26
Rune Alignment
Chapter. 8.
"Jerry," Bobby said to the head tech in Audio as he came up behind the guy with huge earphones and touched him on the shoulder.
"Bobby, my man! What brings you down here?" Jerry replied, taking the earphones from his head.
"I need a disposable cell for a vic. Just needs three speed numbers, a long lasting battery and an AC charger."
"Sure thing. Whatcha' been up to? Haven't seen you around much." Jerry was a poker buddy and good friend. It was true; Bobby had been keeping to himself more lately. He knew he'd been brooding. He would come home from work, change, eat junk, sit with a beer and think. He'd been thinking too much, and occasionally drinking too much. It wasn't healthy. He knew it. Then, forty-eight hours ago, Gleason entered his life. Don't mess this up.
"Working, mostly," Bobby lied. "I'll wait for that cell, if that's ok."
"No problem," Jerry answered as he moved to a shelf and retrieved a bin full of cell phones. "You got the paperwork with you? Just set it in the box over there."
"Yeah, well, Eames is going to bring it down later. I have to get this to the vic right away. That's not a problem, is it?"
"No, no problem. You and Eames . . . you two are like an old married couple. Ha, can you see that?" Jerry activated the three-number cell, pulled an adapter, wrote the cell's phone number on a card and slid the pile in front of the detective. Goren scooped up the items in his basket-like hands and said, "Thanks, Jerry. Gotta run."
"Hey, you gonna sign for that?" Jerry said to Bobby's back. Oh, well, Eames will sign for him. Just like a good wife.
Once in his green SUV, Bobby programmed his cell, home and direct line desk phone numbers into Gleason's new phone. Then he drove to her apartment.
Her Volvo was in the lot, just as he expected. Good. He parked and put the phone and charger in his coat pocket. She is not going to let me in; he knew it. He walked to the lobby door and saw the buzz box with the list of last names. She wasn't going to buzz him in. Wasn't going to answer his buzz in the first place. So, he pushed the button next to K. Samuels – no answer. L. Tomlinson, no answer. D. Barnovsky, no answer. Damn, everyone was out. He pushed C. Clemmons, "Who is it?" the box inquired.
"Hi, listen, I'm trying to reach Gleason Wintermantle and she's not answering her buzz, so I was wondering if . . ."
"She's probably not home."
"No, no, she's home, her car is in the parking lot. She canceled her classes today and I'm afraid she's sick. I want to check on her. That's all. I'm a friend and I'm worried about her. Please. I'm worried."
Hesitation, hesitation. Come on, do it; buzz the door.
"Well, I'm not sure . . ." the box replied.
"Really, I just want to make sure she's ok," Bobby tried his most sincere voice.
A buzz sounded and then the click. He pulled the door open and stepped into the small lobby. He scanned the mailboxes and saw 'G. Wintermantle, 5D.' He pushed the elevator button, the doors opened and up he went. Just as he figured, 5D was the back apartment on the right, overlooking the parking lot. A welcome mat sat outside her door.
He knocked. Nothing. He knocked again, leaned close to the door and said somewhat quietly, "Gleason, it's me, Bobby. Open the door." He stood back and looked at the door so she could see it was him through the peephole.
Nothing.
A little louder, "Gleason, come on. Let me in." Nothing, nothing, "Please. I'm not leaving until I see you." She was terrified, probably huddled on the couch or in her bed. She could hear him, the apartment wasn't that large. He imagined her small with fear. Not knowing what to do, fearing him at the door, thinking it might be the caller, come to get her. Watching the door, so afraid.
Nothing.
"I need to tell you what we're doing about the calls. You need to know what we're doing to your phone. I have a cell phone for you to use. Only I have the number. I've programmed my numbers in for you to call me."
Nothing. Nothing.
"Gleason . . . please . . . open the door." Bobby could hear no sounds inside the apartment. She might as well have been out, or asleep, or. . ." Instinctively his hand went to the weapon on his left hip.
Louder, "Gleason I need to know you're ok. Say something."
Silence.
"I'm going to kick in your door if you don't answer me."
Wait, wait . . . nothing.
"You know I'll do it." He knew he wouldn't. God, he hated to make threats.
He waited two more minutes and then said, "Gleason, I'm going to leave the cell phone and charger outside your door and then I'll go. I'm going to wait in my car until you call me. Just push 'speed one', that's my cell." He set the items on the floor against the door. He could have set them further away from the door, waited to the side until she opened the door and stepped out to reach them, and then he could quickly step into her doorway. That would just scare her. She'd never trust him after that. No, he'd do what he said, leave the phone and wait in the car. Bobby stood in front of her door again then walked to the elevator door. He figured the peephole viewed the entire narrow hallway area in front of her apartment including the elevator. Reluctantly, he pushed the button and the elevator door opened. He was sure she'd open the door now.
Nothing.
Bobby sat in his car holding his cell and waited. Call. Come on. Call me. Ring, damn it. He was able to see her apartment window from where he sat. He kept looking up, hoping she would pull back the curtain and look down. Nothing.
After five minutes, Bobby struggled with the decision to call or not call the new cell. Had she even retrieved the cell from outside her door? If it rang, would it trigger her terror? Don't call, leave her alone. Let her calm down enough to call him. Reluctantly, he started the engine and headed back to the office.
Gleason listened as Bobby begged her to open the door. She sat in the corner of her couch, knees to her chest, wrapped in a chenille throw. Her eyes were swollen, her face was blotched, her head pounded from crying.
How she had wanted to open the door. She was so tempted. Let him in, let him hold her; protect her. Bobby was wonderful, multi-dimensional on so many levels. His intelligence was what got her first. At the initial meeting about the artifact, Bobby never said a word until the end. His question about the context of the artifact and the apparent contradiction concerning the economic structures of the period and location was such an obscure yet accurate reference, how could he even know about that? What else did he know? His intelligence showed through during their "date" last night. He was almost shy about what he knew. His intellect was genuine, yet almost incidental.
He was a gentleman; how she missed the little things men once did. Like his intelligence, his gentility was natural, internalized, automatic and without pretense. She loved the way he looked at her, he studied her, drank her in; even last night, how he looked into her eyes when she spoke, she could see him listening to her. And today at his office, he was so tender, kind, worried. Now at her door, he was pleading with her, trying to protect her.
Stop it, she told herself. Stop now. You cannot get involved with this man. You don't know what lies beneath. You thought you knew Clive; lived with him for nearly seven years, how he insinuated himself into your very being. And look where you are now, thousand of miles away from your home, alone and with nothing. Stop it. You don't know this detective. Do not trust him. Do not trust yourself. You don't know what lies beneath.
Her mind wandered to the times with Clive, the good and the horrific, but she blanked on the bad; she could not relive those horrors. She was certain the calls were from him. How did he find her? What would she do now that he had found her? She knew he would do all that his calls had threatened and more. Slowly the horrors became real in her mind. The pain was real, the searing heat, her scars flared. She began to tremble, her breath became fast and shallow and she bolted for the toilet again.