No Surrender | Eddie Munson

Chapter Forty-Five: Deep Down

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE: DEEP DOWN

TREACHEROUS — TAYLOR SWIFT

I can't decide if it's a choice
Getting swept away
I hear the sound of my own voice
Asking you to stay

——————

"Are you there?"

I wait, walkie in hand. The others are gathered in the Wheelers' basement, reading over some old newspaper articles Robin and Nancy found at the public library. I can just about hear them from my seat at the top of the stairs. Nancy's parents are still home so I have the volume low and the door shut behind me.

Finally, the device in my hand buzzes. "Yeah, I'm here."

The tension in my chest eases and I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thank God. How are you?"

A creak can be heard, probably the boat Eddie sits in. He chuckles somewhat bitterly, "Never better. You know, this whole fugitive thing isn't so bad, I'm starting to consider a life of crime. What do you think? Would Mar be on board?"

I hum, tongue tracing over my teeth as I pretend to think it over. "I don't know, Dave. Life on the run won't be so easy when we've got Ozzy and Joan Jr to worry about." A moment passes and so does the initial relief at the sound of his voice. Frowning, I lower my gaze. "I'm sorry."

"You mess up my flannel? 'Cause I can't for the life of me figure out why else you'd be apologising. Having second thoughts about the little ones?"

Sniffing awkwardly, I rub at my nose to clear away any remaining blood. "No. No, it's not that. I just— I should've woken up earlier. Then we'd be far away from this godforsaken town."

He sighs, a long and weary sigh. The sound makes me wince. I can imagine the look on his face, he must be so fed up with me. But when he speaks again, his tone is as gentle and patient as ever, "Bethy, are you an alarm clock?"

I hesitate and set the walkie down beside me, mumbling through a full body stretch that brings a few satisfying cracks, "Huh?"

"You heard me. Are you an alarm clock?"

"No..."

"No. You're not. You can't expect yourself to wake up exactly when you plan to. It doesn't work like that. So stop acting like this is your fault — like anything is your fault, for that matter. Can you do that?"

My fingers start to pick at a loose thread on the carpeted stairs. Sniffing, I shrug. It's stupid, considering he can't see me from here.

Another sigh. "Not even for... me?"

I chew on the inside of my cheek and let my head rest against the panelled wall.

"God, if you could see me right now. Haven't got a mirror but I'll bet you I look like a damn puppy, pouting and all that shit. Got those big, shiny eyes to match. Always works on you. Guess you just can't say no to my adorable little face."

I can picture it clearly. So clearly. A shy smile pulls at my lips and I hide my face behind crossed arms, knees pulled right up to my chest. "Can you blame me? Though, I always figured you were more of a cat."

He laughs at that. Then silence falls. For a moment, I wonder if the batteries have died but then he speaks again in a chiding tone, "Don't need to hide that face from me, Bethy. I'm not even there."

The remark causes me to freeze. Awkwardly peeking over at the walkie that now sits beside me, I eye it, wondering if he can somehow see me, if there's a hidden camera along with all of these lights and dials — a thought that I quickly realise is stupid, that kind of invention must be centuries away.