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I stare at the plastic bag on the table, which holds half of my unfinished meal. “No.”
“I have hot soup on me right now.”
He doesn’t ask, but I can feel the question in his voice.
Suddenly, all my previous apprehensions vanish, and the desire to see him is so strong that I hear myself saying, “Soup sounds nice. I wouldn’t mind some soup. I love soup.”
His rich laughter in my ear makes me tingle in all the right places, and I bite my lip when he says, still laughing, “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
I am about to say something when I hear his voice turn annoyed. “Hey, what are you–”
The sound of flesh hitting flesh and a grunting sound has me sitting up, my eyes wide. “Fergus?”
I can hear some muted sounds, and someone saying something, and someone shouting.
“Fergus!”
My hand clasps on my mouth when the line suddenly goes dead.
I sit in the sudden silence, not knowing what to do, my blood thundering in my ears.
What just happened?
Getting on to my feet, I stare around blindly, my fingers running through my hair, agitated.
Somebody attacked him.
Who can I call?
I stare at my phone, trying to think.
Agatha has my number, but I don’t have hers. Maybe if I call the bar?
Fumbling with the phone, I look for Ritters’ website. Finding the number, I dial it, only for it to go unanswered.
I try again, and it is on the fourth try that someone finally answers, a vaguely annoyed voice. “Yes?”
I swallow, panicking. “Uh, hi, I need to talk to someone in the management or something. It’s very urgent.”
The voice sounds exasperated. “Well, you’re speaking to someone. What is it?”
“This is Sarah. Uh, I come to the bar sometimes.”
The annoyance immediately vanishes from the person’s voice, only to be replaced by a curiosity that I don’t understand. “Sarah? Fergus isn’t here.”
I don’t bother asking him why he would say that. To be honest, it doesn’t register at that moment that he automatically assumed that I would want to speak to Fergus.
“Fergus. I was talking to Fergus on his phone, and I think he was attacked.”
The man on the other end becomes serious, suddenly, his voice harsh, “What? What do you mean ‘attacked?’?”
I sink onto the couch, holding my head in my hand, letting the fear leak into my voice. “He was saying something about coming over with soup, and then I think there was someone there and he didn’t sound too happy, and then I heard someone hitting him and then I couldn’t hear anything. But there was someone shouting, and then the line went dead. And I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know where he is!”
“Calm down,” the person instructs, his voice hard. “It’s not that easy to take Fergus down like that. I’ll take care of it.”
I am left staring at my phone when the line goes dead.
Twisting and untwisting my hands, I blink back my tears of frustration.
