Shattered

Carter (e)

Carter
7.
I woke with a start. Shaken out of sleep by the sound of my phone ringing on the bedside table. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, still half-closed, I sat up and blindly searched for the incessant ringing.

On the last ring, I found my phone as the screen went dark. I didn't recognize the number on the other line, and I didn't bother to redial. Instead, I stood, the cool air hitting my skin making me shiver.

The moonlight streaming through my window had me strolling back to my phone. I hurried to pull the hoodie over my head, goosebumps prickling my arms. The numbers swam before my bleary eyes.

2:35 am and now two more missed calls from the mystery number.

That meant I'd only gotten an hour of sleep. I pressed the phone to my ear, sighing.

"C...! I wasn't sure if I'd actually get you to answer. I—I...I want you to know something: today I was walking across the street, and...and I think I—"

At the sound of my childhood nickname, and the slurred, yet familiar voice, I cut Thomas off.

"Thomas, what are you doing?" I made sure to keep any emotion from slipping into my voice, couldn't let Thomas know just how much his name made me feel—drunk or not.

"Why are you so mean?" His voice whispered, so low I barely heard him. "Get off of me!"

Voices on the other end caught my attention, and I stood from the edge of my bed. The sound of a car horn sounding in the distance.

"Where are you?" I asked. "I'm coming."

I knew I would regret this.

"There's a lot of people here, C, and they're trying to steal my jacket—they keep saying—"

Shuffling and grunts could be heard on the other end, along with distant shouting.

"Tell me where you are, Thomas." My voice sounded harsher than I intended.

Silence fell over the phone, and I pulled it from my ear, sure that my brother had hung up, but I called his name just to be certain,

"Thomas?"

"I'm-I'm in...police, C. Just look for police." I could hear the defeat in Thomas's voice, and silence rang through once again. I hung up.

It was more or less a blind search. I had no idea where Thomas could be—there were plenty of bars and traffic and blinding lights that made it difficult to know, or see exactly where I was going.

I didn't see any police, and I continued to drive aimlessly for what felt like forever. I found myself driving down alleys, driving several times around the block. I was a good ways from my home now, and as I came through Harlem, I held my breath as movement caught my attention, followed by muffled shouts.

Parking, I stepped out of my car, glancing around warily. No police. The sounds grew louder, angry words and a slew of curse words that had me running toward the sound.

The flickering white light that illuminated the dark alley held a figure slumped against the wall. He was speaking rather loudly, angered obscenities that made me hesitate.

I tried to push away the images that surfaced in my head, the scenes that threatened to walk me in the opposite direction.

"Thomas?"

Even though it was dark, and the flickering light barely shedding enough to see, I knew it was Thomas, a shadow cast over his sunken features, as if he'd been here for a long while.

And then I noticed the blood that stained his face, the front of his shirt. A shift in the light and Thomas was suddenly angry, features contorting to that of something close to fury.