The Illusion Of Us

(TWIST) CHAPTER EIGHT

Fred had been ensnared in back-to-back meetings since the early morning, finding solace only in the late afternoon's quiet. Collapsing into his swivel chair, he finally turned his attention to his phone, which buzzed with missed calls and messages from his New York friends. He assumed they were reminders for the upcoming wedding, a day already etched deeply into his thoughts, haunting him with the specter of what was to come.

With a heavy sigh, he pressed the intercom button. "Tommy, could you please make sure my appointments are rescheduled? I'll be in New York from the thirteenth to the fifteenth for a wedding," he instructed, his voice carrying the weight of his preoccupation.

"Absolutely, Mr. Rushmore. Your schedule for those days is clear," came Tommy's efficient reply. "Is there anything else you need?"

"That's all, thanks," Fred replied, a note of finality in his tone. "You can head out now. See you tomorrow."

"Thank you, Mr. Rushmore."

Fred let several moments pass before braving the messages on his phone, dreading the wave of emotions they might unleash. Instead, he sifted through his emails, responding with deliberate attention to each.

When Fred finally decided to face his phone, the sight of Carlson's name flashing on the screen gripped him with an inexplicable sense of dread. He answered, forcing a cheerfulness he was far from feeling. "Hey man, what's up?"

"You're a tough one to get a hold of, Fred," Carlson's voice came through, tinged with a lightness that didn't quite reach his eyes, had Fred been able to see him. "We've been trying to reach you since last night," he added, the chuckle that followed sounding more forced than genuine.

A frown etched itself deeply on Fred's face as he detected an undercurrent of urgency in Carlson's voice, a stark contrast to his attempted levity. "Something wrong? Are you guys still in Colorado?"

"We're all back. And, Fred... it's a mess," Carlson let out a deep, weary sigh, the kind that spoke volumes of the turmoil he was hesitant to unleash. "I doubt you'll ever guess what went down."

"Carlson, cut the suspense," Fred implored, his patience fraying, feeling an uncharacteristic tightness in his chest. "What happened?"

There was a palpable pause, a moment of silence that seemed to stretch too long before Carlson's voice broke through again, heavy with reluctance. "Ava... she broke up with Ethan." Another pause, filled with unspoken emotions. "The wedding's off."

It was as if time stood still for Fred. A chilling numbness spread through him, his brain refusing to process Carlson's words. "Hey man, you still there?" Carlson's voice sounded distant, as if from another world.

"I—I gotta go. We'll talk later," Fred managed, his voice barely a whisper before he abruptly ended the call. The room seemed to spin as the gravity of the news began to settle in his mind. His first instinct was to reach out to Ava, to ensure she was okay. But attempt after attempt to call her led nowhere, her phone frustratingly out of service. "Oh, Avaline... Where are you?" he murmured to himself, desperation coloring his usually composed voice.

Realization hit him like a freight train. Without another thought, Fred grabbed his coat and made for the door, his heart pounding with a mixture of fear and determination. He nearly collided with Tommy at the elevator. "Oh, good, you're still here," he said, more to himself than to Tommy, as he adjusted his coat with shaky hands, his mind racing.

Tommy looked up, surprised. "I thought you had a full evening planned?"

"Change of plans," Fred said, the urgency clear in his voice. "Cancel everything—no, clear my schedule indefinitely. I need to get to New York tonight." Without waiting for a response, he stepped into the elevator, the doors closing on his resolved but haunted expression.