It was 4:32 A.M. I pressed the redial button on the phone once again, but the line was still busy.
Two Days Earlier: Monday, April 20, 2015
The New York City subway system was unpredictable tonight. The train signals were behaving like a moody teenager. It took more than two hours to get home from Morris Park in the Bronx to my apartment on the Eastside in Manhattan. A trip I usually made in minutes on a typical night.
Stressed from the city’s daily grind, it took two cups of chamomile tea to calm my nerves before I climbed into bed. I knew the following day would bring more of New York’s unpredictability.
I’d only just entered dreamland when the ringing of the telephone disturbed my restless but much-needed sleep.
“Who the hell could be calling me at this hour?” I snarled, grabbing the telephone. I propped myself up on my elbow in the middle of a shuddering yawn. Still groggy, I glanced at my LED-lit caller ID beside me on the night table. It read ‘Unavailable.’ I could hear the hiss of heavy breathing as I picked up the phone, but no one spoke. As I attempted to return the receiver to its cradle, a voice said, “Miss Apika . . . Miss Shade?”
“Yes,” I answered gruffly.
“This is Sergeant Wade Willoby from the 59th Precinct in the Bronx. I am sorry to wake you, ma’am, but this is very important. It concerns your parents.”
“My who? What!” I asked, bolting to an upright position. “What’s wrong with my Mom and Dad?”
“I think I should come over and talk to you.”
I flung off the covers and sat on the edge of the bed.
“What’s wrong with my parents?” I insisted.
“Can you confirm your address, please?”
“Sure, but are they alright?” I demanded, my heart racing out of my chest as I gave him my address. I was about to ask another question, but I heard a click.
I stared at the phone for a second, then offered a silent prayer. I then dialed my parent’s home phone number. I was annoyed all over again that I had to return the two expensive smartphones I’d bought. Their house phone was busy. “What the . . . but . . they have call-waiting!”
I hung up and hugged myself as I was shivering, though not from the temperature in the room. I peeked at the clock. It was 4:32 A.M. I pressed the redial button on the phone once again, but the line was still busy. I guzzled a deep breath, trembling. My mom was an early riser. She could be on the phone? A voice suggested. But they have call-waiting! I said in torment.
Thank you for reading this piece. I hope you enjoy it.
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