“Oh, God. Oh, my God. Oh…”
Sidney’s words came out on breathy pants and her hand flew to her chest. Isaac glanced over at her and tried to get his own breathing under control.
“That was…”
Her voice trailed off again, and Isaac grinned.
“You all right over there darlin’?”
“I’m…” Sidney took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I… think so. Wow.”
“Wow?”
“Yes. Wow. That was incredible, baby. I know I’ve said it before, but I have to say it again because it’s true.”
“What’s that?”
“You are so good in bed.”
Isaac laughed out loud. “Well, I think you’re full of crap, but I’ll take the compliment. It makes me feel manly.”
He stuck out his chest when he said it, and Sidney giggled at him. Then she rolled over and snuggled up next to him. His arms went around her without hesitation and he breathed in deep the scent of her perfume and sex. “Mmm. I wish I could just lay here and drift off.”
“That’s my plan, handsome.”
“Lucky you.”
Sidney raised up on her elbow and stared down at him, her curls tickling the skin of his face and chest.
“What’s going on?”
“I have that shift at the Crisis Center tonight, remember?”
“Oh. No, actually, I’d forgotten all about that.”
“Wish I could. Between that dinner with Janelle and making love to you, I’m worn out.”
“I’m sorry, baby.”
Isaac grinned and ran a single finger down her chest. “I’m not. Well, not about the making love part.”
Sidney laughed and Isaac smiled at her.
“I’d better hop in the shower and get going. It’s only a three hour shift tonight, so it won’t be too bad.”
He kissed her and then got up and into the shower. By the time he dressed in comfy jeans and a long sleeved pullover shirt, Sidney was half asleep. He leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“See you in a few hours,” he whispered and kissed her again. Then he was out the door.
It was something he did only once a month, assuming his police duties allowed for it. Something he’d started years ago after losing a good cop buddy to suicide. Back then, he simply couldn’t understand how he, of all people — someone who’d attempted suicide once in his past — could’ve missed the warning signs with his friend. It had eaten away at Isaac for a long time.
So he’d decided to take a class at the crisis center to learn to spot the signs. And he volunteered as a way of never forgetting how close he’d come to losing his own life. A way of paying it forward.
“It’s good to see you, Detective.”
Willetta Anderson, the woman who ran the center, greeted him with her usual severe seriousness. She was tall and boney, with angular features made more dramatic by the impeccable bun her white hair was drawn into. Isaac often thought if she were a bird she would be a crane.
“You as well, Mrs. Anderson. How are you tonight?”
“I’m well, thank you. And you? Still sober?”
It was a question she asked him each time he came in to work the phones, but Isaac didn’t mind it much. He understood that it was her way of keeping him accountable.
“Sober as a judge. Yes, ma’am.”
“How long has it been now, Detective?”
“Just over eight years.”
“And how long have you been volunteering here?”
“Mmm… right around five years, I reckon.”
“Excellent. If you were ready to retire from your police duties, I would offer you a full time job here at the center. Any plans to retire?”
Isaac silently chuckled. “I’m afraid not, ma’am.”
Willetta shrugged her boney shoulders in an I-had-to-try manner. Then she turned and walked off, leaving Isaac on his own.
He found an empty cubicle and took a seat, pulling out the book he’d brought to help pass the time. But between thinking about the FBI case he’d assisted with earlier that day, this business with Janelle Mandrake and her literary aspirations, and running through the facts of his firefighter case, Isaac couldn’t really concentrate on the book.
His thoughts kept ping-ponging between those three topics, and he had no solutions or answers for any of them. He was almost relieved when the phone finally rang.
“Cleveland Crisis Center, thanks for calling in. My name’s Isaac. What made you reach out tonight?”
The standard greeting was designed to put the caller at ease and get them talking. The voice that answered him was male and troubled.
“I don’t know.”
It was an odd response, but it was one Isaac had heard before. “What’s your name, friend?”
“Jason.”
His voice was pushed out. Forced. Like it took a lot of effort for Jason to get it out. Like everything was a chore. The sound of it sent up a red flag for Isaac.
To him, there were typically two kinds of people who called into a suicide hotline. The first type were simply down on their luck, or lonely, and they needed someone to talk to. The second type were what Isaac called the “live ones.” Those were the ones who were truly distraught and contemplating ending it all. From the sound of Jason’s voice alone, Isaac pegged him as the latter. He sat up a little straighter and prepared to engage.
“What’s on your mind tonight, Jason? What made you reach out?”
There was a long pause on the line, and Isaac wondered if he’d already hung up.
“I can’t believe I really dialed the number. I don’t usually do this. I don’t… I’m not… I’m usually better than this.”
“Hey, we all have moments when we need to talk things out or reach out for help. There’s no shame in that.”
“I guess.”
“Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind, man?”
“You know about the Pryor Brake Plant that closed down a few months back?”
Pryor Brakes were known nationwide and had factories around the country. The plant in Cleveland had been a booming business for over forty years and it provided hundreds of people with good-paying jobs. But the last few years had seen several factories in the Midwest close down. Whether that was do to jobs going overseas or because of other trouble in the automotive industry, Isaac had no clue. In the last year, the Cleveland plant had gone through restructuring and lay-offs, and then finally seven months ago it had closed its doors for the last time.
“Sure. That place was like an institution around here.”
“Yeah. Until it wasn’t.”
“You worked there?” Isaac could hear it in his voice.
“I was there twenty-eight years. And then they just walk in one day and tell us it’s over? Like they expected us all to just go find new jobs? I’m not as young as I used to be. Who the hell did they think was going to hire an old man like me now? And I needed that money!”
Isaac could feel the man’s despair over the phone, and he closed his eyes and concentrated. Reinforcing that imaginary concrete wall in his mind that kept the emotions of others from completely overtaking him.
“I’m real sorry you lost your job there, Jason.”
“It wasn’t just my job. They took everything from me. I gave them the best years of my life. And I got nothing in return. A pat on the back.”
The man was in tears. And Isaac thought he could hear him drinking.
“My girlfriend left me because I didn’t have a job anymore. She took my dog. But hell, at least I don’t have to buy dog food anymore, right?”
For the next thirty-five minutes, Isaac listened to Jason’s tale of woe, and he tried to offer words of wisdom where he could. The more they talked, the more he determined that Jason wasn’t a “live one” after all. The man simply needed to feel heard. He needed someone to talk to, and maybe a few good leads on some solid job prospects.
Isaac provided him with both, giving him information on the free and low-cost counselors the crisis center recommended, and also a good local temp service that he could take his résumé to.
When the call was over, Isaac pulled out a pen and began scribbling notes on a small notepad. Something Jason had said resonated in his mind. The man had lost everything, seemingly all at once. That kind of thing was enough to make anyone snap.
Wasn’t it?
The Pryor Brake Plant had burned down about six months ago. If Isaac remembered correctly, it had been almost exactly one month after the plant shut down.
It had burned to the ground.
Just like the canning plant where firefighter Jim Lawson was killed.
It sounded like a stretch in his head.
It looked like a stretch when he read his notes on the page.
But what if it wasn’t actually a stretch?
What if there was a connection?