134. SOS

Warning: SNL. Reader discretion is advised!

Cameron's residence...
Bridgeport, present day...

The call was unexpected and it came at an awkward time.

Cameron thrust into Liza hard, again, working off his frustration, before he reached for his phone on the nightstand. She writhed over him, begging him to keep fucking her.

"Don't tell me you're going to answer that!" Liza hissed, pushing herself down on him, trying her best to keep him locked inside of her.

He gave her a warning look; he wasn't in the mood for her nagging.

"It’s important," he growled, flipping her on to her back so he could get away from her.

He didn't understand the relief he felt as soon as he freed himself of her.

Sex with Liza had become an ineffective tool, something he used to forget the one person he wanted to always remember. The same person calling him now. He'd know her ring tone even in his deepest of sleeps.

Cameron walked out to his balcony, unfazed by the cold night air hitting his stark-naked body. He never felt cold. None of them did.

His heart was racing, he gripped the railing tightly with one hand, and the other crushed the small device in his palm as he tried hard to control his shaking hand.

He was nervous. Hadn't felt that way towards a woman in ages. He wondered what it was about this seventeen year old that had him knots.

The ringing in his palm stopped. He'd taken too long to answer. Just as well, he wouldn't have known what to say to her.

He'd thought some distance would do them good, help him get over this insane thing he felt for her, but it hadn't. In fact he found himself wanting her more and more every day, needing her laughter, her smile, her chatter, as much as he needed the very air to breathe.

On more than one occasion he'd had to force himself to stop thinking about their intense moment in his patio and the kiss that almost was.

But he couldn't forget the moment. Or the kiss. He wanted them both, and he wasn't sure just how much longer he could deny it...

Just a little more time, a few more weeks, and then he'd take his chances. He told himself, thinking about Michaela's birthday.

He stayed outside for a few more minutes, dreading the confrontation waiting for him inside. He didn't know when he'd reached the decision, but Liza had to go. This thing they had, had run its course. It wouldn't survive another day.

He was almost at the door when his phone rang again in his palm. This time he answered it without a moment's thought. He wanted to see her. Tell her what he'd decided.

His heart sank to his feet when he heard her anguished cry. It took him a good few minutes to get her to calm down and tell him where she was.

"I'm on my way, sit tight," he told her before he hung up.

Liza was sitting up in bed, waiting for him to pick up where they'd left off when he came in.

"You need to leave Liza. I can't be with you anymore," he told her politely, making his way to the bathroom.

He took a quick shower, removing all traces of Liza from him. He couldn't go to Michaela smelling like another woman. Why he'd even allowed himself to touch another female when all he wanted was her was beyond him. He shook his head at his own stupidity, wishing he'd had the guts not to have sent her away from the start. This was all his fault, if he'd kissed Michaela and followed his heart Liza's anger wouldn't be filling up his house right now, threatening to get her revenge on him.

Liza was still in his bed fifteen minutes later when he headed for the front door. He ignored her; he'd said all he was going to say to her...

_______

Hollow Creek, present day...

Cameron looked up at the blood red sky, sunrise was moments away and they'd have to head indoors soon.

As he rushed inside the station, he hoped she was still where she said she'd be.

He breathed a huge sigh of relief when he saw her, crouched in the corner of the ladies bathroom, with her head bowed down, the dark silky strands on her head blocked her face.

"Hey," he held out his hand for her.

Warning bells went off in his head when he saw the smudged blood stains on the front of her t-shirt.

Michaela looked up.

One hand flew to his lips, to block out a horrified gasp when he saw her face. Her eyes were swollen and puffy, like she'd been crying nonstop. But it wasn't that that scared him, it was the dullness and the vacant expression in the blue pools he loved so much.

The look in her eyes reminded him of the war victims he’d seen numerous times on his assignments as a photo journalist, like she’d witnessed and survived a mass massacre.

"I don't remember, I was inside the bar and I woke up out in the back alley, covered in blood and I saw him, but I thought it was raspberry juice. I thought he was sleeping. But he wasn't, and it wasn't raspberry juice. You have to help me. I called my parents, but I couldn't get through! I called Krisis and Leigh too. No one’s answering their phones." She was screaming her guts out by now, shaking in his arms, and he had no frigging clue how to help her.

But he held her anyway. She needed solid ground to stand on, and he’d be there for her and help her through it, as best as he could.

"Where’s the body?" he asked calmly, holding her away from him a little. She shook her head, choking on her sobs, shuddering in his arms.

It took a good few minutes to get the whole truth out of her and by the time she was done, Cameron couldn't believe the nightmare he was in.

He kept thinking any second now his alarm on his nightstand would go off and he'd wake up and find it was all a dream, a horrifying dream.

But her heartbreaking sniffles, made sure he knew this wasn't some nightmare he'd soon awaken from. The woman he loved with his heart and soul had killed a random stranger, and he was about to cover it up for her because letting the law deal with her wasn't an option.

