Too Late

The rain beat down on the car’s windshield, further hindering my vision, along with my forgotten prescription glasses laying neatly on my bedside table. I was still in my driveway when I realized I had left them behind. I knew the drive would be a lot easier if I had gone back inside for them, but I couldn’t afford to risk anymore lost time, or even worse, waking Ethan. 

As I turned onto the highway, the car slid across the wet, slick pavement. Barely avoiding the guard rail, I managed to correct the wheel.

Any damage at all to Ethan’s brand new 2018 Cadillac Escalade would give away my secret 4 am joy ride. Was it really a joy ride? It’s not like I was delighted to be in this situation. I’d much rather be in bed next to him resting before our 5:30 am alarm. 

Pulling into the quiet, dingy parking garage, the clock on Ethan’s Escalade dashboard clicked 4:27 am. Considering the incoming hurricane, I got here faster than expected. Before 4:30 am, just like the letter demanded. Finally, I exhaled a breath of relief as I pulled out the folded up piece of paper from my raincoat pocket, my eyes skimming the rain dropped lines for the reamaining instructions.

“Place the key on top of the driver’s side tire of the car on the fourth floor”, the typed words read.

The car?, I wonder, driving upwards through the parking garage. How will I know which car? I still need at least 30 minutes to drive home, and maybe 10 minutes to dry off, climb back in bed, and pretend I had never left.

Approaching the fourth floor it appears empty, except for one black car tucked away in the back, left corner. I park three spots down, careful not to turn off the engine so there's the ability for a quick escape, if needed. Walking around the back of Ethan’s car, I make mental notes of the unaccompanied vehicle; black, the Volkswagen symbol, Jetta, license plate number. The air smells of a smoky exhaust, not how the back of Ethan’s car smells. I don’t know much about cars, but I assume the old Volkswagen might have been on and running recently. Could whoever parked it here still be inside, hiding behind the overly tinted windows? Cautiously walking up to the driver’s side, I look behind myself and around the empty parking garage one last time before setting the key on top of the requested tire. Getting back in the Escalade, I check the time, 4:34 am.

● ● ●

Radio hosts bellow in laughter, echoing through our newly modernized bedroom. Ethan rolls over, smacking the top of the alarm before I can hear what it is the radio hosts could possibly find so hilarious at 5:30 am. I shift towards the middle of the bed, groaning deeply into my pillow.

One downside to remote jobs is that no matter the weather you still have to work, until we lose power at least. Which may be any minute with the quickening wind speeds and taking our location into account; Wilmington, North Carolina was known for losing power very easily.

I feel Ethan’s hand run down my back, stopping at my waist, pulling me towards him. Normally I wouldn’t resist, but “I just need another hour” escapes my mouth, in a tone more irritated than anticipated. If I’m going to make it through three, two-hour long zoom meetings, I really am going to need that extra sleep, as it will be my only sleep tonight.

Ethan releases a small moan and kisses me on my forehead, even though he knows I hate it. “I’ll make sure you’re up before your first meeting Abigail”, he says.

● ● ●

As the sky outside rumbles, the tiny, one-story bungalow shakes, jolting me out of my sleep. “Ethan?”, I call out, there is no response, but would I have even heard one if there was? The thunder, wind, rain, everything is so loud it sounds like the storm is in our home. The room is pitch black, we must have lost power while I slept, but there's not even the faint light of the sun coming through the window beside me. What time is it? 

Moving the ridiculously heavy, fuzzy, weighted blanket off of me, I bring my legs off the side of the bed, only to find myself in shin deep water. I pull my knees to my chest, grabbing at my freezing feet and toes. I scream this time towards the bedroom doorway, “Ethan!”. Pawing for my phone through the bed, I find it under the pillows, almost 8:30 pm? Why hadn’t Ethan woke me? 

Once the initial shock of the water's Titanic-like temperature wears off a little, I tuck my phone in the waistband of my pocketless pajama shorts and slip my feet back into the body of water below the bed, feeling for the fully soaked carpet, preparing to look for Ethan. 

My hands hold the edge of the bed as I bring myself to a stand. I cry out Ethan’s name pleadingly one last time before stretching my arms out in front of me, feeling my way to the bedroom doorway. Immediately, I find the source of the wind and flooding being a broken skylight window in the living room. Seeing as our life savings is locked away in a P.O. box I had just handed over the key to, I’m thankful Ethan handled our homeowners insurance issues over two months ago.

Shuffling my feet through the water, I turn the corner to the spare room that Ethan and I converted into our home office. As I enter, the air is colder and moves slower than the rest of our now destroyed home. My eyes are drawn to his office chair and an extremely unsettling feeling washes over me. Perhaps I’m just so used to seeing him sitting at his desk that my brain is making out that his chair is indeed not empty.

“Is that you? What are you doing?”.

While I got no response, I knew I was not alone. Did I deliver the key wrong, or had they changed their minds and come for Ethan anyways?

Hesitantly taking my phone out of my waistband, I open the flashlight provided on my device, collapsing over the front of his desk in horror. 

There Ethan was, slumped back in his office chair, unresponsive to my many attempts to call out to him, seemingly due to the bloodied, bullet-sized wound in the center of his chest.