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“Do you hear me, Gwen?” Dru asks in a shaky voice.
“I hear you.” I can barely hear myself over the drumming of my heart in my ears.
“Please do that. If he could just give you some time and be reasonable, he’ll get his money. If he can’t, the only other thing to do is call Sheriff Donovan.”
Call Sheriff Donovan?
I don’t know which will kill me quicker. Doing that or doing nothing. I was told that people would die if I contacted anyone like Sheriff Donovan.
If anyone I loved died because of me, that by itself would kill me.
“Gwen?”
“I’m listening.” I need to face the rest of this by myself. Dru has done enough for me, and it’s not right to involve her in the situation anymore. “I’ll do what you said.”
“Okay. I’m going into Charlotte later. I have training there for work, so I’ll have to stay overnight. I will call you, and please, for the love of God, update me on whatever happens.Please.”
“I will,” I promise, even though I’ve already decided to tell her only what she needs to know.
“I’ll speak to you later. Be strong, Gwen, be strong.”
“Thank you.”
We end the call, and my hand drops to the ground as if the life has been drained from it.
My heart speeds, galloping in my chest, and my lungs tighten with terror.
God… what am I going to do?
What the hell am I going to do?
My breaths come out ragged, and then it just cuts as if someone switched off the oxygen supply flowing into my body.
I’m having a panic attack, or maybe a heart attack. Maybe both.
Water, I need it. Lots of it.
I manage to stand and get myself into the kitchen, where I turn the cold tap on full blast and place my head underneath it.
The cold, cold water soothes my skin and numbs my mind, but it does nothing to rid my fears.
Once the panic is over, I pull my head back, turn off the tap, and try to think of how the fuck I’m going to get myself out of this mess.
Calling Conrad has to be a last resort. I’m still hellbent on finding that money.
Maybe I could go to the bank again and speak to the manager. I should have gotten the loan. My family and I have banked with them for years. We have business and personal accounts that they can access to see that I can afford a monthly repayment of a loan.
Maybe I should go and plead my case. I need to.
I have until Friday to pay Conrad. Today is Monday.
With that reasoning and threatening reminder, I dash upstairs, get ready, and leave. I jump into my car and head into the city, all thoughts of last night gone.
There’s a lot of traffic, so it takes me well over an hour to reach the bank. Once there, it’s another two hours before I get to see the manager because I didn’t have an appointment. Then it takes him roughly ten minutes to deny me again. This time, I suppose I should be grateful that the rejection came with more explanation and an expression of sorrow that he couldn’t help more.
I leave the bank like I’ve just been given terminal news and drive to a secluded spot on the beach. There, I sit in my car for another hour before I make the dreaded phone call to Conrad’s office.
A woman with a New York accent answers the phone on the second ring.
