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"YOUR EMERGENCY ISN'T your family being murdered and their bodies stripped of their skin and hung out for the vultures, is it?" I ask. "Because I don't think I can deal with that again. Messy, messy."
Silas sighs and glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I want to scream at him to keep his eyes on the fucking road because he's handling precious cargo. (Me. I'm the precious cargo.) "No, Cain, it isn't."
"Bummer."
"So what is it, then?" Atlas eagerly leans forwards, his elbows resting on the armrest between Silas and me. I'd called shotgun, so now he's stuck in the backseat; he'd decided to sit in the middle, because, according to him, it makes him feel important. "You do have to tell us at some point, you know? If you don't, I think this is considered kidnapping, and it's illegal in most states. I'll call 911 on you."
"Yeah, man. We'll play the kidnapping card," I threaten, already cracking my window to yell for help to show Silas that we mean business.
"Okay, okay!" Silas's hands tighten on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening. The only other time I've seen him this tense was that one time when our eighth grade science teacher called Hufflepuff the lamest Hogwarts house. "Meredith finally texted me back."
Based on Silas's current behavior, my mind instantly jumps to the worst possible ideas. "Oh, God. Is she dead?"
"Don't be so insensitive, but I don't think so," Silas replies, biting his lip. "She's in the hospital."
Both Atlas and I react at the same time. "What? Is she okay?" he calmly asks, just the right amount of worry in his expression, while I eloquently and sympathetically cry out, "Jesus motherfucking Christ's dick, what happened?"
"I don't know!" Silas has an odd way of yelling — it's soft and quiet, but heavy with suppressed emotion. It's a rubber band finally snapping, but it doesn't snap against anyone; it just slowly floats through the air and gently falls to the ground. "I don't know what happened to her. She didn't say. Here, read our texts."
Once he's tossed me his phone, I turn it on and slide the lock-screen over. "Dude, what's your password?"
"Username," Silas replies. "Don't hack me."
"Any capital letters?"
"The u."
As I type his password in to unlock his phone, I groan and tell him that he's the worst human being I know. Once I'm in, Atlas leans over my shoulder to get a look at what's going on onscreen. I click on the messages app, and pull his conversation with Meredith up. After a spam from Silas's side expressing his concerns about Meredith and updates on the condition of my personal missing person story, Meredith finally replied. Their conversation from henceforth went as followed:
