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The drive to her beachfront condo was uneventful, and she soon found herself deep into a glass of wine with a bag containing bloody clothing, a demolished cellphone, and a notebook, rust stains on the cover and along the top edges of the paper. She lifted it carefully, stifling a sob as inside of the front cover in red ink had her name, her number. How had he gotten her number? Had he known it the whole time? Or had he gotten it from Emily’s parents? Did Emily’s parents even have her number?
Had he gotten it from Emily?
Katrina checked her cellphone again, sighing when she had no missed calls and no texts. Maybe Emily had slept her hangover away and was going to stand her up as she had done on more than one occasion. She shot a quick text, telling her it was an emergency and that she needed her to call.
There were more names, more numbers, lists that looked like someone getting ready to throw one hell of a party. Cases of rum? Who ordered rum by the case?
Inside of the bag was one more item.
Lorenzo’s wallet.
“Will looking through all of this make me the creepiest person ever?” Katrina asked herself aloud in the empty apartment that had been full of guests just the night before. She brushed away tears she hadn’t noticed were falling and swore under her breath before taking another sip of wine.
Then she opened his wallet.
His driver’s license was the first thing she noticed.
The second was that he lived only 40 minutes away.
Anger spread through her veins like wildfire. Only 40 minutes away and he hadn’t bothered to come see her until now? Now, when her life was fully under control, when she hadn’t thought about him every waking minute?
If that’s what he’d intended at all.
“Damn it.” She placed the wallet aside, feeling more like a voyeur into a stranger’s life than the ‘emergency contact’ he’d named her as. She knew exactly what she needed at that moment, and it wasn’t more wine. Without hesitation, she picked up her cellphone and called her brother’s phone number.
“Trina! What up with thee?”
“I need your help, Justin.”
“Whoa, whoa, this sounds serious.”
She sniffled slightly as she shifted in her chair. “It is.”
“What’s this about?”
Her resolve began to crumble as she thought of Lorenzo, his surgery, his internal bleeding.
His possible brain damage.
And the tears began to flow.
“Trina?”
“It’s Ren, Justin. It’s Ren.”
“Say no more. I’m on my way.”
