40. Torren
40
TORREN
“Where is she?”
Savannah glances up at me from her spot on the couch. She’s got her legs thrown over Levi’s lap with her lyric notebook on the coffee table, and her beat-up acoustic is resting on the cushion beside her.
“Where is who?”
She’s still wearing the outfit she wore for the show, and the Caveat Lover tank top taunts me as I try not to lose my shit. I have to clench my fists to keep from shaking her. To make her answer me. To make her stop wasting time.
“Callie.” I scan the room quickly. “She was just here. Where is she?”
Mabel is sitting on the floor next to Sav, staring at the ceiling with her headphones on, but when she sees me, her brow furrows and she slips them off. Mabes hasn’t changed out of her outfit either. Jonah is probably still slumped over where I left him, bleeding all over his vintage Nirvana T-shirt from the jab I landed to his nose.
“She’s not in the room?”
Sav’s voice is laced with panic as she bolts up from the couch and crosses the floor of the hotel suite. My stomach twists with anxiety as I take out my phone and dial her number. I listen to it ring and ring before it goes to voicemail.
Sav swings the door wide to the connecting room and disappears inside. I know she won’t find Callie in there. I already checked. Instead, I check the bathroom and the other two bedrooms while dialing Callie’s number again.
“Fuck,” Sav says, and I turn to find her staring into a small, sleek designer handbag. “My keys are gone. I think she took my keys.” She drags her eyes to mine and chills race up my spine at the way her face goes ashen. “Why would she leave now? She was out there when?—”
I push past Sav without an answer. I don’t stick around to hear her finish the sentence. I know what happened out there. I don’t want to recount it.
Just before I reach the door, Red steps in front of me and puts his big hand on my shoulder. It doesn’t matter that I’m almost thirty—Red makes me feel like a teenager trying to sneak out after curfew. I’d laugh at the thought if I wasn’t on the verge of succumbing to my panic.
“Let me go, Red.”
He shakes his head. “Can’t do that, kid.”
“I have to get to Callie. She’s alone. She’s upset. She’s not answering her phone. I need to get to her.”
His stern expression doesn’t change, but I think I see a flicker of concern in his eyes.
“You don’t know where she went.”
He speaks slowly and with authority, studying my face as he does. He’s going to shut me down again. He’ll probably bind me to the chair with my own bootlaces in the name of safety. I’ve always appreciated that behavior when it was out of concern for Sav, but now, when I’m the focus, I hate it. I narrow my eyes and open my mouth to argue, but Sav steps up behind me and cuts me off.
“She’s in my Porsche,” Sav says, her hand reaching past in my periphery, holding something toward Red. “The tracker says she’s heading toward Santa Monica.”
I drop my attention to the phone screen. The security tracker Red put on all of Savannah’s vehicles shows a little red dot heading west on the freeway.
“She’s going home.” My heart sinks, but I steel my resolve. “I’m going, Red. You’ll have to beat me bloody to keep me here.”
“Go with him if you’re worried,” Sav says, but Red shakes his head.
“I’m not leaving you.”
“For Christ’s sake, Red,” Sav says, putting her hands on her hips. “ This place is crawling with security. It’s been swept twice already. I’m fine. We’re fine. Go with Torren or you’re fired.”
A flicker of humor flashes in Red’s eyes. He knows she’s full of shit. She threatens to fire him at least once a week, and we all know she never would.
Finally, he nods, and I follow as he strides out the door.
In a matter of minutes that feel like hours, we’re in the underground garage and he’s tossing me a new set of keys. I follow his lead and swing my leg over a black sport bike, taking a moment to shove the helmet on my head. Red starts his bike, so I start mine, and then I follow him out of the garage and toward the freeway.
Behind Red, I weave in and out of cars, moving onto the shoulder when traffic starts to thicken. It’s late at night, way past rush hour, so it shouldn’t be this congested right now. The coil of anxiety tightens in my stomach, and despite my rational mind screaming at me to stay calm, I can’t. I have to get to her. I just have to make sure she’s okay.
I speed up, blowing past Red and racing as fast as I can down the shoulder of the freeway. So fast that the cars on the road seem gridlocked and at a standstill. Faster than is safe, but all I can think about is getting to Callie. My heart speeds along with the bike. My need to get to her clouding my logic and taking over my instincts.
I can feel it, though.
In my stomach, in my chest, I know something is wrong.
The scene is revealed all at once, but my mind registers it in slow motion, one devastating detail at a time.
The cars are indeed at a standstill. No one on either side of the freeway is moving.
Flashing lights materialize into vehicles, and I slow the bike just enough so I can drop it to the pavement and take off at a run toward them.
A fire truck blares on its horn in the distance. A cop car parks on the shoulder thirty yards away. It’s like scanning a junk yard. It’s like a still from an apocalyptic movie, and I know. I know Callie is here somewhere.
The smell of burning rubber and gasoline stings my nose. My eyes start to water. More horns blare. Sirens wail. People cry out for help.
Among the wreckage, I hear shouts of first responders arriving, and I want to scream at them. Hurry. Find her. Run faster. How am I here first? Why aren’t they helping? Why aren’t they hurrying? A helicopter arrives overhead as my feet crunch over broken glass.
