Page 22 of The Business Trip

I sighed just thinking about her. She was acting like a giddy schoolgirl. I was further torn between being happy for her and finding this whole thing completely distasteful. Reaching for my glasses and the phone on the bedside table, I saw I had a new text from Steph. Immediately, I opened it, thinking it would be some love-filled soliloquy. Instead, I saw this…

I’m typing this while Trent is sleeping. I think I might come home earlier than expected. Remember how I said he was bossy? Well he actually yelled at me. It scared me. His anger came out of nowhere. Hedoesn’t like it when I contact people from home. I’ll call you when I can

My heart seemed to quite literally stop for a moment and my throat closed up. Frantically, I started typing.

Oh my god, are you OK? What’s happening? Do you need help?

I waited for the read receipt to pop up on the text chain, but it just said “Delivered.” I tried again:

Steph, please answer

And again:

If you don’t text me back soon, I’m calling 911

Ten minutes later, I was seriously contemplating doing just that when she finally responded.

I’m OK. It’s OK for now, he seems to have settled down this morning. I’m going to book a flight though. I’ll be in touch

I typed back, my mind still shocked into a state of panic:

Come home now!!

Can I call you? Can I talk to you?

No, not right now. I have to go. He’s coming

Primal fear was not a feeling I had experienced many times in my life, but I recognized it right away. It burst into my pores. Those words “He’s coming” felt like something out of a horror movie. Leaping out of bed, I started pacing frantically in my bedroom. But I was over eight hundred miles away. What could I realistically do?

I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t concentrate, I wasted the entire morning thinking of nothing but Steph and this controlling guy. Pacing my entire townhouse, I finally got restless and went to Steph’s to feed Fred and pace her home too.

As I was walking past her row of plants for the tenth time, I had the sudden thought to look around the place more. I didn’t know why or what good it would do. If she was with some nutjob in Atlanta, how would snooping around her house help? But it felt like something productive. To what end, I wasn’t sure.

The first floor was tidy and organized. Not much to see. In the kitchen, I opened a few cabinet doors but saw nothing other than plates and cups and bowls. Her refrigerator had a few magnets with the logo of the station on them but was fairly bland otherwise. The cat food she had left out for me to feed Fred was getting low, and I made a mental note to bring some from Evita’s stash when I came back later.

Walking up the stairs to the second floor, I started in the guest room and poked around a bit. A basic bed and nightstand, extra sheets and towels in the closet. In between the guest room and her room was a bathroom, and I opened the medicine cabinet to see the usual: makeup wipes and Q-tips, some aspirin. A tube of Vagisil made me shut the cabinet quickly.

Into her room I went. The bed was hastily made, but theonly thing out of place were a few dresser drawers not shut all the way. I took the time to shut them.

In her walk-in closet, jeans and sweatshirts were all over one side, a sports bra hanging on the back of the door handle, socks strewn about. The other side had her work clothes, neatly arranged by color. I reached out and touched a blue shirt I had always liked her in. My phone vibrated in my pocket.

Looking down, I saw that it was her.

Robert—he hit me, he hit me hard. I’m scared. I think he’s going to kill me

Never have I both run and stumbled so quickly.

I twisted my knee trying to get down the stairs and dropped my phone because my hands were shaking so badly. It crashed to the wood floor, and I had a horrid fear that I had just broken it. Neither Steph nor I owned a landline, and I had to call 9-1-1. Now. What would I do if it was broken?

Urgently, I picked it back up with hands that were into full-blown tremors now. Oh, thank goodness, it seemed to be OK, just a crack on the cover.

Beads of sweat were forming on my forehead. My throat felt hoarse. I wondered if I would be able to talk to the 9-1-1 operator. Forcing my fingers to function, I pushed those dreaded three buttons that no one wants to use and held the phone to my ear, my heart thumping so loudly I could hear it, blood pulsing at my ears.

“9-1-1, what’s your emergency?”

“My friend is in trouble. She texted me that a man is trying to kill her. Someone she has been seeing. His name is Trent…”

“Sir, calm down, where is her last known location?”

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