At that moment, Cameron had never felt such fury in his life. But it wasn't directed at her. This wasn't her fault. He was mad at her parents. They should have seen she was in bloodlust and needed to be taught how to hunt without killing her victims, but his band mates had been too caught up in their shit to notice anything! He had to have a word with them, make them see…

_____

Waylon's Haunt, Hollow Creek...

Ten minutes later, Cameron stopped the car in front of the small grocery store, and he checked the coordinates on the GPS.

Yep, they were on the right street, McAdams Road. He vaguely made out the name of the dive bar across. Waylon's Haunt. It looked so different from the one in Bridgeport. He wondered what in the world had possessed her to come out here.

I could just ask her, he thought as they pushed out of the car. The wild look in her eyes though told him now wasn’t the time for questions and demands. She was in a bad way, she’d made a huge mess and he had to help her out.

He made sure all the windows of his car were closed and he double checked he’d locked the doors before he followed her across the street.

Fine particles of sand crunched beneath their feet as they made their way to the alley behind Waylon’s Haunt.

“He was here. I swear I left him here, behind this trashcans,” Michaela cried as she paced around the dump site.

She stopped a few times to stare at him with a blank look in her eyes, as if expecting an answer from him, like he should know what had happened to the body of the man she’d supposedly killed.

“Well he’s not here now,” Cameron replied as he stuffed his hands in his pocket. If the blood pool on the ground where she said she’d left the body wasn’t there, he would have thought she’d dreamed up the whole thing.

Michaela whipped up her head; the confused look was gone now. She was angry. She’d misunderstood his comment, and she thought he thought she was making things up.

“You don’t believe me?” She glared at him, her ink black hair flying around her like a super hero’s cape. He cringed at his metaphors. For a lyricist, he was awfully bad when it came to saying and thinking poetic things about women.

“That's not what I said,” he put up his hands defensively.

Michaela calmed down at his words. Her steam suddenly gone, she sank on the ground and wept.

Her pain cut him like a knife and paralyzed him in to a numbness he’d never felt before. He couldn’t even imagine what she was going through, and he had no idea how to help her. But he had to try.

“Listen to me,” he knelt in front of her and tilted up her chin, forcing her to look at him. But Michaela resisted, and glued her eyes to the crack on the ground between her feet.

“He’s not dead. If he was, he would be here,” Cameron told her over and over as he ran a comforting hand through her hair.

“I swear, he was dead when I left him,” she whispered, rocking herself back and forth, her head nestled on her knees.

“He’s not dead. Dead guys don’t just walk up and leave, Mickey. We have to tell your folks. Let’s get you home.”

________

Krimsyn and J.D's penthouse

Bridgeport, present day...

Her parents were waiting for her when she got home.

“Do you have any idea how worried we were when we woke up and you were not home? We tried to call you but your phone was on voicemail. Where have you been? And why is your phone on voicemail? Why didn’t you tell us you’re not coming home?” Krimsyn quickly got into her role of the aggrieved parent, as if she’d been rehearsing it the whole morning.

J.D. smiled uncertainly in the background, he had no clue how to steer the approaching battle to neutral ground.

“Not now, mom!” Michaela hissed, walking away from them.

She knew she was wrong, she should have called them after calling Krisis and Cameron earlier, but her phone’s battery had died soon after that and that’s why they couldn’t reach her. 

At that moment though, tired and petrified out of her head, Michaela wasn’t in the mood to explain herself to her parents. She’d had a hell of a night and morning; the last thing she needed was reprimands about skipping curfew. She’d taken enough shit from Cameron the whole ride home.

He’d wanted to come with her and talk to her parents, but she’d begged him to stay out of it. She’d promised him she’d handle it. And she would. Just as soon as she’d come to grips with everything.

Michaela rushed to her room and banged her door hard behind her, silently issuing a red alert; no one should set foot beyond the door.

But her mom, being the hothead that she was, ignored the warning and forced her way through.

“Excuse me! You don’t walk away when I’m talking to you!” Krimsyn flung the door open.

Michaela half-turned from the closet, the stunned expression stayed frozen on her face.

Krimsyn placed a hand on her hip and tapped her foot, impatiently waiting for an explanation or an apology. Or both.

“Look, I’m sorry I missed curfew. But I really, really need to be alone right now,” Michaela explained.

She closed her eyes, let out a tearful sigh, and listened to a sob catch in her throat. She quickly bit it back.

She couldn’t fall apart in front of her mom. If she did she’d want to know why, and she couldn’t tell her. It was so scary, so dark, so horrifying.

Something in her voice gave her away though. Krimsyn’s eyes softened a little.

Michaela gratefully accepted her soothing arms as she pulled her into a long hug.

“We were so worried about you, that’s all,” Krimsyn told her as they drew apart.

After endless assurances on her part that she was fine, Michaela finally managed to get rid of her mom. As soon as the door clicked in place, she dived for it and turned the key.

With her back firmly pressed against the light wood, she slowly slid to the mirrored floors, her reflection rising up to meet her.

She hung her head in shame and wept, praying for absolution, pleading for deliverance…

________

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