My eyes scan over the wreckage decorating every lane of the freeway. Skid marks and ashes. Car parts and broken glass. Papers blowing about, soaked with water and stuck to the pavement. A shoe. A child’s car seat. I take note of four vehicles, all with varying degrees of damage, before I find the one I’m looking for.
And when I finally see it, all the air is sucked from my lungs.
Sav’s red Porsche is upside down, crammed between two other vehicles, and I take off at a run toward it. Panic lodges in my throat, my feet moving slower than I want them to as I scan my eyes over the wreckage.
It’s like an impressionist sculpture, the way the metals are twisted and skewed. The Porsche is only a two-seater. It’s small to begin with, but now...it’s accordioned. Like a beer can after you step on it.
It’s eerily silent.
There are noises coming from everywhere right now—shouting, crying, sirens–but as I reach Sav’s Porsche, I hear nothing. The hairs on my arms, on the back of my neck, stand on end, and chill bumps cover every inch of my skin.
The car next to Sav’s Porsche is black, and when I’m close enough, I realize it’s a soft-top convertible. A metal rod protrudes from the top, glinting in the red and blue flashing lights, and there is a person in the front seat. They’re slumped over the steering wheel, not moving or calling for help. Briefly, I wonder if I should check on them, if there is anything I can do, but my feet don’t stop. My body has other plans. I walk until I’m at the front of Sav’s car, then I drop myself to the ground.
“Callie. Callie, baby, can you hear me?”
My knees and palms sting from the shards of broken glass littering the pavement. When I can’t see into the car, I flatten myself to the ground, slicing my forearms and abdomen, too.
No sound. No movement. But then...
I see her hair. Covering the roof of the car. Shielding her features from me. It’s plastered to her face, and I reach out gently and try to brush it away, but it’s wet. For a fraction of a breath, I think it’s not Callie in this car because this hair is black .
But then it hits me.
Not black. Blood.
“Baby...” I choke on the word and reach through the window, seeking out her hand. “Baby, I’m here. Can you hear me?”
I turn my head and yell out into the night.
“Somebody help! Somebody! I need a paramedic over here!”
I turn back to Callie. I find her right hand. It’s warm, but limp, and I rub her knuckles with my thumb. I use my other hand to gently move sticky strands of hair off her beautiful face.
“Firebird, baby, I’m here, okay, but I need you to wake up. I need you to wake up, okay?”
I turn and shout behind me once more, screaming for help. For anyone to come save the love of my life as tears stream down my cheeks.
“Torren.” I flinch as Red’s voice sounds from above me, cutting off my screaming. “Just hang on. I’ll get them.” I listen as his boots pound off in search of help.
I lay my face flat on the ground, then tilt so I can see Callie better. So I’m almost suspended upside down like she is. Everything about it is unnatural and wrong, the way her body hangs from the seat belt. The way her hand doesn’t so much as twitch in mine.
I move my thumb to her wrist and try to take a pulse, but I feel nothing. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right. The last time I tried to take a pulse was when Jonah had overdosed, and I couldn’t find one that time, either.
I squeeze my eyes and give my head a shake as an image of Jonah’s lifeless body invades my head, blending with the horror taking place right in front of me. No.
I open my eyes and focus back on Callie.
“Baby, please. Please, just hold on, okay? I’m going to get you help, but I need...I need you to hold on. I can’t...I can’t lose you, okay? Okay, Calla Lily?”
I rub my thumb over her hand and ignore the stickiness of blood. I keep my eyes on the side of her face and stare at her lips, begging for them to move. I ignore the blood there, too. It doesn’t matter. If I could reach, I would kiss her.
This can’t be how it ends. This can’t be happening .
I squeeze my eyes shut, blinking away more tears before I settle my attention back on the side of her lifeless face. I can’t look away. I won’t look away.
“Someone is coming,” I whisper, hovering my fingertips over her cheek. Over her lips. “Someone is coming, I promise. Just hold on.”
“Torren.”
A weak, raspy whisper. At first, it’s so quiet, I think I imagined it. If I hadn’t been looking at her mouth, I might have missed it entirely.
“Torren.”
“I’m here, baby. I’m here.” I swallow back the urge to sob and try to keep my voice as steady as possible. I fail, but I try. “You just...you just hang in there, baby. There’s been an accident, but someone is coming, and then I can take you home, okay?”
“Torren.”
I rub my thumb over her hand some more and do my best to keep her talking. Every instinct in my body says to keep her talking, even if it’s just a single word. Even if it’s only my name. God, just let her keep saying my name.
“What if you teach me how to play piano, Firebird? Would you do that for me?”
Silence.
“I love hearing you play. Remember last night when we played ‘Heart and Soul’ together?”
Silence.
“Can I tell you what I imagined last night? I imagined sitting with you at that piano and listening to you play every night. Beethoven and Bach and Chopin.”
Silence.
“Can you see it, baby? Can you see it?”
Silence.
“Just hang in there, okay? Just...just don’t go. Please, baby. Please, Firebird. Someone is coming. Please don’t go.”
Silence.