Made In Basalt

Interesting Dichotomy

"Jeffrey?" Richard Isbell snatched at the telephone, rocking the living room table it was sitting in on the process, and clutched it to his ear. "Jeffrey, is that - can you hear me?"

He held the table still and slammed a hand against the machine as it threatened to topple onto the hardwood floor.

"Yes, Father, I can hear you fine. Calm down for me, OK?"

Richard let out a choked, hysterical laugh. His son only ever called him Father when he was irritated with him, a sarcastically formal, shamelessly mocking term that always carried the subtext of get it together, Dad, Jesus.

He hold the phone away from his ear and bellowed in the general direction of the kitchen. "Sonja! It's your son!"

Something clanged, and Richard only had about half a second to picture his wife throwing down whatever utensil she'd been holding before she was emerging from the kitchen, looking as frenzied as he felt.

"Is he OK? Where is he? Richard, what the hell is happening?" Sonja was across the room and trying to wrestle the phone out of his grip in a flash, and Richard held the phone out so she could speak into it. "Jeffrey? Jeffrey, honey, wh - "

"Both of you relax, for God's sake," Jeffrey snapped, his voice tinny through the speaker. "I'm fine. I'm great, actually. I'm calling to let you know that I'm with people who want to help."

"You mean like a lawyer?" Sonja asked, trying to bat Richard away from the receiver and grab it for herself.

"No, Mother, not like a lawy - "

"Because you know we can't afford any lawyers, Jeff - "

Sonja's head snapped up and she gave her husband an incredulous look. "We can't afford - for our own son, you can't get a loan or something? Jesus, Dick, they want to put him in the chair! You heard what the chief of police said!"

"Mom, hey, relax, all right? No one's putting me in the chair. And you won't need money for lawyers either. It's all taken care of, I'm safe here."

"And where is this here exactly, anyway?" Richard demanded. "Just where the hell are you?"

There was a pause. Sonja held the receiver between her own ear and her husband's as they waited.

"Hello?" Richard yelled into the speaker. "Where'd you go?"

"Still here. See, Dad, I'm not supposed to tell you where I am."

The couple blinked at each other. "Why the hell not?" Sonja said furiously, glaring at the phone as if it was her son. "We're your parents!"

"I realise that." The eyeroll in Jeffrey's voice was audible. "Still can't tell you. All I can say is, I'm safe, and I probably won't be home for a while."

"It's a cartel," Sonja whispered to Richard, her fingers going slack around the receiver. "Oh my God, our son is with a drug gang."

"Don't be ridiculous," Richard growled, grabbing the receiver out of her hands before it fell. "What the hell would a drug gang want with Jeffrey? Boy, are you in a drug gang?" he barked into the phone.

"No, Father, I'm not."

"Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot," Richard shouted. "Who the fuck are you with? You tell me right now!"

"It's some kind of criminal group!" Sonja cried, pointing a shaking finger at her husband as she sank into the couch. "I'm telling you! Who else would hide him from the police?"

"Listen, I have to go," Jeffrey sounded remarkably unruffled. "Try to keep your shit together. Don't worry about me."

"You do realise they want the death sentence for you out here, don't you?" Richard said heavily, gripping the receiver tight and trying not to let his voice crack. "They think you killed that Webber boy. Everyone's saying you tortured him to death."