Story Tag: Part 4

Welcome back!

Since it took a little while for Part 4 to come out, I've written more than I did previously.
If you're just tuning in, Inna Jong Key and I are passing a story back and forth. We've got no plans for it. We haven't talked about what will happen. It's all spontaneous.
Check out her blog for part 1 and part 3. Check out my blog for part 2.

Without further ado, here is the next scene:

Part 4

My head aches as Carla manhandles me out of the car. The storm has died a bit, enough that the rain drums with less enthusiasm and I’m only mildly dampened. The driver says something with concern but she snaps at him and continues shoving me out. My eyes feel gritty and dry as I blink open to an apartment complex. I frown as I try to remember why it is familiar. The fake terracotta roofs and open porches are meant to mimic some Asian-European hodge podge of design. It’s only after Carla marches me to number seventy-six that it hits me.

Carla rings the doorbell and moments later, Anthony opens the door. I rub my head and squint. A million questions are buzzing through my mind; the most prominent one being: why are we here? We used to be good friends with Anthony when we were all in middle school band, but I quit in high school and Carla switched to orchestra. Anthony was the only one dedicated enough to stick with his trumpet. After that we grew apart and only said a passing hello in the hallway.

“Let us in,” Carla says nearly pushing Anthony out of the way. “We can’t stay out here.”

He blinks but nods and steps aside. Is this as strange to him as to me or does he know something?

The apartment is just how I remember it from middle school. The entryway is still crowded with shoes thrown every which way. The hallway light is flickering as if on its last leg and the smell of fast food is a greasy cloud over everything.

Anthony shuts the door and then yells down the hall. “Ma, I’ve got some friends over. I’m going to my room.”

“Keep it down,” his mother replies and I can make out the Jeopardy music from the living room where she’s probably been sitting for the past seven hours.

Anthony just leads us up the cramped stairway and into his room. He shoves aside a stack of books and throws a pile of laundry off the bed and into his closet. His room is nearly the same as well, but you can see the differences. The posters of Pokemon and action figures are replaced with some of his favorite composers and the Periodic Table. While the Star Wars bed covers are the same, the boy that sits down on them is not. His dirty blonde hair is longer and falls into his eyes. He’s taller too, but it’s more than that. He looks older in his eyes. The careless trumpet player running around in confusion is now a serious, intelligent young man and he let us in without a hint of protest.

As much as I want to sit on the bed like old times, I pick out a mostly clean spot on the floor and rub my head. I don’t remember much about the car ride over. Had I passed out? I glance at Carla but she is tight-lipped and tapping away on her phone.

“Why are we here?” I ask.

She waves her hand distractedly. “We needed to go somewhere no one would expect to find us.”

“Gee thanks, Carla.” Anthony rolls his eyes and it’s almost like old times. “I’m right here.” He looks from her to me. “Care to explain why you don’t want anyone to find you. I mean, I think I’m obligated to know, especially since you’re camping out in my room.”

Her dark eyes flash and she lowers her phone. “You don’t want to know, Anthony. The less you know, the safer you’ll be.”

He shakes his head. “And that doesn’t sound like every movie plot ever.” He turns to me as if hoping for a straight answer when I’m in the dark too. “Come on, Lizzie. What’s going on here?”

I clench my knees to keep from shaking. “I don’t know. There was someone in the house, I think. It was dark and the storm...I’m not sure.”

“Shouldn’t we call the police?” Anthony says. “Do you have your phone on you?”

I pat my pockets and realize that I don’t. How did that happen? Did I drop it? I always have my phone on me. It is either in my pocket or my hand and I should have noticed the weight difference.

“Carla,” I say. “Let me use your phone. I’ll call the police and Mom and Dad.”

She just stands there with a lockjaw expression. “No, we’re not calling anybody.”

“Then who have you been texting,” I snap. “You took me halfway across town, barged into Anthony’s home and you won’t say anything about what happened!”

“I’ve got to use the bathroom,” Carla says. She opens the door and closes it with a bang.