Strap on, she told herself as she wiped bile from her mouth. Strap on!
She'd experienced scarier moments in her life and prevailed. She'd walked into the house of an abusive man to save her friend when she was thirteen, and could have been hurt or killed herself. She'd helped get rid of a body two years ago, to help a woman she didn't even know, and she'd been terrified of getting caught and thrown in prison, losing her job as a private investigator, losing her kids. Both incidents had been worse than that picture on Al's phone, so why was she coming undone now?
No. She couldn't. She took a deep breath, pulled herself together, stood up and flushed the toilet. There was hardly anything in her vomit, just whatever alcohol had been swimming around in her stomach. She should probably eat something, even though she didn't feel hungry. It would be good to have some protein in her system to help her think clearly and stave off a hangover.
That was the thing, though. She didn't feel that haze of post-drunkenness that accompanied a hangover, which she hadn't had in years. She was on high alert now; she just couldn't remember the last six to eight hours.
She checked herself over in the mirror. She didn't feel injured, but she looked for cuts and bruises anyway. There was a spot or two of blood on the sheet, and that had to come from somewhere. Nothing on her face. Nothing on her chest or abdomen when she unbuttoned her blouse. Nothing on her ass when she pulled down her pants. That was encouraging. The picture she saw didn't suggest any assault, and she didn't think Al capable of anything violent, but the missing hours scared her and made her certain they hadn't fallen into bed out of any conscious desire, certainly not on her part.
She strode back into the living room, unable to avoid looking at those stained sheets in the bedroom again along the way. She found Al filling the cat's food and water dishes, and couldn't help smiling; even in the midst of a crisis that could end their marriages, he still found the time to look after the cat. Not for the first time she wondered why Rachel and Al didn't try for a baby; it wasn't uncommon for women to have children in their forties anymore, and she knew they were both caring people who would have made great parents...
That was when she remembered something. They were applying to be foster parents, but they hadn't fostered yet because they needed a place with at least one more room. That knowledge was reassuring. It meant that her lack of memory only covered the previous night.
Al stood and turned, and saw her standing there. He was crying, she could see. "I'm so sorry," he breathed.
He was killing himself over the picture. She opened her arms, and he fell into them like a kid being comforted by his mom over a scraped knee. Even though he was bigger than she was, she held him up like she'd held Joe when they were thirteen, when he'd despaired that their friendships would sunder when they all went to different high schools. Maybe it was her low centre of gravity, or she was stronger than she looked, but she always held her own with bigger men, seemed to prefer them bigger, actually.
"It's okay, Al, it's okay, it's not the end of the world," she said. "We'll figure this out."
"You don't hate me?" he blubbered.
"Of course not. You're one of my best friends."
"Oh, God, what am I going to say to Rachel and Joe? Joe's going to kill me! Why did I do that?"
"Was that why you got sick too?"
He sniffed and said, "Actually, no, there's something else. Oh, God..."
She rubbed his back, said reassuring words, and to her amusement felt him harden against her, just like Joe had that first time she'd hugged him. Why were men so predictable?
"Don't get any ideas, Al," she whispered in his ear. "We're not fucking again."
He cleared his throat, wiped his eyes, muttered, "Sorry," again, and reddened.
"Can I see your phone again?" she asked.
He grabbed it off the kitchen counter, unlocked it, and showed it to her. She looked at the incriminating photo, really made herself look at it, because there was no escaping what the photo showed. "Well, we have photo confirmation of what we suspected. We fucked, and it looks like we had a good time at it."
"Yeah. And for some reason I sent that to my wife and to your husband."
Lauren looked at the photo again, scrolled down, but there was nothing more in the thread. No response from Rachel. No WTF? No, you fucking bastard I want a divorce.
That was when she noticed something.
4:25 a.m.
Al: We're up! Having a great time!
That part was in a green word bubble that meant the text was delivered. Under the photo, however, were the following red words in small type:
Not delivered.
"Wait a minute," she said. She looked at the top of the phone's screen. There were bars denoting the phone signal strength, but nothing beside it to show what kind of internet service was being provided. She opened the settings and checked the toggle for Cellular. It was off.
She gasped and checked the text string to Joe, just in case. The same message was under that photo too.
"Al, you're not using data," she said.
He shook his head. "No, I leave it off until I need it. We have Wi-fi in the apartment and at work, so I don't usually need it, and I don't like having it open and leaving it vulnerable to anyone using my phone as a hotspot."
"No, Al, don't you see?" she said, nearly squealed. "Your data isn't on. To send a photo as a text message, you need to turn your data on! Otherwise SMS can't transfer the high amount of file size that a photo takes up."
