Not One to Talk

Not One to Talk (Chapter 1)

Desiree:

     It was a typical day. Boring. Unexciting. School was over, homework and chores done, parents still at work. I was content with days like these, though, because then I could call my boyfriend Jake and ask him to come over and rid me of my boredom. He always would do that for me and I loved it, he being the fun person that he was. What a relief from my frustratingly stoic parents. 

     Little did I know that dull day would be the day that changed my life.

     I was pacing my kitchen floor while twirling a strand of my golden blonde hair between my fingers without having any reason for doing so. Maybe I just wanted something to occupy my time with. Or maybe I was crazy. I had no idea. I just knew I needed something to focus on, as my mind had a tendency to wander. A lot.

     I jumped when the phone rang - a high-pitched, annoying bell that I wished we could change. Hoping it would be Jake, I picked up.

     "Hello?"

     An unfamiliar voice answered. "Good evening. We are conducting an over-the-phone survey to all people living in Rochester, New York. Are you interested?"

     I groaned softly. Those telemarketers drove me insane. "Don't you people realize you're such a nuisance? Your surveys are so pointless!" I laughed into the phone. "How long is it going to take you to figure that out?"

     I smiled to myself as the line went dead. It was so much fun to do that.

     The feeling didn't last long, however. Soon I was left with my thoughts alone to keep me company. The TV, playing from the living room to my right, could only do so much to break the silence. 

     Thankfully my eye caught the headline of today's newspaper. The bold, large lettering read:

     NINETEEN YEAR-OLD RUNS AWAY FROM HOME, PARENTS BAFFLED BY HIS DISAPPEARANCE

     I wondered who that could've been. Definitely no one at my school, or we would have heard about it a while ago. Newspapers in our town were usually pretty behind on stories. Still, I felt bad for the family of the boy, whoever he was. It must be devastating to lose your son like that. The possibilities were endless as to why he ran away.

     After a couple of minutes I took my phone and dialed Jake's number. I needed to hear someone's voice, and his was the one I wanted to hear. I waited while his phone rang. Once. Twice.

     Answer the stupid phone, Jake, I thought. 

     Three rings. Four. Five.

     There was a beep, and I lost the connection.  

     Swearing under my breath, I tried texting him. He usually got back to me within a couple of minutes. 

     This time, though, he didn't get back to me.

     "What the crap?" I whispered. I set my phone down on the counter and watched the television from the kitchen, where some meteorologist was talking about the freak weather we were having - snow, sleet, and freezing temperatures. I shivered at the mention of it, wrapping my brown cable-knit sweater around myself. 

     The talking of the people on TV soon became a constant drone in the background. Again I was enveloped in almost absolute silence. I stared at the piano in the corner of the room, which I hadn't played in a while. Before I became busy with school I often wrote songs and would improvise them on the instrument. Mostly I wrote songs for Jake, and thinking about that made me get up and sit down at the piano. The ivory keys were smooth and worn by my own fingers, but still playable. 

     Tentatively I let my hands run over the keys, performing a song I had very nearly forgotten. I had forgotten how beautiful it was - a soft, peaceful song that for some reason made my eyes prick with tears. I missed this feeling so much. 

     I started when my phone buzzed inside my pants pocket. Foolishly letting my hopes rise, I looked at the number and my spirits fell as I saw the number wasn't Jake's. It did, though, happen to be a text from my friend Madison. It read:

     Just drove by ur house. Mail is in ur mailbox - u shud probably get it.

     I rolled my eyes. Leave it to Madison to remind me to get my own mail. She always looked out for other people like that, whether it was wanted or not.

     The air was frigid when I walked outside. Being the often clueless person that I was, I had forgotten a jacket. The sweater was not enough to shield me from the vicious elements of New York, so I shuddered the whole time until I was back in the warmth of my house.

     I fingered through the mail. It pretty much contained bills and letters from random businesses. But then my eyes lingered on something addressed to me. I pulled it out and tore it open.

     Inside the envelope was a letter. I didn't recognize whom it was from but read it regardless:

     Desiree Robinson:

     I'm very sorry to say that we have found Jacob Logan dead. We found him late Saturday night behind a school not far from where he lives. He was unresponsive and lying motionless. We couldn't tell what caused his death and we have notified his parents. They told us that Jake had run away from home a few days ago and to contact you. Police in your area are informed about this and are investigating. Again, I'm deeply sorry.

                                                                        My sincerest apologies,

                                                                        Office Rob Wilson, Rochester Police 

     The paper fell through my weak fingers and landed soundlessly on the floor.

     Jake. Dead.

     Jake was dead. Gone. Just like that. . .

     But how? Who could have caused this? Someone, something had killed my boyfriend. I wanted answers, but there were none. No reason for this. 

     And why had he run away? 

     I couldn't think straight. The room was beginning to tilt sideways. I wanted Jake. Wanted to feel his strong arms around me.

     Now, according to what that letter said, that would never happen again.

     That was my last thought before I became unconscious.