Day Seven （Benny Abbott）
Benny Abbott
Day Seven
My body explodes with adrenaline. “You what?”
Sarah squeezes Luna’s arm. “Is she okay?”
Luna nods. “She’s fine.”
“Oh my god,” I say, nearly collapsing with relief. “Where? Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“Luna!”
She winces. “I just thought you’d want to know she’s okay.”
“Are you kidding? Are you fucking kidding?”
“Have you known this whole time?” Sarah asks.
Luna nods miserably.
Sarah sinks to the floor. “Why would you keep this from us?”
“She’s okay?” I ask. “Why hasn’t she told anyone where she is? Are you sure she’s okay?”
“She’s perfectly safe. I was waiting for her to come home and tell you herself.” Luna unfurls her legs and bends over, like she’s trying to keep from fainting. “I thought she would come home sooner.”
I cannot get my head around this. “Where is she?”
“I can’t tell you.”
Sarah’s on her knees now. “Why?”
“Just trust me. I can’t.”
I’m too dumbfounded to respond. She wants us to trust her.
“I don’t understand,” Sarah says. “You’re gonna let everyone keep believing she’s dead?”
“Yes. No. I can’t—I can’t tell you. If I say anything else the whole thing falls apart.”
I stare at her in disbelief. “Have you been in touch with her?”
She averts her eyes.
I’m struggling to keep from losing it. “How do you know she’s okay?” I remind her that Joy’s health is delicate. That she might run out of medication. When she doesn’t answer, I ask again. “How do you know?”
“There’s a woman checking on her.” She finishes the sentence with an upturn, as if she’s not entirely certain what she’s saying is true. Wringing her hands, she adds, “She would come back if she wasn’t well.”
“Luna.”
“She can leave whenever she wants. No one’s holding her hostage.”
Every blood vessel in my body feels set to burst. Perhaps this is what Sarah sees when she glances up at me because she stands and rubs my back. “He’s not going to let it drop.”
Luna shakes her head. “Even if I told you, they wouldn’t let you inside.”
“I don’t think you have a choice,” Sarah says.
WE HAVE TO lose the paparazzi first, so Sarah legs it alone to her car while Luna and I slip through the back door of the detached garage. I hide under a blanket in the cramped cargo area of her Honda, hoping a few photographers will remain put if they believe I’ve stayed behind.
Luna reverses swiftly, then whips into drive, accelerating so rapidly I whack my head against the back door.
“Sorry!” she calls back.
“Is anyone following you?”
“Just one. No, two.” She speeds around a curve and I whack my head again. “Sorry—hold on.” She does this a few more times before we get onto what I’m guessing is Highway 101. “Okay, we’re good,” she says.
I push off the blanket and sit up, breathing out slowly to combat the motion sickness. After a minute, I push down the back seat and crawl through to the front, cradling my splinted hand.
“Did I hurt you?” she asks. “Did that make it worse?”
She did, and it did, but it’s the least of my worries. “I’ll be fine.”
My phone buzzes with a text from Sarah: I’m right behind you.
Did anyone follow you? I write back.
Don’t think so.
Traffic slows, and we sit in silence as Luna navigates the exit onto Vermont Avenue.
After more coaxing, she admitted Joy’s been hiding in a domestic violence shelter, but refused to tell me if she was the one who drove her there, or why she’s been keeping it a secret, or even why Joy decided to go there in the first place.
“She could’ve come to me,” I moaned, before remembering how things ended between us when she tried to tell me she was leaving Xander.
We pass liquor stores and construction sites, strip malls, auto repair shops. Eventually, Luna pulls into an alley behind a brown and cream apartment building, and slows to a stop in front of a rusty garage gate. Protecting the back entrance is a security fence topped with concertina wire.
“Here?” I ask. “She’s been here?”
Sarah pulls up behind us, and we all get out.
“Now what?” I ask when we’re standing in front of the fence.
Luna pushes an inset buzzer below a wall-mounted security camera, and we wait.
Nothing happens.
She holds it down a second time, and a crackly voice comes on the speaker. “Are we expecting you?”
“Not exactly.” I try to sound as pleasant as possible. “You see, my—”
The speaker clicks and goes quiet.
“I told you,” Luna mutters.
I force a smile at the security camera and hold the buzzer down.
As soon as the speaker crackles again, I say quickly, “We’re here for Joy Moore.
She’s my—we’re all friends with her, and we just want to make sure she’s okay.
” In the resulting silence, I turn to Luna and ask, “Do you think she gave a different name?”
Luna shrugs.
“She has a medical condition,” Sarah adds. “She hasn’t been in touch.”
The speaker goes dead.
“Fuck.” I reach for the buzzer again.
I’m still holding it down when a door opens inside the garage. Two women approach, one older with fuchsia eyeglasses, the other a twentysomething with purple hair. They stop a few feet from the gate.
“I’m sorry,” Eyeglasses says, “but we have a strict no-visitor policy.”
“But she’s here?” Sarah asks.
She doesn’t answer. Her face is difficult to read.
“Right. Let me start over.” I press both hands to my chest in an attempt to calm my racing heart. “I’m Benny Abbott.”
The younger woman’s eyes go wide; she whispers something to Eyeglasses.
On a normal day, I would take this to mean she’s recognized me because of the podcast. A good association, or neutral at the very least. But given the past week, and the utter silence that follows, I feel less than confident about continuing.
Luna seems to understand. “Give me a second alone with them.”
Sarah and I back up a few steps as Luna calls the women over to the fence. I hear them introduce themselves—Eyeglasses is named Gloria; the other, Frankie—and then Luna lowers her voice to a whisper, low enough I can’t hear. I trade an uneasy glance with Sarah.
When Luna’s done, Gloria pulls Frankie aside for another private conference, after which our gatekeepers seem to come to an agreement. “Frankie will check on her for you,” Gloria says, returning.
I want to know what Luna said to change their minds, but I’m afraid to utter a single word for fear I break the spell and Gloria sends us back on our way.
For the next several minutes, we stand on opposite sides of the rusted gate in muted anticipation.
I’m desperate to see Joy’s face. To tell her it will be all right. We will make it all right.
The back door slams against the wall with the bang of a gunshot, and everyone jumps. Frankie shouts something. I can’t make out what she says. My heart gallops, and Sarah grabs my arm.
The next words come out crystal clear: “There’s so much blood! Call an ambulance, now!”