"So, what are you saying?"
"I'm saying, you goof, that Rachel and Joe didn't get this photo! You didn't send it to them. See?" She showed him the red words alerting at failed delivery.
He almost sagged to the floor in relief. "Oh, thank God," he said. "They never got it!"
"They never got it!"
"It's like we've been given a second chance!" he said, exuberant. "I can delete it and it's like it never happened!"
"Ouch!" she said, feeling slightly offended even while being relieved at the near miss.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean it that way," Al said. "On the contrary, I wish I could remember us doing it, because if we're laying all our cards out, even though I'm happily married to Rachel, we've watched your shows with Joe and... uh... I think we've both appreciated your performance, if you know what I mean."
"I'm shocked," she said sardonically.
"Oh, God, I'm not making this any better, am I."
"Relax, I know what you meant." She sighed. "I guess if we're laying our cards out, I must have done it with you for the same reason, even if it hadn't crossed my mind until last night. I really don't think I would have let you rape me, even if we weren't sober, or whatever."
"And I'd like to think I'd never take advantage of any woman that way, especially not one of my best friends." He reached for the phone, and she handed it to him. He looked at the screen. "It's a pretty awesome picture. I wonder how we were able to take it if we were both off our heads?"
She shook her head. "How did we fuck if we were both off our heads?"
"Lauren, I've never heard anyone say fuck the way you do," he said with a smirk. "It really makes me wish I could remember how well we fucked."
She chuckled and felt heat rise in her throat. This was dangerous. Where was this coming from? Until last night she'd never even considered Al as a potential sexual partner. For one thing, she'd been happily married to Joe for years and years. For another, she'd only ever cheated on Joe with Rachel, and she still didn't think that was as bad as cheating with another man, although she still hadn't told Joe about it. So, what was it about Al that suddenly got her motor running?
"The only thing Joe and I were never able to do was plain old missionary," she said. "He'd have to be harnessed and held a millimetre above me by a winch so he wouldn't smother me. It just couldn't happen. I guess everyone has that one thing they wish their partner would do, a fantasy they can't admit to."
"But that's so basic," Al said, and he looked sorry for her.
"Still. Impossible with Joe."
"And you think maybe that's what you wanted from me?"
She shrugged. "Maybe. I certainly seemed to be enjoying getting it from you. I don't know if we'll ever know for sure, though."
He looked again at the photo. "It'd be a shame to delete it, but I can't have this on my phone."
"Al, wait. You can't delete it. Not yet."
He looked up at her in surprise. "Huh?"
"To delete that photo you'd have to delete the whole text thread. If something has happened to Joe and Rachel... we need that thread for an alibi."
He went pale. "Oh, my God, you're right. That's the other thing I haven't shown you."
He played the voicemail from Rachel out loud.
"Al! Where are you?! Is Lauren with you?! Oh, Jesus, fuck, we're in trouble! Please, call me back as soon as you get this message, I need to know you're okay!"
Lauren thought she would be sick again. The panic in Rachel's voice. What had happened to them? She said we. That meant she was with Joe, right?
"That's what made me sick," Al said. "That, and the fact that when I tried calling her back, she didn't pick up and it went to voicemail. If she was okay, wouldn't she have picked up immediately?"
"Maybe..." she trailed off. "So, even though the picture didn't send, your text before the picture got sent. Without the context of the picture, she must have seen that text and been confused about the part about having a great time. Who has a great time at four something in the morning? Unless you've been clubbing all night, and we're long past those days."
"You're right. But that still doesn't explain her message. Why are they in trouble?"
"Maybe it has something to do with the previous texts about the police checkpoint."
Al looked up at her sharply. "Do you think they've been arrested?"
"I don't think they were. For one thing, she wouldn't have been calling using her cell phone. That would already have been confiscated. She would have had to use the jail house phone."
"Huh. Yeah. This is Rachel's number."
"Play it again."
He played it again, again and again. Lauren lowered her head and listened, not to the words this time, but to the sounds in the background.
"There's a roaring engine," she said. "There's also the slightest squealing of tires."
"They're driving," he said.
She shook her head. "They're speeding. The squeal of tires means quick changes in direction. I think..." She looked up at him. "I think they're either chasing someone... or fleeing from someone."
It looks like Joe and Rachel are in real trouble, but how, and why? Why can't Al and Lauren remember what happened last night? Before we find out what they do next, let's go back to the kids in 1979 and see how Joe feels about Lauren. Click "Continue reading" to read on. If you like what you just read, click on "Vote" to boost this story's ranking. Feel free to leave a comment, I'd love to hear what you think!