Page 43 of Chalk Outline
“What do you mean, traffickers?”
“Animal traffickers. He was abused, and your grandma sent a rescue team to get him out. He lived in the forest for a long time. Freely.”
“Why did he attack you?”
“He didn’t. He was wounded, and I tried to help him. He just got a little bit excited.”
So, he’s a saint as well.
He hisses. “Can you say something, please?”
“There’s an urban tale about ghosts that haunt an abandoned mansion in Romania. It’s called The Ghosts of the Teleki Mansion. During World War II, soldiers entered that mansion, believing there was wine in the cellar. They found it and drank as much as they could. Drunkenly, they started shooting off their guns, puncturing the massive wine barrels. The cellar began toflood, and the soldiers could not escape in time and ended up drowning and dying.”
“Tragic,” he says in a weak voice.
“Yeah, they say that place is haunted to this day. You can go and find out if you’re brave enough,” I tease before I tell him another story.
“Mm... I’m halfway through.” A guttural groan erupts from deep within his throat.
I push the talk button, but the channel is busy. He must be gripping the radio with his thighs. Still, I stay with him every step of the way. I can feel the pain surging through his shoulder as if I’m right there with him.
“Are you married? Kids?” Jason suddenly asks in a terse tone, releasing the channel.
I gasp, realizing I had been holding my breath this whole time. “I was married. No kids.”
“What do you mean you were? Are you divorced?” This sudden interest seems suspicious, but I’ll indulge in this conversation because he is in pain.
“I’m a widow.”
Silence stretches between us like a loaded gun. The tension is almost tangible, but the void beneath it makes me wonder.
“D—do you miss him?”
I would do anything to see him again. “More than anything.”
“Want to t—talk about it m—more?” He whimpers.
“Are you a psychologist?” I wait a few moments for his response.
“Uh-uh, but I’m a good listener.”
“Do you have time?” I chuckle, though I am prying for more information.
A weary sigh escapes his lips, “Do you think a year is enough?”
“Sure.”
So he is staying, and I simultaneously feel happy, relieved, and mad.
“If I pass out, you will have to come and save me.”
“I’ll jump over no questions asked.” I run along.
“Really? That easy? I thought you were going to give me hell.”
“I didn’t say I won’t tie you up and make you bleed until you give me answers.”
“Ah, sounds more like it now,” he groans softly, and something inside me stirs because I’ve heard that sound before. That exact sound. I know it with all my heart. But do I? Or am I going crazy?
