Page 5 of Kept 2
Taking a deep breath, I move away from the front desk, plonk myself despondently down in one of the foyer chairs in the far corner, and answer.
“Hi, Blake.”
“It’s not Blake.”
“James?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t understand; the caller identification said this was Blake’s number.”
“If by Blake you mean Officer Reynolds, then yes, this is his number. I’m calling using his phone.”
“What? Why?”
“Officer Reynolds is, how shall I put this, indisposed at the moment.”
“Fucking hell, James,” I hear my voice go up an octave, “what have you done?”
“Josephine for Christ’s sake, I haven’t done anything. I came to your apartment when I was released from jail, thank you for that by the way, and found your door unlocked. I came in because, and I freely admit this, I was going to steal back the journal I gave you, only I discovered your police officer friend.”
“When you say, discovered?” I feel a chill creeping up my spine, the back of my neck crawls.
“I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad tidings,” he sighs, “Officer Reynolds is dead.”
“Dead? Oh, my God! What happened? How?”
“Do you really want to know? Because I can paint a very ugly picture for you, standing as I am amid bits and pieces of him.”
“Oh, Jesus, oh fuck, oh fucking Jesus.”
“Even if he was real, he couldn’t help you. But I can, Josephine. Where are you?”
I look down at the phone, dropped at some point during the conversation into my lap, and put my face into my hands.
‘Dead? All my fault. Should have warned him…’
“Josephine? Are you still there? Tell me where you are. I can help you. I can protect you.”
I take my hands from my face, slowly, and shake my head.
“No, James, you can’t,” I whisper as I hang up and turn off my phone, speaking into the void. “No one can.”
I wait until my face has returned to its normal colour before dialling Margarita. I have tried every day since she disappeared, even though, deep down, part of me knows she is dead. Once again, I receive the usual message; ‘this phone is switched off or not in a mobile area.’
‘God, please don’t let her death have been terrible. Please don’t let her be in bits and pieces too.’
I sit for some time, staring at the phone in my lap, considering what to do, before deciding there was nothingtodo, but to take stock of my situation, regroup my emotions and aim for the future, no matter how short that might be. I’m good at this, hadn’t I done it after Dad died? Me, only 17, still in school, no way to pay the mortgage, no relatives to go to – I’d regrouped. Had to sell the house, had to get a job, but I’d survived.
‘And I didn’t suffer all those years just to be eaten by a crazed vampire.’
Standing on shaky legs, I walk back to the counter and interrupt the young man who is busy flirting with another new arrival, a tall, tanned girl with beads in her plaits who looks like she has just arrived from some tropical, hedonistic beach world.
“Uh, can you call me a taxi, uh, please?”
“Sure, where do you want to go?”
“I, uh, I want to buy some clothes. Is anywhere open here at night where I can do that? And some food, but mainly, uh, clothes.”
