Christie Road

Billie wearily closed the door of his still half-unpacked house, leaning against it for a moment as he took a deep breath. It was nearly 5 am, and he and Mike had spent the entire night driving all over Alameda looking for Jazz, but she was nowhere to be found. He had called her cell phone over and over, getting her voice mail each time, but he couldn't bring himself to stop, just in case she had a change of heart and decided to answer.

They had gone first to her apartment, at Mike's suggestion. It made sense that she might simply have wanted to go home, and it seemed a good place to start. Billie knocked hopefully at the door, noticing a light burning in the back of the apartment, but despite his best efforts, knocking and calling to her, no one answered, and he finally gave up, returning glumly to Mike's car.

Now he was exhausted, and the first cold fingers of fear were starting to wind their way through his guts. In a horrible twist of deja vu, he kept picturing her huddled in some crumbling doorway, or worse yet, screaming for help as she was overpowered by some faceless stranger, screaming his name and knowing he wouldn't be there to help her, just as he hadn't been before.

His eyes squeezed tight to shut out the image, but he couldn't push it from his fatigue-numbed mind. Pressing the heels of his hands against the sockets, he slid limply down the door until he sat crumpled on the carpet, a desperate whimper escaping his lips.

He had to find her. He had to.

For a long moment he tried to concentrate on the sound of the air rushing in and out of his lungs, willing his triphammering heart to slow down. The sun would be coming up soon, and then he could start searching again. It would be easier in daylight. And maybe she'd come back to her apartment once she had a chance to calm down. Or maybe she'd answer the phone.

He couldn't bear to think otherwise.

He sat, knees bent, head in his hands, listening to sirens in the distance. Any one of them could be a call to respond to a young woman found savaged in an alley, or pushed from a moving car into a gutter--Stop it! he told himself. You're no good to her if you let yourself fall apart. Just keep focused on finding her.

So tired...he was so incredibly tired. For the hundredth time, he tried to remember every friend she had mentioned to him, every favorite haunt, any clue where she might have gone to disappear for a time. His heavy lids began to sink, and soon his head drooped forward onto his chest. The nightmares followed close behind him...

**********************

"You can let me out at the corner," the girl said, pointing toward the brownstone apartment building. "I'll walk from there."

The man had said little as he drove, glancing over at her occasionally with a look of vague anticipation. She was lost in her own thoughts, paying little attention to him, and when she turned toward the window, watching the street lights passing in staccato repetition, his eyes lingered over the swell of her breasts, and the shadowy cleft at the top of her thighs.

"Pretty girl like you shouldn't be walking alone late at night. You should let me walk you to your door so nobody gives you any trouble," he offered, trying to sound reasonable. "I'd hate to think I'd gotten you this far and then let you out without making sure you were safe."

She reached down between her feet for her purse. "Thanks, but I'll be fine. I really appreciate the ride."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged, watching her rummage for her keys. "You take care, okay?"

"I will. Thanks again," she said, and let herself out, pushing the door shut firmly. She raised a friendly hand as the car pulled away from the curb, and waited for him to reach the light at the next intersection before she turned to go to her apartment.

You couldn't be too careful.

He made a right at the light, another a block further, and a third to pull along the street beside her building. Turning off his headlights, he cruised slowly to stop at the curb a few yards from the intersection where he had let her out, and watched as she climbed the stairs, letting herself inside. Light suddenly illuminated the window closest to the front of the apartment, and then another further back that he imagined must be her bedroom.

Turning off the engine, he lit a cigarette and cracked the window, the smoke trailing lazily from his lips as he watched her silhouette, lifting the shirt over her head and bending to slide her jeans to the floor. Then the shadow faded as she turned away, and he leaned his head against the headrest, closing his eyes as he pictured her reaching behind her to unhook the bra that cupped her creamy breasts, stepping out of silky panties that clung to the soft mounds of her buttocks, slightly damp with the moist treasure between her legs.

She would shower before bed, he thought, and as he imagined the water glistening over her pale skin, slippery soap cascading over her chest and then splitting into two rivulets as it reached the hard little points of her nipples, he lowered the zipper of his jeans and reached inside....

****************************

A slurred grunt woke him, and Billie realized he had slumped sideways until his head was nearly on the floor. He reached up to rub the stiffness from his neck, and winced as the muscles screamed protest. There was a taste like dog's ass in his mouth and his own ass was completely numb.

Dawn was breaking scarlet over the sky outside the bay window. It would be rainy today, and he could feel the chill air slithering under the front door against his back. Something cold rested in his hand, and he looked down to find his cell phone nestled snugly in his palm. A tiny spark of hope flared in him, and he turned it over to examine the display, but died away when he saw that there were no missed calls.

His knees popped as he pushed himself to his feet and made his way to the bathroom. He had slept only an hour, but everything in him urged him to get moving, to get back out looking for Jazz. As the water swirled in the toilet, he looked at his reflection under the too-bright light--dark circles under his eyes, his hair sticking up at crazy angles, the skin of his face pasty and creased from the wrinkled fabric of his shirt underneath it.

Brushing his teeth began to drive away zombie that stared back at him, and a quick, hot shower worked its magic as well. With a towel around his waist, he stumbled into the bedroom to put on fresh clothes, and then wandered into the kitchen, digging into the big box on the counter for a box of Pop Tarts and a YooHoo. Tearing open the foil with his teeth, he didn't even take time for the toaster.

Munching the last bite of his breakfast, he reached into the closet for his denim jacket, and stuffed his wallet into his back pocket. Another set of Pop Tarts and YooHoo for Jazz, in case she hadn't eaten, and he was out the door. Five minutes later, he was pulling onto the freeway, heading toward the little office with the Razor sign out front.

Fuck sleep. Sleep could wait. Jazz was out there somewhere.