She's Gone by David Bell

Author:David Bell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Sourcebooks
Published: 2022-09-02T00:00:00+00:00

Thirty-Eight

Dad’s true to his word. His car is in the driveway by the time I get home.

He’s skipped afternoon office hours and anything else he might have needed to do on campus. This is a rare thing—like seeing a comet streak across the sky. Dad never skips work, never comes home early unless one of us is sick or needs something we can’t get from anyone else. I guess I’m that something now.

Dad’s at the kitchen table with his glasses pushed up on top of his head and a stack of exams spread out before him. He holds a red pen and is scribbling away, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth. I worry he’s too caught up in his work, but he stops writing and looks up.

He flips the glasses in place, magnifying the size of his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he asks. His voice is calm. As flat as a pond.

“Yes, I am. In fact, something good happened.”

He touches the corner of his mouth with his index finger. The overhead light reflects off his glasses, making it tough to see his eyes.

“I want you to hear something.” He’s still using his calm voice.

“Okay. But I want to tell you something, too. Dad?”

He walks over to the kitchen counter. Some bills are stacked there, and a couple of history and news magazines Dad subscribes to. Everything is in neat piles.

He reaches for the landline. Dad has always said he likes to keep it in case the grid goes out. I always tell him that if all the cell phones stop working, we’ll have problems so big the landline isn’t going to help us. But Dad says it’s ten bucks extra a month, so what do I care? Only telemarketers call, and most of the time, we just don’t answer.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Listen,” he says. He hands me the receiver and hits a button. “Go ahead.”

I’ve never made a call on the landline in my life, and the phone feels odd in my hand. It’s like I’m using a shoe or a rock and expecting to talk to other people. But I humor Dad and put the thing to my ear.

It beeps. A sound like something from a cheap sci-fi movie.

Then a husky voice speaks.

You’re a killer. Everybody knows you’re a killer. Stop with the videos. Stop trying to—

Dad hits the button. Another beep.

I think those videos are a disgrace—

Another beep.

I’m praying you see your way to stop making videos so you can confess to killing that poor girl so her family can give her a Christian burial—

Dad takes the receiver and replaces it in the cradle.

“There are about ten more like that,” he says when he turns back to me. “They’d finally tapered off after you posted the first video. Now that you made this one, it’s open season again. And I didn’t mention this before because I didn’t want to add to your problems, but now the crazies have been emailing me at work and calling my office.

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