities meant bad experience with cops where I came from. Police brutality over your ethnicity, orientation, and identity spiraled into lawsuits and a lot of heartache. The car rolled away as I turned the doorknob, finding it still locked. Good. Dad hadn't made it home yet. I wiped my eyes, and dug into my back pocket for my keys, unlocking the door afterwards.
The house as I left it, movie player ready, popcorn popped, tea made, and laptop's screen reminding me of what just happened, made no sound when I entered. With shaky hands, I replaced the tape on the camera and closed the laptop so I wouldn't have to think about it. I reheated the tea and the popcorn, figuring that I would eat for two because of my upset feelings. Then, with that, I inserted the movie into the player that we promised to watch. Meet The Robinsons started up, making me cry again.
That's what I did most of the night, watching old movies that we promised to watch, eating popcorn, drinking tea, and worrying. I was even up when my dad came home, and my want to participate in the event forced my mouth shut about what happened. I had to lie about my tears, telling him the movie stirred me to them instead of a real person that I loved being injured.
"I'm glad you two girls had a ton of fun!" My dad chirped as he removed his stage makeup.
My entire being shattered.