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Before: Emergency Contact


Ashley

The lights were out in the apartment when I finally got to the top of the stairs and got inside. It was silent. Eerily silent. My first thought was that maybe he wasn't home yet, maybe he'd gone out drinking with Devon or Ryker, the guys from work. Maybe he didn't know that I had gone out. Maybe he didn't have to know.

And then I flipped the light on.

He was sitting in the chair in the living room, the one that faces the dining room, where the front door to the apartment was. And he had his lips pursed, his eyes were focused on me. He stood up, jaw set.

I backed up, planning to go out the door, but I was so slow that he managed to get across both rooms before I got the two steps back. He slammed his hand against the door over my head. "You just got home, why leave so soon?" he snarled in my face. He turned the locks on the door, pushing me away. He stood between it and me, his face one of complete anger.

"Chris, I'm sorry, I took a walk and I went too far and I was sitting and taking a break at the coffee house, just resting, and it took longer to walk back than I thought it would."

He advanced at me. I squeaked and hurried away. I moved so the couch was between us. "You're scaring me," I said.

"Am I?" he asked.

"Chris, please."

He stared at me. "Tell me the truth," he said, "Right now. Where. Were. You."

"The coffee house," I said.

Chris stared at me. "With whom."

He knew.

I licked my lips. "I --"

"With whom?"

"Chris, I can't just not talk to him, he's been my best friend for over twenty-eight years and --"

He let out a shout of rage and he lunged over the couch at me. I shrieked and tried to run, but I was so slow I couldn't get away. He caught me around the middle from behind, pulling me into him, pulling my hair back so I was looking up at him, my neck twisted painfully. "WHAT THE FUCK DID I TELL YOU ABOUT TALKING TO HIM? AND YOU OPENLY DEFY ME? YOU JUST GO OUT WITH HIM?!!"

"Let me go!" I screamed.

"Did you fuck him?" he demanded.

"No! Let me go!" I struggled to get him off me.

He turned me quickly, slamming me back to the wall and leaning over me, holding me in place by my neck, getting right in my face. "YOU'RE DISGUSTING!" he screamed in my face, "You make me sick!"

"Let me go!" I choked.

"He can't have you," Chris snarled.

I did the only thing I could think to do. I swung and punched Chris squarely in the face, blood spurted from his nose as it crunched under my hand. He let go of my neck and stumbled backward, clutching his face. I rushed to the door, my hands shaking, and tried to undo the locks.

But I wasn't quick enough.

He grabbed me and pulled me away from the door, his arms clutched around my middle. I waved my hands, trying to grab onto the door knob, to pull free from him, to open the door. "HELP!" I screamed, "HELP!" My throat was raw from the cries.

"Shut the fuck up!" he screamed.

"HELP ME! OH GOD, PLEASE, SOMEBODY HELP ME!" I've never screamed louder in my entire life. I could only pray someone in the building heard me.




Nick

Little known fact number one: I hate grocery shopping.

I had a pencil in my mouth and consulted my check list of shit I knew I needed at home, which I'd scribbled in the parking lot because everyone knows its a bad idea to go shopping hungry without a list. The thing is, I was hungry when I made the list so it was pretty much the same difference. My cart was half full already and I wasn't even halfway through the grocery store. I was on the cereal aisle (one of the ones I often end up adding the most extra crap to my cart on) when my phone vibed.

I juggled the three boxes of cereal I held in my arms, the list, and spit my pencil into my hand as I pulled my phone out of my pocket. I looked down at the display. Some random number I didn't recognize. I dropped the phone into the cart. I never answered numbers I didn't know.

I threw the three boxes of cereal into the cart and crossed out one box of cereal from my list. Three times.

Down the rest of the aisle, around onto the next. I was in the process of adding a bag of frozen french fries to my cart when my phone rang again. I looked down at it. It was the same number.

I sighed and picked it up.

"'lo?" I said.

"Is this Mr. uhh... Nick... Carter?"

"Uhh-huh." I opened the freezer and pulled out my assorted bags of frozen veggies. "Who's this?"

"My name is Scott Edwards and I'm a doctor at Memorial Hospital."

I raised an eyebrow. "Uhh... yeah... look, Dr. Scott Edwards at Memorial Hospital, if this is like some kinda weird marketing call, there's literally nothing you can sell me. I have health insurance, I eat healthy, exercise four times a week, and I'm quite verile so I don't need any purple pills. Have a great night."

"Mr. Carter!" Dr. Edwards yelled, stopping me from hanging up, "A miss Ashley Jackson is here and you're listed as her emergency contact person."

"Say what?" Now he had my attention.

"Ashley Jackson was just admitted to the hospital," he repeated, "And you're listed as her emergency contact."

I'd literally dropped her off not even two hours ago. How in the hell..

"What's wrong? What's the matter? Is she okay? Is the baby okay? Where's her husband?"

"Mr. Carter, we would like to talk to you, as soon as you get to the hospital."

"I'll be right there."

I left my cart of groceries right where it was and ran for the door.