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I hang up. The apartment’s silence wraps around my body. I hug myself, closing my eyes, trying to hold onto the joy in Grandpop’s voice. Trying not to let my fears overwhelm me. “Head up. Keep going.” I whisper to myself, as if hearing it out loud will make it real.
I call Amy next. Her phone goes straight to voicemail. I give it a few minutes then try again but get voicemail immediately a second time. “Hey, it’s me, call me back, you weirdo. Since when did you turn your phone off? Call me back.” I wait another ten minutes, try a third time, get the same result.
I end up calling Fran. She’s a girl I went to high school with, probably my oldest friend, though she’s married now with her own little boy to deal with, so we’ve drifted apart a bit. But she’s also friends with Amy.
“Ren!” She sounds happy to hear from me. In the background, a little kid’s jabbering away, and kid music blares a steady, obscenely upbeat tune about a gummy bear. “It feels like a million years since I heard an adult’s voice.”
I laugh, stretching out on the couch. “I saw you like two weeks ago, remember? Me, you, and Amy met up at Applebee’s? You brought Mason.”
“Oh, I remember. That’s the night he threw that ketchup all over the wall. The waitress was really nice about it though.”
“If you can’t throw ketchup on the wall of an Applebee’s, then this country’s really going downhill.”
She sighs, sounding happy. The kid noise recedes slightly. “How’s everything with you? How’s Grandpop?”
“He’s the same,” I say, which means still not great. “But we got full-time nursing now, which is huge.”
“That’s fantastic,” she says warmly. “How’d that happen?”
“Lucky break. We found a program.” I don’t want to explain that Lanzo’s the program. “Hey, by the way, have you heard from Amy today?”
“Haven’t talked to her in a couple days,” she says, sounding thoughtful. “I tried her earlier, but her phone went straight to voicemail.”
“I got the same thing,” I say, a knot of worry in my stomach. Could this be something? “She’s never done that before.”
“I’ve never seen her without a phone for longer than a few minutes in all the years I’ve known her. But I’m sure it’s nothing. She’ll turn up with some crazy story.”
“Should I be concerned?”
Fran laughs. “Not at all. Amy’s totally fine. I bet she left it in a cab or something.”
“Yeah, you’re right.” I glance at the window, out at the city. “Anyway, tell me how little Mason’s been since the last time we talked.”
Fran makes me feel normal. For a few minutes, at least. Tantrums, bath time, food troubles, dirty diapers, the normal constant stress of a young mother. Some part of me is jealous of her. Having a family like that. I try to relax the tension in my spine, but I can’t seem to do it, and by the time I hang up, I’ve already committed to making a mistake.
“This is dumb,” I say, shoving my shoes on my feet. “You’re being dumb.”
I keep doing this. Mistakes present themselves. Obvious, stupid decisions. I have ample opportunity to turn around and do the right thing. Except I barrel forward anyway.
I ride the elevator down. On the street, I find a cab and pay with a wad of cash I found in Lanzo’s dresser. The driver takes me to Amy’s place. I give him a big tip and ask him to wait, meter running. “Whatever you want,” the guy says, grinning when I slip him another twenty. Might as well. It’s not my money.
I get out, pull my hood up, and shove my hands in my pockets as I hurry to her building. I buzz her apartment, step back, and wait.
Nothing. My stomach’s a wreck. My heart’s a racing mess. Did Burian get to her? Did Burian figure out that I’m working with Lanzo? And now he’s taking out everyone I love, one by one? Grandpop will be next. Fran and her little baby. Even Penny, my friend from a waitressing job I had a few years back. Everyone I remotely care about is in danger.
All because I decided to make a corpse burrito.
I buzz again, again, then suddenly the intercom clicks to life. “Hello, who keeps ringing—”
“Amy!” Relief hits me like a knee to the gut. “You’re okay!”
“Ren? I was in the shower. Have you been down there ringing this whole time?”
“Yes! You weren’t answering your phone so I got worried—”
Amy laughs. “Come upstairs.” The intercom buzzes, letting me inside.
I hurry to her door. She’s in an old t-shirt and shorts, her hair wet, grinning. Amy’s got my dark hair, the same light eyes, but she’s a little taller, a little leaner. More athletic, where I’m smaller and curvy.
