Page 83 of Wrong Mail

Her left eye is blackened.

Not fresh. A day old, maybe. It's gone through the colors bruises do, yellow coming up under the purple. She's put makeup over it, but the makeup has failed.

"Hey. It's me."

Her voice is wrong too, careful and pitched low.

"Don't call the second you see this, okay? Just listen."

A breath. Somewhere behind her, a tap runs, or pipes knock in the wall.

"I need to speak to you. Not on the phone. I can't do this on the phone. I've tried to figure out how to say it, and there isn't a way that works in a message. So I'm not going to try."

She swallows.

"I'm just going to ask you to come. Come here tomorrow. Come when he's out. Just come, and I'll tell you everything. All of it. I know how that sounds."

Her eyes go somewhere off camera, then come back.

"You might think you know what this is. You don't. And Mal?"

The smallest pause.

"Don't tell anyone you're coming. Not anyone. I mean it."

Then she reaches up and it ends.

I watch it again. The black eye. The fear underneath everything she says.

You might think you know what this is. You don't.

I watch it a third time and then a fourth. I know what it is. I've known since the fingermarks on her shoulder, since the careful voice at my party.

It's Chris.

He’s hit her. He's lost his mind. It's gotten worse, and she's finally ready to say it out loud. She needs to do it away from him and away from anyone who might talk her out of it.

I make her words fit the story I already have, because that story has a name and a face and a history of bruises. I can't see the truth yet, so I reach for the version I can.

I call her back immediately. Of course I call her back.

It rings out. Four rings, five, and then Julia's recorded voice comes on, bright and old, from before all of this, telling me she can't come to the phone. I don't leave a message.

I text instead.

Julia.

I watch it deliver.

It goes unread.

One more call goes unanswered.

I want to text her about Chris, but it's too risky. Tomorrow, I decide. She said tomorrow. She wants me to come when he's out.

I don't know his schedule. Turning up while Chris is home could make it worse. It could be the thing that gets her hurt again.

So I play it safe. I call that being smart. I call it respecting her wishes.