What She Left Behind ✔️

chapter twenty-nine

I hold the "veritas" drive in my hand. I stare at it so hard, I'm surprised I don't burn eye-shaped holes into its plastic exterior. I want so badly to plug it into my computer and watch the final video, but I can't bring myself to do it. Something holds me back.

Next to me, my cell phone rings. I'm excited for a moment, thinking that the person on the other end is either Evangeline or Bowie. I deflate, however, when the name 'Ella Echolls' flashes on the screen.

"Hi, Ella," I answer. I don't bother to hide my disappointment. She is calling me on a Saturday night, after all.

"Jeez, aren't you a ball of sunshine?"

"What's up, El?"

"I figured you might be the only person who's more depressed than I am right now. I was wondering if you wanted to come over for a drink?"

I'm glad she can't see my jaw drop in awe. She's never invited me over before. "Are... are you serious?"

"Completely. You interested or not?"

"Um... sure?"

"Great!" She sounds genuinely pleased. "I'll text you my address. See you in a bit."

With a sigh, I shove the flash drive into my pocket, grab my car keys, and begin the trip to Ella's. We've never spent time together outside of work, but I could use a drink. It's been a while since I've had anything harder than a ginger ale. When Levi gave up booze, I stopped drinking in an act of solidarity.

Today, I'm going to make an exception.

I arrive at Ella's apartment complex and ring the bell. She buzzes me in and meets me in the hallway, a glass of red wine in her hand.

"You started without me," I say with a chuckle.

"Guy trouble," she replies with a shrug. "I'm going to die alone. Your childhood best friend died four months ago. I figured it was a drinking match made in heaven."

"Hey, I'll take a free drink." I walk into her apartment, which is as disorganized as I always imagined. "I highly doubt you're going to die alone, though."

She rolls her chestnut eyes. "Are you psychic or something?"

"No, but I did visit one the other day." I pour myself a glass of wine, down it in three gulps, and then help myself to another. "She was nuts. She babbled a bunch of nonsense about the letter 'B' and then sang me a creepy song."

"Jesus christ." She tops off her glass as well. "What was the song?"

"As if I remember." I think about it for a moment. "'Five a.m., Friday morning, Thursday night'... then something about, like, sleep and driving. It was bizarre."

"Wait, I think I know that!" Ella exclaims, picking up her phone. "My mom was really into Tori Amos when I was a kid. She used to listen to this one track...."

She finishes typing. A somber, acapella tune begins to play. I recognize the words immediately.

"Yes, this is what the crazy lady was singing," I inform Ella. "I can't believe you know this song."

"All thanks to my mom. Whenever Dad left for deployment, she used to drown herself in sad music."

"Some people find it comforting, I guess."

"What I don't understand is why the psychic sang it to you," Ella says. "It's about the time Tori Amos was raped after one of her concerts. Here, listen to the words."

I take her phone and hold the speaker to my ear. I block out everything except for Amos' bluesy voice.

It was me
And a gun
And a man
On my back
But I haven't seen Barbados
So I must get out of this

I pause the music and shrug my shoulders. "Don't get me wrong," I say, "this song is depressing as hell. I feel so, so sorry for her, but it's just further proof that Zaltana the Mystic is clinically insane. I've never been assaulted."

"Maybe she was, like, predicting that you were going to be?" Ella suggests. "I always carry pepper spray just to be safe. The city's a dangerous place, you know."

"I do, too. My dad bought me my first can when I was thirteen."

"Sounds like my dad."

"I guess we're both lucky to have parents who care," I comment, chugging the remainder of my Merlot. "Hey, do you have anything besides wine?"

"There's beer and whiskey in the fridge. Help yourself," she responds.

I stumble to the refrigerator, pour about a shot and a half of whiskey into my wine glass, and gulp it down. It burns my throat and feels like fire in my food-less stomach, yet I find myself adding another shot's worth into the now empty cup.

"Never thought I'd say this, but slow down there." Ella takes the bottle of whisky and places it back in the fridge. "You drove here, right? No offense, but I don't really want you to sleepover tonight."

"I can call someone for a ride," I assure her.

She raises her hands in mock surrender. "If you say so."

My head is spinning, so I decide to take my co-worker's advice and call it quits. I join Ella on the sofa. She puts on a movie that I don't pay attention to. As she laughs at slapstick comedy, I begin to space out.

I thought the alcohol would cheer me up, but now I just feel worse. No matter how hard I try, no matter how desperately I want to, I can't get Evangeline and Bowie and Raelyn out of my head.

My eyelids feel like weights, so I allow them to close. Moments later, I feel someone shoving me. I look to my right to see Ella sitting over me.

"I'm going to bed," she says. "Are you sure you can get home?"

"Mhm," I mumble.

Overhead, the ceiling shakes. I hear a set of loud stomps. It sounds like the tenants above Ella are about to fall through the floor and land on top of us.

"Stupid junkies," Ella grumbles. "I hate them. They're so freaking loud."

"Talk to your landlord," I suggest.

She shakes her head. "I've tried. Everyone's tried. He won't do anything. Brock and Carla have gotten away with murder for the past year and a half."

I rub my eyes, trying to clear some of the cobwebs. "Did you... did you just say Carla?"

"Yeah, she's the crackhead who lives above me."

"Do you know her last name?"

"Um... Palinski? Parker, maybe? All I know is it starts with 'P.'"

I'm hit with a wave of sobriety. I leap to my feet, thank Ella for the drinks, and dash out of the apartment.

Carla Porter, Raelyn's biological mother, lives upstairs. If this isn't a sign that the universe wants me to talk to her, I don't know what is.