Obscurity

Chapter 7: Calls

Alma

I stand at the window in my room looking down onto the neighborhood below. The sun's nearly gone down. I look out over the houses below and figure I'm probably on the sixth floor of this building. Give or take. I can see for quite a distance.

A few blocks over there is what seems to be a school or maybe it's a library. It's hard to tell with the dwindling daylight. I'm not from this part of town, so it's all new to me. The houses below aren't in pristine shape, some are a bit run down but they all seem to be lived in. Lights shine from the various windows and even though I can't see what's going on inside them, just the presence of the lighting inside symbolizes life.

I survey the surrounding neighborhood for quite some time. I memorize which direction the freeway is from here. As if I'd ever get the opportunity to run away from this place. I chuckle inwardly. I won't be leaving here until I'm allowed to go. I orient myself anyway. As I gaze out onward past the houses my mind wanders off. I begin to replay all the events leading to my finding myself trapped here.

It was a normal Friday night. Low key. Nothing special about it. I was eating pizza I'd ordered from the local joint down on the corner of my street and was loafing on the couch with Penny, my obnoxious but extravagantly fluffy tabby cat. One could probably argue Penny's my closest, or even my only, friend.

I was right in the middle of binge-watching my favorite show and there was a knock at the door. I got up to answer it, checking the peephole first. When I saw the two uniformed officers standing there I'd assumed they were looking for that tweaker couple that lives two apartments over. So I opened up the door to tell them they had the wrong place.

When they asked for me by name, it threw me off. I couldn't figure out what they'd be wanting me for. I confirmed I was me and they asked to come inside. Of course I was going to let them in. I needed to figure out what they were there for, after all. When I let them in, they started asking a bunch of questions about what I was up to and if everything was all right. I assured them I was fine but the next thing I know they had me on the floor cuffing my hands behind my back telling me they were detaining me. Not arresting me. Detaining me for my own safety.

After they took me from my apartment, it's been a blur. They brought me here. And now, here I stand, by a window, in a room, waiting to see a doctor who won't be in for at least another thirty-six hours. So, I'm stuck.

As I think about it all I still can't figure out how or why I'm here. The only thing that keeps playing through my head to explain this all is perhaps I ticked someone off and this is some weird payback for something I've done. How else can I explain it?

A knock on the door, "Hey Alma?" Chris says from the doorway.

"Yeah?" I turn around and face him wondering what he wants.

"I've been thinking about what you told me earlier and I made a couple of phone calls." He explains.

"Oh, yeah?" I ask, not too hopeful but curious about who he might have called.

"Yeah, mind if I sit?" he motions to the table in the corner. I notice he's got a sheet of paper in his hand.

I follow him over and sit down too.

"Okay, I got my hands on the police report pertaining to the call that was made the night you were brought here." He starts.

Now my curiosity is piqued.

"It's right here." He produces the sheet of paper, and I quickly skim over it.

"An anonymous tip?" I ask incredulously.

"Yeah. It says the police got an anonymous tip that you were at risk, and they responded accordingly.

"So? What does that mean? Do they do this to everyone they get tips on? I was no threat, I even told them I wasn't" I explain as I hand the paper back to him.

"Right. I doubt they do this to everyone. It says in the report the officers were worried about your safety so they brought you here. It sounds a lot like they didn't want to be held responsible if you actually did hurt yourself after receiving that call." He says as he adjusts his glasses that slipped down his nose.

"Sounds to me like who ever placed that call was very convincing." I say impatiently. It's all so unbelievable but yet here I sit.

"My thoughts exactly." He agrees. "So, after I recieved this report I looked back through your records here. Specifically, your intake information."

I listen intently.

"I can probably get in a lot of trouble saying this but your intake looks like it was botched. The intake officer didn't follow protocol." He goes on.

He finally believes me. I can tell. I wait for him to finish talking, so I don't cut him off.

"After I had realized this, I placed a call to Dr. Kavanaugh's answering service and left him a message about it all and he called back."

"Wait, you said my doctor was Dr. Summers." I say confused.

"That's right. That's who you were assigned to. But I weighed the likelihood of which doctor would respond to my message and Dr. Kavanaugh was who I was most certain would call back. After talking with him, he agreed to come in tomorrow to evaluate you personally."

With that I nearly burst into tears. I hold back, though. This is starting to sound too good to be true. I reserve my comments and sit there, shocked.

"I came to tell you that you could possibly be going home tomorrow after you see the doctor. Isn't that great?"

I pinch my wrist to make sure I'm not imagining all of this. I nod. I'm speechless. It's a weird feeling to have someone believe you after so many people haven't. I have no idea what to say.

"Thank you Chris. You don't know how much this means to me." I wipe the corners of my eyes to catch the tears that are threatening to spill. I'm so overcome with emotions I jump out of my chair and rush around the table and grab Chris and hug him. "Thank you so very much. I owe you huge."

I feel him smile into my sweater. Our hug probably lasts a little longer than it should but it feels nice to have a little comfort and he doesn't pull away. We hold each other and I take in the smell of his cologne. I close my eyes savoring the feeling, just before I prepare to let go I hear someone clear their throat over by the door.

Chris and I both let go of each other and jump back a little. Sierra's leaning on the door jamb, arms crossed, watching us. A raised eyebrow and an odd grin playing across her face.

Chris looks over to me, "Okay, well good luck tomorrow. I hope everything works out for you." He says before pushing past Sierra in the doorway, quickly leaving the room. I'm left standing there looking at Sierra who's looking at me like a cat who's caught a canary.