“What?” Quinn said before he hung up the phone.
The officer furrowed his brow and eyed Quinn. “You had your call. Now follow me to the back.”
“Wait. Please. Just let me make one more call. They can clear everything up for me. I promise,” Quinn’s heart jumped.
“Yeah, that’s what you said last time. You see all these other people here? You got your call. Now let’s go,” he said nudging Quinn’s arm.
Quinn took a deep breath. Crazy thoughts raced through his mind as he lost track of time. Several hours later, the cops processed him and gave him another chance to make a call.
“Valentino, it’s Quinn. You’re not gonna believe what just happened,” Quinn said as he briefed him on the situation.
Valentino was a born salesman and had worked at Logan’s company long before Quinn. Taller and with chiseled features, he was a few years older than Quinn. “That is crazy. I’ll be right over,” he said.
“And Valentino?” Quinn asked, fishing for a favor.
“Yeah?”
“Find out about Logan.”
Seventy-three minutes later, Valentino arrived at the Detention Center. Traffic was a mess. Parking was worse. Valentino looked at his watch: 3:42 PM. He went through the security check-in, then trotted through the corridors.
Valentino had copper-toned skin that women swooned over. His dark, slicked-back hair was almost cartoonish in style, but he pulled it off.
“Where do I post bail for someone?” Valentino asked one of the officers. His usual suave voice wobbled.
“Around the corner, but you’re going to have to wait ‘til Monday. It’s 3:48. They closed a few minutes ago.”
“So, there’s nothing I can do until Monday?”
“You can make a call and let ‘em know,” the disinterested, desk-officer replied.
Valentino made the call.
“Quinn. I’m really sorry, but it’s just after 3:45. The cashier’s closed, and so they’re saying you’re going to have to wait ‘til Monday.”
Quinn’s stomach rolled.
“I’ve got more bad news.”
Valentino didn’t have to finish. Quinn knew what he was going to say. There was no way Logan could’ve survived. Valentino broke the news to him.
“Logan’s gone. Paramedics pronounced him dead at the scene.”
“I can’t frikkin’ believe it. I just can’t. Why did this have to happen to Logan?”
“I’m sorry you have to sit in jail over the weekend for something so stupid, especially now.”
Quinn sighed.
“Just hang in there. I’ll be here first thing Monday morning. You’ll be out before you know it.”
Quinn’s attention moved to his grumbling stomach. He stared at the feces-stained public commode.
“Sounds like you need to use it,” one of the inmates said. This man didn’t look quite as menacing as the others—his neck tattoos were notably absent. Still, he wasn’t the type of person Quinn wanted to meet on the outside.
“I’ll wait.”
“Suit yourself, but the weekend’s a long time. Better take care of that now instead of holding it in. Guards don’t like it when they have to clean up people, and you’ll like it even less.”
Quinn cringed. Over the next several hours, Quinn took turns counting the seconds and staring at the toilet. He tried to wait it out, but his stomach had other plans.
Quinn made it just in time, and then he relieved himself. He sat there in all his glory and reflected on the day.
He finished up and used the last bit of toilet paper. The hand soap was empty. Quinn shook his head and returned to his seat.
If only Quinn could turn back the clock, relive the day, and do things over again. If only he’d checked his pockets before he hopped into the taxi, he wouldn’t have needed to wave Logan down from across the street. Logan would still be alive, and Quinn wouldn’t have to relieve himself in front of a group of men with neck tattoos.
Quinn thought about it, focused hard, and imagined it.
His eyelids grew heavy. They weighed down on him like a truckload of cement blocks. He fought, not sure what to expect from his fellow inmates if he fell asleep.
He lost.
Saturday morning, August 7th, 2021
Day 2.
7:32 AM.
The soft patter of Quinn’s alarm clock jarred him from his dream and forced him to look at the numbers on the screen:
“What the…”
Quinn stumbled off the mattress and grunted as his ankles collided with the bed frame.
He scanned his room. It was the same as yesterday or this morning—Quinn wasn’t sure which. He opened the bedroom curtain. His neighbor’s candy-apple colored Beemer was in the same position.
Quinn sat on the bed and reflected on what had happened last night. He connected his phone to the charger, then called the office.
“Meredith, this is an emergency. I need to speak to Logan immediately.”
“Logan’s in a meeting.”
“It’s an emergency. I need to speak to him now. I don’t have time to explain why. Please, just put me through.”
“You know Logan doesn’t like to be disturbed when he’s in a meeting.”
Quinn fiddled with his hairline. He wasn’t sure if last night had been a dream, a premonition, or what. All he knew was that he wasn’t going to take any chances. He remembered hearing once that the best way to survive in an airplane crash is to familiarize yourself with the exits and safety features before the accident. And whatever this was, it sure felt like it was going to crash hard.
“Please, Meredith, I’m not playing around. It’s a matter of life and death. Please just put me through.”
“I’ll make sure Logan gets the message.” The phone clicked.
Quinn threw on his clothes and made it outside just in time to miss the relic of a taxi that had picked him up the first time. He checked his pockets. His wallet was still there.
Quinn waited for the next taxi to arrive. He thought back on what had happened earlier. Maybe this was just his mind playing tricks on him. But how? A dream? Then he thought back to his actual dream, the one about Cameron. It was sharper than ever.
Cameron smiled. They sat on the pier and dangled their feet in the lake. Off in the distance, the trees gently bowed to the light breeze. It amazed Quinn how different the place felt with Cameron compared to when he was there with his father fishing.
The water’s glassy surface mirrored the sky like a flawless reflection punctuated by a few ripples set off by dragonfly feet.
Nature’s chorus echoed across the lake. The greenwood surrounding it shut out the rest of suburbia.
“How long have you lived here?” Cameron asked.
“A while. My dad moved us here when I was five, so like nine or ten years ago, I think.” “You like it here?”
Quinn bobbed his head. He kept up with the conversation. He listened and gave meaningful responses. He didn’t choke up. And this time, he didn’t just say, “I guess so.”
A new-model checkered-yellow car stopped by the curb where Quinn stood. A good start, Quinn thought.
Quinn checked for his wallet when he opened the door, and then reached for his phone in the other pocket. It wasn’t there. It was still charging inside. He thought about retrieving it, but there was no time.