Chapter 26 Phoenix
Phoenix
Roni and I agreed we’d meet at her place tonight. We’ve spent so many evenings in the penthouse I think she was starting to feel like she belongs to me. And as much as I love it, as much as she’s been going for it, I offered to meet her here in her apartment, where she isn’t.
It’s a little unusual. Looking at the clock, her shift would have ended a solid hour ago, but I don’t know what traffic was like. Though, she doesn’t live too far from here. I pull out my phone, open the text window, and tap away.
Phoenix: Hey Little Temptress. Hope you’re almost here. I’m awfully hungry .
I go into the kitchen, grab a glass from the cabinet, open the freezer, snatch some ice cubes, add water, and then go sit down on her couch.
My leg bounces uncontrollably. I check the time.
7:42 p.m. I check my phone. No response.
Check my phone again at 7:44 p.m. and then at 7:47 p.m. I pull up the signal bars at the top of my screen. Full.
Phoenix: Hey babe, are you okay?
My thumb hovers over the send button for a second before I press it. Shit. Two texts in ten minutes. I toss the phone onto the cushion beside me, then immediately pick it back up. She said she’d be here well before me. And she seemed pretty excited about whatever she had planned.
7:49 p.m. Still nothing.
I try giving her a call. Her phone rings and rings and rings. Then suddenly the call’s picked up. I start getting excited, until I hear, “Hey, it’s Roni. I’m probably working. You know what to do and leaving a message isn’t it. Text me. Okay, bye.”
I hang up. She hates voicemails. Can’t say I blame her. Although I really wish I knew where the fuck she is.
I punch in another text.
Phoenix: Hey, I’m not trying to freak you out or seem weird here, but I’m gonna take a drive to your work and make sure that you’re not still there.
Phoenix: If you see this when you get home and you realize I’m not here and you thought I would be, that’s where I am.
Phoenix: I’m sure this will all make sense later. Anyways, um, yeah, please be okay.
I chug a glass of water, set it down on the counter, snatch my keys from the little end table by the door, and head back downstairs.
It’s a quick jog to the spaces out front where I parked my SUV.
I’m not exactly in a rush, but I’m not going to take my time either.
I hop into the driver’s seat, throw the key in the ignition, get it started, and we’re off.
I spend the next ten minutes barreling down the street, headed out into the woods toward Roni’s little coffee hut. I can see as I get closer, the outside lights are still on, which tells me she hasn’t closed up yet.
Just as I reach the turn into the parking lot, I spot her car. Oh, thank goodness. She’s still here. Not sure why, but she’s still here. I drive over and park next to her, then pull out my phone and look down at it again. She still hasn’t responded, which is weird.
I climb out of the car and make my way over to what I affectionately call “our window.” It's the small service window of the weathered coffee shack where she first handed me a steaming cup.
Where our eyes met for the first time. I raise my hand to tap on the scratched, foggy glass, but see there's nobody inside.
The flickering fluorescent lights cast a stark glow over the empty counter and abandoned stools.
I shift my gaze toward the distant edge of the parking lot, where the dense line of trees gives way to a patch of overgrown grass swaying gently in the evening breeze.
There, unceremoniously tucked away amid the foliage, stands a faded blue portable restroom with its door closed.
If Roni's not in the little shack, that must be where she is.
The thought of startling her in the dark sends a cold twist of anxiety through my stomach, but concern pushes me on. I need to be sure she's safe.
I jog the hundred yards across the cracked asphalt lot, my footsteps clacking in the quiet night. Just behind the first line of trees sits the little blue closet where Roni, or any of her colleagues, can go when nature calls. I tap on the flimsy plastic door.
“Hey, Roni, you in there?” My voice sounds small against the rustling leaves and distant hum of traffic. There’s no answer. As I tap again, the door creaks open slightly. It isn’t even locked.
I open it wider, revealing an empty and slightly foul-smelling interior.
What in the actual fuck? I pull out my phone, the screen still blank and unhelpful, then hurry back across the parking lot to the shack.
My mind races for clues, any signs of where Roni could be.
I slip around to the back door, the one that opens into the hut, noticing it too is unlocked.
I step inside, pulling out my phone once more, and call her.
It rings and rings, each tone amplifying my growing panic, then goes to voicemail again.
This can’t be good. Something isn’t right. I just know it.
Flashes of my nights at the bottom of a bottle, bawling over Sam, after she vanished from my life for a second time, flood my mind.
This can’t be happening again.
Where the fuck are you?