Woke up to Lou hammering on the door like the house was on fire. Shit, maybe it was. The whole night had been a blur. Georgia’s concert. Dizzy. The records. I got a sharp pain in my chest thinking about things I’d said and done. “Dad! Wake up!” he hollered. “It’s important!”
Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes. “Yeah, coming.” I opened the door in my boxers. “What’s up?” I yawned.
“You need to see this.” He held his phone up, the screen too close to my eyes. I leaned back to get a better look at it. There was talking, tinny and distant. The voice sounded familiar, like Dizzy. Lou turned the volume up and there she was. I didn’t catch all of it, but enough. “What is this?”
“Dizzy made it. She posted it last night.”
I stared at him, not sure I’d heard right.
“It’s everywhere. On Twitter, the store’s website, Facebook, Instagram.” He shook his head.
“Take it down.”
“I can’t. I mean, I can, on the stuff I control, but it’s been shared. A lot. It’s not like a computer file, I can’t delete it.”
“Where is she?”
“Sleeping, I think. I haven’t seen her yet.”
Didn’t knock, just burst into her room. My temper flared. First, the broken records, now this. The sheets were spun together in a knot at the bottom of her bed. Her empty bed. I looked at Lou. “Is she downstairs?”
He shrugged. I went to the top of the stairs. “Dizzy!” No answer. “Dizzy!” I tried again. “Call her cell. She must’ve gone to Maya’s.”
The landline upstairs rang. I jumped for it. “Hello?” I said, breathless, thinking it was Dizzy. But a man started talking, his voice too polite, cajoling. Wouldn’t let me get a word in.
“Morning, Mr. Doucette. Sorry to call so early, sir. This is Wayne Sigurdson here, Free Press, wondering if I can ask you a few questions about a video that was released last night. Have you seen it?”
I swallowed, but my mouth was chalky. Went to the front window. On the street, a couple cars. A photographer was taking a picture of the building. It wouldn’t be a story yet, not until it was verified, but goddammit, they’d be looking into it. Digging into the past to see if it was possible: Had Georgia Waters had two kids and kept them a secret?
My whole body started to sweat. I hung up on Sigurdson without saying a word.
The landline rang again. I pulled the cord out of the wall. It was going to be like that all day. “Call the guys. We need ’em.” Tried to keep my voice steady, but the tremble that started down deep made its way up into my chest. Another sharp pain. Stabbing on the left side. I tried to take a breath, but it was like someone was stepping on my throat. “Oh Jesus —” came out like a sob. My arm went numb, just hung there. “Lou —” was all I could get out before I went down on my knees, grabbing for something to hold on to. It can’t end like this.
“Dad?” Lou’s voice got fuzzy. Distant. Things went black.