Chapter 20. Robert
CHAPTER 20
Robert
The Tuesday After the Flight
It was snowing when I woke up, kind of a sleety snow, not very pretty. Instant slush all over the place.
Ugh. Given that it was supposed to hit a deep freeze later that night, I knew I would have to put some salt down on the front walk or it would be a skating rink. Guess I’d need to do Steph’s side too.
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. He doesn’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 the only 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?”
“She’s in Atlanta.” I felt like I was slurring, like I was drunk. “It was a work trip and she met this guy and…”
“Sir, do you have any idea where in Atlanta she is?”
“No… I…” But then, suddenly, I realized I did know. What she said about Zillow. “Wait, yes, she texted me his address. Hold on.”
Putting her on speakerphone and with hands that continued to violently shake, I called up my text chain with Steph. Seeing her most recent text and the words “He’s going to kill me” made my body go cold, but I forced myself to breathe, muttering under my breath, “Come on, Robert, where is it? Where is it?” Scrolling backward, the text with the photo of the outside of his condo popped up. There it was, her words, with his address.
“4240 Horizon Lane,” I said. “She told me the neighborhood too. Um, wait, here it is… Peachtree Village.”
“Sir, we will get in contact with Atlanta police and send a dispatch right away. What is your name?”
“Robert… Robert Tayburn.”
“OK, Robert. We have your number. Someone will call you back if needed.”
“Thank you, oh, thank you. Hurry, please. Please hurry.” We hung up and tears sprang into my eyes. I sank down onto Steph’s bottom stair, gulping air into my lungs and trying to steady my breath.
Wiping my eyes, I suddenly realized I had not responded directly to Steph. I was so busy calling 9-1-1 I hadn’t even given a second to her. Instead of texting, I tried calling. It went right to voicemail. I tried again, and again.
“Oh, Steph, oh no,” I moaned, then frantically texted:
I called 911. They are on their way. CALL ME
There was no reply. Bolting back to my place, I felt fear and confusion now overtaking me.
“What the hell??” I yelled.
I wanted to throw the phone but knew that wasn’t wise, so I picked up a couple of pillows from the couch and started hurling them around, screaming. Evita got frightened, jumped down off the kitty condo, and scurried upstairs, probably to a closet. I would have to make amends with her later.
My fit lasted a few minutes. When the rage started to subside, I curled onto the couch in a fetal position and began to bawl. I felt like a child and didn’t care.
My phone rang. Standing and lunging for it, I hoped it was Steph, but instead it was her boss. I now recognized his number.
“Dave?” I cried into the receiver, skipping the hellos.
“Robert, are you OK?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know what’s happening. I got texts from Steph and I called 9-1-1 and now she’s not answering me.”
“9-1-1? What did the texts say?” Dave’s tone turned to worry.
“She said she thought this Trent guy she met was going to kill her. She was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I called 9-1-1 and they sent the Atlanta police over.”
“Robert, I think we need to get our heads together. I also have some information. Can you get to Channel 3 and meet me in my office?”
“Um, yes, yes, sure. I can… but what do you mean, you have information?”
“Robert—I need you to sit down now. Are you sitting?”
I wasn’t, but I lied. “Yes.”
“OK, Robert—we have some reason to believe that the person texting might not be Stephanie. Have you actually spoken to her since she got to Atlanta?”
Now I sat involuntarily, more collapsed, in fact, back onto the couch.
“What do you mean? Of course it’s her. She texted me a ton and left me a voice memo. She sent me a photo. Of her in Atlanta. Sightseeing.”
“Where was she?” Dave asked.
“Centennial Olympic Park. Do you think someone is impersonating her? I’m so confused. She sent me a picture of a gift she was getting me. It’s her.”
“I don’t know, Robert, but please come to Channel 3 right away. We need to talk and I think we need to compare notes.”
“On my way,” I said, and I grabbed a coat and was out the door within ten seconds.