Chapter 3

It didn’t work.

A good eight hours of pure uninterrupted sleep did nothing to quell Don’s lust for unnecessary justice. As soon as he was up, he was out of his apartment. I didn’t even know how early it must have been before he left, but when we got to his house to fetch him for a relaxing drive we had earlier planned, his doors were locked, and he wasn’t answering the door. After several rings, Sam tried his phone and got him outdoors in a video call. He didn’t suspect the anonymous number and couldn’t deflect his camera on time.

He spent the rest of the morning ignoring our calls as we did try to call him, but in the end, we gave that up too.

“Don needs to stop. This is getting excessive,” Sam said with a pensive tone as we headed to the highway to enjoy the drive ourselves.

I let out a huge sigh. “He’s turning into a major psychopath.”

“Worse. He’s probably going to end up like Amelia,” Sam suggested. I thought her right. But now, there was nothing we could do about it. I told Sam to drive some miles down south toward the place Don and I were yesterday. It was a two-part patch. Enjoy the journey and maybe find Don.

“We’re running out of options,” Sam panned as we pulled into the club where Amelia’s most horrible moments were spent.

“Just look around. I’ll get Mr. Fremund on the line,” I told her and hopped down her Wrangler.

“Hello, Asher?” Mr. Fremund’s voice sounded harsher than its actual dull, smooth waviness over the phone receiver.

“Good morning, Sir.” I held my hand over my head in a useless effort to prevent the blinding light of the sun. Even though it didn’t come with much intense heat, as this was already toward winter, it still had that blinding shine to it. Everywhere around here had this desert feel to it. Dry and empty. But that was mainly because the majority of the people that should roam the streets were at work or in shelter from the unforgiving cold of the autumn that somehow managed to mix itself with light so bright, it’d deceive a person watching a video into thinking of the summer.

“A very fine afternoon to you too, my boy. How are you?” His voice cracked through the receiver.

I decided to ignore his correction and go straight to the point. “Not good, Mr. Fremund. I mean...I am good. It’s just... it’s Don, sir.”

“Donovan?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Drop the ‘sir’ thing, boy. Twice is enough. What’s it with your friend?” He asked.

“Yes, about Don. He’s uhhh...gone after those guys again.” I hoped he’d get the point instantly.

“The ones responsible for Amelia’s suicide?”

He did.

“Yes. I dunno what else to do, Mr. Frem...” I didn’t complete my statement because I heard a crash in the background.

“No, it’s fine, son. Just misplaced a mug. Have you tried his cellphone?” 

“Yes, Sir. For the entire morning. He’s not answering.”

There was silence for a while in what I assumed was Mr. Fremund making subtle contemplations.

“You know what? Gimme five minutes. Let me try him myself and see what it comes up with, alright?”

“Fine by me.”

Sure enough, in less than the time he requested, he was back on the line.

“Where are you, Asher?”

“Far south of the city. Why?” My voice was a slight pant from the pacing I had been doing prior to the call.

“Come back. Don’s in the area.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, get on here. I need to do this with you around. Witnesses.”

The call ended before I had the chance to hang up. Turning back to look at Sam, I had no other feeling but pure pity. She came out all this way for completely nothing. I part dreaded telling her the news even though just a little below the dread was a giddy expectation, the kind you’d never see on my face, but hidden in my clouded membrane was the Cheshire grin revealing malicious intent.

“Sam. Hey, uhh...we have to go back,” I panted when I reached her. Her face froze in the expression it was before I delivered the instruction.

“What? W... we’re going back?” She followed my face to find the lie or trickery which, to her despair and mine, wasn’t there. Cringing and angling my torso toward the side, I positioned myself to receive some kind of attack from her, but no matter how much I flinched whenever she moved, the punch never came.

Okay. Trauma.

“Let’s get going then?” I rounded over to the passenger seat.

“You’re not joking!” She heaved. The pang of devastation seemed to be hitting her in waves.

“Mr. Fremund said Don is around Avenston. He wants us to be there when he’s talking to him.”

The engine of the car roared, drowning out her voice a little bit. “Finally! You’re not the only one talking sense into him. I hope Mr. Fremund does more than talk, really. A smack on the head, maybe two, would do the trick if you ask me.”

The entire drive to Mr. Fremund’s place was full of expressive mumbles and grumbles of distaste from Sam, and I had to buy her an extra sandwich to pacify her.

Getting to Mr. Fremund’s office, we saw Don already sitting and not in a comfortable manner. The atmosphere around the place was tense, and I settled, slightly nodding my head to both men. I took an awkward seat beside Don while Sam plopped herself down onto the couch by the far right of the room and continued munching on her sandwich. Her gaze toggled between the sandwich and the three of us, and she gave us a muffled “Well?”

Ah, yes. What we came here for.