I stared at him. “Trust me, I’m not making it worse. They killed my best friend.” Carl, murderer, rapist, and Meg the raging bitch egging him on. Match made in hell.
Ben played with my hair, and I settled down, relaxing to his touch. This was his place, it smelled like him, and I felt safe. Mostly safe. I sighed again.
“I’m not sure what to be more freaked out about,” I said. “My mom, or me, or the pack. Or Rick. God, if Rick finds out I’m here he’ll take it the wrong way.”
“How’s he going to find out you’re here? Denver’s huge, no one’s going to know you’re here.”
“Oh, Ben, you’re so cute when you’re being clueless.”
“And you’re cute when you’re being paranoid.”
“It’s not paranoia—”
“When they’re really out to get you, I know. Remember what you told me, when I freaked out and sat there whining about not knowing what to do?”
“No, what?” Whining, just like he said.
“Get back to work. The cure for everything.”
My old radio station, my old home base, KNOB, was in Denver. Maybe I could go back. I’d love to see Matt, Ozzie, and the whole gang.
“Everybody would know to find me there,” I said.
“So don’t tell anyone you’re there. You think they’re going to post a watch on the front door?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine, I give up. Hide out here the whole time. But if you start climbing the walls, I’m kicking you out.”
I lasted a whole day before I left Ben’s condo. He didn’t have to kick me out. The next day was Friday, and I had the show to do. I couldn’t let a little thing like paranoia—however justified—keep me away.
The KNOB building hadn’t changed. It was a seventies brick pile, three stories, tucked away on a side street. If it didn’t have the grove of antennae on the roof, it could have been anything.
I slunk through the front door, the prodigal daughter returned.
I didn’t recognize the woman at the receptionist’s desk. She was my age, wore glasses, and was poring earnestly over some kind of paperwork. She didn’t look up, and I didn’t know what to do. Should I just walk in, as if I still worked here? Had they given my office to someone else?
In keeping with my general mood, I sneaked past her and took the stairs to the next floor. Avoidance was always a good strategy. Second floor was offices, third floor was studios and libraries. I had an urge to go all the way up, to take in the atmosphere and smells of the place. I wanted to find my favorite squishy chair and give it a spin. I’d spent a lot of time here, first as an intern, then as a regular DJ before I started the
show. This was where it all started. I was too young to be feeling this nostalgic.
Maybe that was why I avoided the third-floor studios and went to the second floor to find Ozzie, the station manager and my boss. I should have called first. I should have given him some warning.
I really ought to stop second-guessing myself.
Creeping like an intruder, I listened for voices, trying to guess who was here and where Ozzie might be. Maybe I hadn’t been gone all that long. Some of the same flyers were up on the bulletin board, the same notices to please clean your crap out of the fridge in the break room and to sign up for the employee picnic.
“Kitty!”
Matt—young, stocky, his black hair in a ponytail—appeared around the corner at the end of the hallway. He ran the show for me, first live and then remotely when I had to go on the road.
I grinned wide and squealed just a little. “Matt!”
We ran into each other and hugged. Ah, I was home.
Matt talked a mile a minute. “What are you doing here? I didn’t know you were back, why didn’t you call? Hey—we’re all set up for the show to broadcast in Pueblo, are we going to have to move everything back here or are you just dropping by or what?”
We separated, and I hemmed and hawed, sheepish. “I’m back, I guess. It was kind of sudden. Is that okay? Is there a problem?”