Epilogue
Lane
The buzzing sound of my phone jars me out of sleep. I grab it and see a blocked number. I decline the call and roll over, pressing my face into the pillow. It’s 5:45 a.m.
These scam callers really need to check the time zone they’re calling.
I’m drifting back to sleep when it buzzes again. I let out an audible groan that has Dave shifting in his sleep next to me. I grab my phone and see the blocked number again. I decline it again and check the notifications; this is the fourth time it’s called in the last ten minutes.
I sit up against the headboard; my brows push together.
That’s really weird.
“What is it, babe?”
Dave mumbles sleepily as I rub his back.
“Nothing. Scam caller.”
He grunts, and within a minute, he’s breathing deeply again.
I, however, am now wide awake. A cold weight settles in my gut. This isn’t just a scam call.
Something isn’t right.
I stand, unplug my phone, and head downstairs to make a coffee. I’m awake now. I’m leaning against the counter, rubbing my eyes, when my phone lights up again.
Blocked Number
I sigh and swipe to answer.
“Hello?”
There is a short pause before a woman speaks.
“Is this Lane Montedoro?”
The formality of it makes my heart drop.
Something is wrong.
I clear my throat.
“This is she…”
“I’m calling from Torhaven Mercy Hospital,” The woman says calmly and clearly. “This evening, we had Alexandria Donnelly brought in, and you’re listed as her emergency contact.”
The world shifts, and I reach behind to stabilize myself on the countertop. At the same time, the coffee machine kicks on, and a loud whirring sound fills the room.
“Yes…”
My voice is barely above a whisper.
“Do you know, Ms. Donnelly?”
“Yes,”
What the fuck happened?
“Alright. Well, Ms. Donnelly was in a fire at her apartment overnight. Are you able to come in?”
A cold sweat breaks over me as my pulse thrums in my ears. I slowly lower myself onto the cold tile floor, pressing my back into the cabinets.
Oh, my god.
“Is she okay?”
There is a pause. A pause so long that I know it isn’t good. Something terrible happened to her.
“The doctors would prefer you come in to discuss her condition. When can you be here?”
The conversation is a blur. I make notes on the pad of paper on the fridge designed for groceries, and it’s so surreal. Yesterday, I wrote a list of school snacks the kids needed, and now I write down the details of the hospital one of my best friends was taken to after a fire—to the hospital that won’t tell me if she’s okay or alive.
I walk back to the bedroom; it’s 6:12 am.
I lower myself to the edge of the bed next to Dave, and as soon as I’m fully seated next to him, his eyes fly open.
“What?”
He knows something is wrong.
“Lane, what’s wrong?”
I can’t speak. I don’t know how to say it. I don’t know what to say because she wouldn’t give me information. The frustration crashes into me, and I break down, sobbing quietly next to him.
He’s upright, with his arms wrapped around me in a flash. Gently shushing me.
“Lane, who was that? It’s okay. Tell me what’s happening.”
He’s so calm, always so calm.
“It’s Lex. Something happened, and that was the hospital.”
I struggle to get the words out between sobs.
He presses for more information, and my frustration surrounds me.
“I don’t know, Dave. I don’t fucking know. They wouldn’t tell me anything. They asked me to come there.”
I press my head into my hands.
Is my friend dead?
He moves, rising out of bed and walking to the closet.
“What are you doing? It’s so early. Go back to sleep.”
As if he could or would. I’m not thinking clearly.
He reaches for my phone, still gripped in my hand.
My ears ring—my mind races.
The morgue or the burn unit— where will they take me?
Dave sounds a thousand miles away when he speaks to the receiver.
“Hey, Mom. Yeah—I know. It’s early. Sorry.” There is a pause, “Kids are fine, but Lane just got a call from the hospital, and something happened with Lex. Can you come to stay with the kids while we go?”
I can faintly hear his mom speaking; her tone sounds frantic even while barely audible.
“We don’t know, Mom. Can you come? Okay, thanks. See you soon.”
He’s pulling a small suitcase out of the closet.
“Dave, you can stay. Your mom doesn’t need to come..”
I don’t sound confident because I don’t want him to stay here. I need him to come with me, but I don’t like putting anyone out.
“Babe, you’re in no condition to drive. You look like you’re going to pass out. I will drive. You need to get up and grab whatever you need. My mom will be here in 15 minutes.”
I start to argue, but he kneels before me, both hands on my shoulders.
“Lane. I’m coming. Don’t argue. Pack.”
His expression is laced with concern; his tone is soft and gentle.
I nod slowly and rise to my feet, grabbing my toothbrush and a pair of jeans.
This isn’t enough.
Dave turns from the dresser to see me standing, dazed, with the two items in my hands. He crosses the room and wraps his arms around me, holding me tight.
“Is my friend dead?” I whisper.
He’s silent because he can’t answer that question. He’s silent because he doesn’t want to lie. He’s quiet because he’s also terrified, but he’ll never let me see it. He’ll give me space to fall apart while he holds me up. We stand here like this for a while until the sound of the front door downstairs opening pulls us apart. I wipe the tears off of my cheeks, heading for the stairs. Dave’s mother stands in the entryway; her face does nothing to comfort me, concern all over it.
“What’s going on?”
Her voice is too sharp, too urgent.
The kids will wake up.
I open my mouth to respond that I don’t fucking know what happened when Dave passes me. He gently touches my back and replies to his mother.
“We don’t know anything yet, Mom. Kids have school at 8:45 am. Lunches are packed and in the fridge. We’ll call with an update.”
I take a deep breath before taking a step down the stairs.
Less than ten minutes later, we’re in the car. Dave drives, and I search the internet for news of the fire. My fingers are ice cold against my phone screen, but I can’t stop scrolling. I’m shaking. It doesn’t take long—the local press is all over it. My stomach twists as I press play on the video feed, and I find the urge to throw up when her building is shown. I pause the video and try to count the number of balconies.
One, two, three, four, five.
Fuck.
I go back a few seconds and try again, but I think the video cuts off a floor or two. Depending on how many balconies aren’t visible, I count up to seven or eight.
She’s on nine, right?
I lock my phone and stare blankly out the window.
Bracing for the devastation that waits for me in the city.