Saving Della Ray

“What do you think?” she asked sourly, and then pulled her phone from her pocket. “His number!” she demanded, as she got ready to tap it in.

I didn’t give it to her. I turned around and rushed back into the diner.

“Hey!” she called out. “Hey!”

I barely even heard her.

She was long erased from my mind as my concern about Bone’s safety crippled me. I hurried into the bathroom in the diner, and pulling out my phone, I dialed his number. I’d been a bit worried about him over the last three days, especially after I’d seen the news report about his club’s involvement with the disastrous fire and I’d heard nothing from him, but I had been unable to allow myself to call him. I was scared that I would be pushing my bounds, especially since he’d warned me not to call him.

Now, I could no longer hold myself back. When the unavailable message came up on my phone, my heart sunk. I spent the rest of my shift in a terrible state. The moment I was done, I rushed over to his apartment.

I still had the key with me so I opened the door and found my way in. I walked around the bedroom, living room, and the kitchen. I opened the trashcan and saw all the takeaway boxes inside it. Everything was exactly the same way I’d left it three nights ago. It looked as if he had not come back here at all.

I dialed his phone number again and when it still didn’t go through, I realized then that there was nothing I could do but wait until his return.

But what if he never did?

Perhaps seeking the help of the authorities would stir the pot, but whether it would bring him to the surface or cause even more trouble for him, I had no clue. And neither did Nichole. Her advice was to wait. Bone was a smart operator and there was a reason he told me not to call him until he called me. Maybe he even knew he would have to disappear for a few days and that was why he didn’t want me calling and worrying.

Before I left for the Sinkhole, I thought to leave the key somewhere he would be able to find it, but there was nothing in front of his door to hide it in, not even a plant. I was reluctant to send him any text messages in case he was in serious trouble, and he didn’t want much known about him by the members of the club.

Bone had been so tightlipped, I wasn’t even certain his club members knew about this apartment so I kept the key on me and went to work full of fear and worry.

The next day, I stopped by the apartment after my shift to check again. This time, I brought with me a small potted palm plant. I placed it in front of his door, dug his key into the soil, and left. The following day I returned again, and all was still as I had left it. I watered the plant and placed some noodles that he could quickly make on the kitchen counter. If he was in a hurry. I don’t know what I was thinking, but it was the only thing I could think of doing for him.

Just before I left, I stood just inside the door and mourned for him. Tears ran down my face. All day I had to pretend I was fine, but here I could let the tears come. It had been a week now and there had been absolutely no word on him. What haunted me was the look of urgency in his eyes as he had exited the room in a rush. Perhaps he had been killed by his members and his corpse disposed of.

The pain at this thought was horrendous. I dropped to the ground with it. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. I knew he wasn’t dead. I would feel it if he was. There was more between Bone and me than just physical. We were connected at some other level. It took me all this time to realize it, but to me, it was true.

That night at the bar, I found myself unable to go on without some sort of consolation. So I called Henry aside and asked, “These clubs. I know they usually have bloody fights with other clubs, but what about between themselves? Can they just hurt their members at their own discretion?”

“You’re joking, right?” he asked. “Of course, they hurt and even kill each other. When it comes to their affairs, they’re their own law. I mean I’ve heard of them throwing members off balconies and causing paralysis, busting their skulls open, even death.” At my horrified expression, he stopped. “I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to freak you out.”