© 2012 Phylicia Joannis
Detective Gates pulled his chair from his desk and flopped heavily in the seat. He lifted his notebook from his front jacket pocket and flipped through the pages. He stopped at one page and grabbed a pen from his desk. He made a circle around one note jotted earlier and paused.
“What are you hiding from me?” he mumbled to himself. A swift knock sounded at his office door.
“Come in,” the detective spoke gruffly.
A timid clerk entered and looked hesitantly at the detective. “Detective Gates, you have a phone call.”
“From who?” The detective returned his attention to his notes.
“Your partner, sir,” the clerk responded.
“Well put him through!” Detective Gates stared at the clerk.
“Yes sir,” the clerk exited quickly and moments later the office phone rang.
“Gates here,” he answered with a touch of amusement.
“Was that the new girl?” his partner’s frustration was obvious. “I had to go through a dozen hoops to get her to put me through!”
“Why didn’t you call the extension?” Detective Gates chuckled.
“I can never remember the number,” his partner scowled. “Besides, I always get you on your cell phone. I’ve been calling and calling. What have you been doing?”
“Working,” Detective Gates shrugged. “My cell died about an hour ago. I just got in the office. What do you have for me?”
“Well, it looks like our trauma vic finally got his memory back.”
“The technician?” Detective Gates sat up straight in his chair. “What did he tell you?”
“First, turn on the news,” his partner instructed. Detective Gates clicked on the television above his head and turned to the local news channel.
“Anybody look familiar?” his partner asked.
“Yeah,” Detective Gates spoke slowly as the news showed a replay of the press conference. He watched quietly as Chuck took the podium and made his confession. “That’s one of the dispatchers I interviewed today.”
“Name’s Charles aka “Chuck” Jameson, right?” his partner asked.
Detective Gates flipped through his notes. “Yep. What’s the story on him?”
“He’s our guy.”
***
“Halfway there,” I said to myself as I carefully placed my left foot on a slab of cement. It wobbled slightly, then stabilized underneath my weight.
My stomach growled, but I ignored it and kept moving up. Up towards the lights shining dimly in the night sky. They grew closer and closer until I could finally see the edge of a skyscraper. My breath caught in my throat as a gust of wind poured in through the opening. It had been hours since I smelled fresh air. Never had the smell of the city been so sweet.
The opening was large and surrounded by pipe and wire. I found a pipe to place my foot on and hoisted myself through. My heart leapt for joy the moment my head swung above the street, and I took heaping gulps of the night air.
I pushed the rest of my body through and lay out on the street for a moment, catching my breath.
“I made it,” I laughed to myself; then I remembered the people depending on me below.
I stuck my head over the entrance and shouted as loud as I could. “I made it through! I’m going to get help!”
I heard a faint clapping below and smiled. I started to walk away, but hesitated when I didn’t recognize my surroundings. I looked back at the entrance and took off my scarf. I tied it securely around a piece of pipe sticking out of the ground to mark the entrance.
Satisfied, I turned towards the next block to find the cross streets so I could get help to the right place.
When I got to the corner, I took a long look at the signs.
“Crosby and Hanover.”
I repeated the names over and over until I was sure I wouldn’t forget. Next, I needed to find help.
Across the street I saw a young man holding a cell phone. I rushed over quickly and touched his shoulder.
“I’m sorry to interrupt, but I have an emergency, and I don’t have a phone.”
The man turned around and I immediately recoiled. I stared at the bedazzled phone in his right hand, probably not his, and the purse in his left hand, definitely not his. The look in his eyes told me I should run, but my feet were frozen.
“Um, never- never mind,” I stuttered.
“That’s a nice necklace,” he stared hungrily at the chain on my neck. “What else you got?”
“N-nothing,” I stammered as I took a step back, my feet finally responding to my brain.
“You got somethin’ else,” the distinct click of a switchblade was all the persuasion I needed. I took off running in the opposite direction, adrenaline pushing past the hunger and fatigue I felt. I heard the heavy footsteps of the man behind me. He was chasing me, and my stomach churned with panic.
I turned a corner and ran into the street, nearly colliding with a taxi before crashing into a garbage can. I lost my footing and fell to the ground, my head smashing the pavement with brutal force. The faint sound of a car door was the last thing I hear before my world turned black.
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