URGENT (Book 2 of the Soundcrush Series)

Chapter 36: (Even) Nice Guys Get Pissed And Throw Phones

Adam

Coming to wakefulness when all is right in my world is a slow process. I stay just below the line of consciousness, supremely satisfied. My tank is full. Coming home with Mac is everything I hoped it would be. Fuck—it's more. She's never seemed so sweet, so eager to...become us. She loves us, she loves this place, she loves our baby, she loves the life she never knew she wanted.

Pffft. That girl knows she's gonna marry me. She just likes to fuck with me.

I say a slow prayer of genuine thanks. I am a blessed man.

Then I roll over, intending to wake Mac for more sex, and I realize the bed is empty.

Fuck. Of course it's empty. When does Mac never not sleep on me like a greedy sloth on a tree branch?

I pull on my jeans, stumble to the bathroom. No Mac.

When I exit the bathroom I'm awake enough to realize her clothes—and her shoes are gone.

That's when I know, but it takes me another two minutes to circuit the whole house and make sure.

Mac has left the building.

What.The.Fuck.

I can't believe it. I thought we were past this. I thought she had more trust in us than fear.

Fear.

Shit. My flash of anger rolls over into worry. I realize, Mac's not always in control of her fear.

It's been a crazy heavy day. What if she had a nightmare...or another flashback or something? What if her fear drove her out the door...without a plan, without reason, without awareness? What if she's wondering around my neighborhood, thinking she's escaping that psychopath, not realizing she ran from safety, from me?

I quickly don my shoes,phone, wallet and step outside. It's about 8pm—still quite light at this time of year. I circle the house. Mac's nowhere to be seen on the street, or down by the pond. I try calling her. No answer.

I send her a text.

Where are you, Sweetheart? I'm worried.

No answer.

Shit, then I realize...maybe she took one of my cars.

No...all four—my Ferrari, my Audi R8, my everyday Ford F-150 Raptor, and my nothing special BMW—are in the renovated, extended garage.

I'm backing out of the driveway in my nothing special BMW and  I've already tried to call Mac three more times. No answer.

How far could Mac have gotten on foot?

As I troll the neighborhood, I do the only other thing I can think of.

I call Leed.

"You better not be calling me to confess you guys went to Vegas," is his opening line. "I know you two are up to some bullshit secret lovers thing."

"No Vegas. No bullshit. Listen, have you heard from Mac in the last three hours?"

"No," he says, catching my tone. "What's wrong?" 

"She had a flashback today. I canceled the interview. We went to my house. I thought everything was fine there. She seemed totally recovered. We... took a nap. When I woke up...she's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?"

"I mean gone, from my house, without a word, without a trace. I can't get in touch with her."

"You fucking LOST her!?!?!?"

"I didn't lose her, goddammit," I growl at him. "She's not a thing, or a child...I'm just trying to figure out if she left because that's what she always does after sex at my house, or if her PTSD is driving her. A little help would be fucking helpful. Has she ever done anything like this before? Fled after a flashback?"

"No, she's always with me, where she's safe!!! Goddamn, you're a worthless piece of shit! I knew you would stress her out like this!!!" Leed roars.

"Stop being a motherfucker!!! Look, if she hasn't called you, you are no help to me right now...I'm hanging up—" I yell back.

"What did you do to trigger her flashback?" Leed hisses "Rough sex on the plane? Did you put her up against a wall just to see how she would react? Or without even thinking how it would freak her out? You stupid asshole—"

"Fuck you, man!" I yell at him. "I fucking love her, and I'm going to whoop your scrawny yoga ass when I see you, for thinking that I am never not thinking about what's best for her! Get fucking ready to get fucked up, Leed!" 

I throw my phone out the window and punch it down the street, regretting that I'm in this piece of shit Beamer instead of the Ferrari, because putting the hammer down in this car gives me absolutely no relief from wanting to bash Leed's face in.

I circle the block and retrieve my phone from somebody's lawn, thankful that it didn't break. Because obviously I need it in case Mac calls.

She hasn't. No texts either. But in the time it took me to swing around for my phone, someone did text.

Marley:

Hey Rock Star. I got the Fed-Ex package with plane tickets and passes for the Call-Out.

Thanks so much! Excited to see you.

Soundcrush, I mean!

Thanks again!

I call her back immediately.

"Hi Adam, you didn't have to call..."

"I know...Marley...listen, I'm in LA and I have an emergency with Mac. I could really use your help."

"What's wrong?" her voice changes, going immediately into her serious, professional tone.

"Mac had a flashback earlier today. She seemed to recover fine, though. She slept for a little while after—so did I. When I woke up—she'd left my house, without even letting me know. She didn't take a car. She's not answering her phone. I honestly don't know if...well, in the past, she hasn't like to spend the night at my house, but I thought we were on a new level. So I don't know if Mac is just being Mac, or if her leaving is a PTSD thing? Could she have a...prolonged flashback? Like could she be...lost in her head for a long time?"

"Mmmmmm, that would be pretty unusual, I think. Most people are somewhat aware of both the present and the past in the midst of their flashbacks."

"Yeah, that's the way she normally is," I agree, "A moment of panic, but you can reach her, talk her down."

"Right," Marley agrees, "But, if she were having prolonged or severe anxiety from her PTSD, maybe she felt a strong desire to go somewhere she felt safe. Is there somewhere in LA like that? Somewhere nearby?"

I slam on the brakes as realization hits me. Of course. There's only one place Mac would go. I'm an idiot for not realizing. I pull a U-ey. "Yeah, Marley, you're exactly right. I think I know where she is. I gotta go."

"Adam—try to stay calm, okay? You can't help Mac if you are—"

"I know. I'm calm." I'm not calm. "Thanks, Marley."

"Call if you need me," she says.

Leed's house is about ten minutes away, but I make it in five and bounce hard up in the driveway. The front door is unlocked, and I see Mac's phone and purse on the foyer table. I streak through the common spaces which are complete glass on the back, scanning the backyard...no sign of Mac out there. The house is shaped like an-L and I head for the short leg where the series of bedrooms are.

As soon as I turn the corner, I can hear the frenetic, hard-driving music pumping from Mac's bedroom. I race down the hall and push open the door, hurrying through the unoccupied bedchamber, toward the bathroom—not there—of course, she's in her closet off the bathroom...that makes sense...

I push open the pocket door to her closet, completely unprepared for what I see there.

"Oh, Jesus," I whisper.

Well now, Adam and Leed don't seem to work well together in a moment of stress, do they? Thoughts on their angry exchange?

And what in the world is going on in Mac's closet? Is she in crisis? Hurt? In the midst of a PTSD episode? Or is something else going on? Stay tuned....