Page 48 of Daring the Hockey Player
Are you alive? You're not answering your phone, and there was a fire in your building last night? Call me.
Obviously, if she's not alive, she couldn't answer my text. But in a panic, I sent the first thought that popped out of my head.
I grab a cab and head straight to her apartment. I'm not sure what I expect to find, but I need answers. Maybe they can tell me who died in the fire because the news refuses to give out that information until next of kin has been notified.
I'm nauseous just thinking about next of kin. Is that Emerson? Would she find out first or someone else? I've never heard much about Emerson's parents, and Amber has never mentioned her mom or dad.
I hardly know anything about Amber, and that hurts even worse.
Barricades are put up a block from her apartment, and the cabbie drops me off as close as he can get. I hand over cash, including tip, and hurry the rest of the way on foot.
There's a trailer parked in the middle of the street and a whiteboard on the side with apartment numbers of people accounted for.
I don't know Amber's apartment number. I never went inside her place. I snap a few photographs, trying to make sense of the information.
"Can I help you?" a woman asks, glancing me over.
"My girlfriend…" I pause. That's not quite the right word. Although she is a girl and a friend. "…she lives here."
"What's her name?"
"Amber Ryan," I say and exhale a breath.
"Apartment number?" she asks.
I shake my head. "We just started—"
She doesn’t smile, her expression is somber, and she reaches into the trailer and retrieves a clipboard. "Her name is Amber Ryan?" the woman repeats.
I nod. "That's correct."
"She's unaccounted for," the woman says.
"What does that mean?" I shake my head in dismay. "The news, they said there were at least three bodies pulled from the fire." I don't want to imagine she might be one of those bodies.
"There were quite a few residents who escaped the fire and left with friends nearby on campus, or family picked them up. We tried to get everyone to give us their information, but some residents left before we showed up."
"She got out," I repeat. I have to believe it. Amber is a fighter.
"We don't know. We have twenty-six residents unaccounted for. It's also possible some might not have been at their apartment last night," the woman says.
Amber was here. I sent her home, and if anything happened to her, I'll never forgive myself.
The remnants are blocked off with caution tape like it’s a crime scene, and I stumble back to the subway. I don't bother calling a cab. I need the cold air on my face to numb me.
I try Amber again. No answer. I'm not sure if she's ignoring me or if something happened to her. But I'd like to think she wouldn't ignore me, especially since her apartment burned down. She has to know that I'd be worried.
I don't have Charlotte's number. There's no way for me to reach her. And I don't know what classes Amber is taking, so I can't exactly stalk outside the classroom. NYU has a large campus, which isn't going to make it any easier for me to find her.
I head down to the subway, grab the train, and let my mind wander. If she's in class, she wouldn't answer my texts or phone calls. She might not even see them for a little while.
It's been over an hour since I called her this morning.
I can't take waiting. Wondering. Worrying. It's too painful.
I change trains at the station and follow the map, having to switch again in order to get to my brother's house. It would have been simpler to take a cab to Kyler's place. I'm not sure that he's even home, but I need someone to talk to, and maybe Emerson has heard something, or I'm going to worry her to death.
I don't see another option.
