Darkside

Twelve

"Orsthon..." The booze has hold of my tongue. It's hard to get words out. "You left your numba."

"Who's this? I can't hear you very well."

"Why you shouting? I can hear you." Where is that maniacal giggling coming from? Is it me? Oh God. "You working in the motel? You, like, behind your desk and everything?"

"Hello...? Hello? I can't hear you very well."

"Stupid noisy streets. This is why your town is better than the city. I shouldn't have left. I got on that bus, the number...eight nine, I think, and went to the end of the line away from you. Why did I do that? I think because I like you loths..."

"Phoenix?" I can almost see the shock on his expression from here. "Is that you?"

"It's me, but I'm not in your motel anymore. I'm in another. Hold on, I need my keyths..."

My cell phone clatters noisily to the floor. I don't bend down to grab it because keys come first...obviously! This is a private conversation, I need to be in bed for it.

God, I can't wait to get to bed. Booze makes me so tired.

"Ah, here. Right, Or...Orsooon...I'm back."

"You are wasted, Phoenix. Just like you were on my birthday."

"I wasn't drunk on your birthday, was I?" Was I? It was a lifetime ago. "I don't know. My whole life is a blur. Every motel looks the same once you get used to it."

"So, you are in a lot of motels, then? Archie was right about you being a vagrant." I don't answer. Unless more stupid laughter counts as a reply. "Right, I see...so, why are you calling?"

"I miss you." I don't think I was meant to say that. It seems a bit too honest. Then again, why am I calling? "I don't feel safe here." My body curls around into the fetal position on the sheets. "It's scary."

"Why do you think I haven't ever been to the city? All that crime..."

Crime. Murder is a crime. But one that doesn't always go punished. Sometimes, murderers are allowed to walk free, just because all the facts and evidence don't quite fit into place.

Someone was watching me before, someone knows I'm here. That's terrifying. That's why I'm calling, I remember now. I need a friendly voice to pull me through.

"Ah, shit!" I nearly fall off the bed as an accidental collision with the remote brings the TV to life. It's loud, I need it turned down because Orson is talking to me. "What did you say?"

"Why don't I come and visit you? I don't normally like the city, but we could hang out. I think...well, it seems like we had a good time together last time."

"Yeah, sounds good. Whatever you want."

I don't know what I'm agreeing to. There I am, on the TV. Long blonde beautiful hair, wide smile and dimples, the whole world ahead of me.

I'm famous.

No, Luvvie is famous.

But it's all supposed to have died down now.

"Where are you staying? I will find you."

"Airedale." The word is a whisper. "I have to go..."

He's gone. My reassurance has vanished just when I need him most, but I cut him off. This is something I got into on my own and now I need to face it alone. I shimmy closer to the screen so I can hear the news reporter through the drunken fog of confusion.

"The case of Luvvie Thompson took an interesting twist this evening as the police follow up a lead of her being spotted alive and well." The world pinholes, blackness comes for me, bile burns in my throat. I knew it, I knew it... "In a Californian suburb."

"What the hell?"

I scurry even closer to the TV, needing more details. That's not me, I'm nowhere near a Californian suburb, but who is it? Someone else not dead, just trying to escape their lives? It can't be me, but I can't help thinking it is me regardless. That somehow, someone out there has found me.

Cash might have the last laugh after all.

"The police are following up the lead, and hoping for information..."

Why do the cops still want to find me? They need to give up? I guess missing: presumed dead isn't enough. Without a body, they can't give up. But where can I find a body with my exact DNA to get them off my back?

Impossible. Even in my alcohol fog I know it's impossible.

"The family are desperate for information..."

My father can be the only person they mean here. I wonder if he's more desperate to find out about me or my mother. If he could choose only one, would he want her?

Fuck, what if she's sitting around somewhere watching this now, knowing history has repeated itself? What will she think? Perhaps she'll be proud.

Probably ashamed.

Urgh, fuck this. I need to sleep, this is too much.