Afterlife: Reincarnation

39

September 2

HARRY

My fingers were wrapped tightly in my hair, pulling harshly. I welcomed the pain, pulling harder in my frustration. It was a distraction from the all consuming panic I felt.  My heart was hammering in my chest to the point of pain, echoing in my ears like the sound of the ocean. My body felt heavy, weighted down with fear, a tingling running through my limbs.

I had been pacing a frantic strip across my living room floor for over an hour. Constantly, walking, moving, pacing. I was almost certain I had formed an indent in the carpet, but I didn't even fucking care.

What was happening? This couldn't be real. Surely this was all a dream, a new twisted nightmare to change up my monotonous regular horrors. There was no way what I had just seen had really happened. It wasn't possible that my greatest fear of the last four months had actually happened.

Where was she? What happened?

The phone was pressed tightly to my ear, the irritating elevator music flowing through the line doing nothing to ease my mood or panic. If anything, it just irritated me further.

Why hadn't anyone answered my call? I had been on hold for over twenty minutes, this being my third call to the National Geographic office in New York, demanding to know what was happening with my girlfriend. The first call I had been cut off; the second, I had hung up after waiting on hold for what felt like an eternity. This time, I was waiting. I didn't care how long it took, I needed to speak to someone. Anyone.

The girl who originally answered my call was useless. She knew nothing, obviously, just being some girl at a desk. It was possible that no one in New York even knew what had happened yet in Somalia, my only knowledge coming from the coincidence of being online with Lane at the exact moment all fucking hell broke loose.

I released my grip on my hair, rubbing my free hand over my face.

This couldn't be happening. For the love of God, if I lost her, I would have nothing. Had I not lost enough? Was I that horrible of a person that any time I actually cared for someone, they were taken away? They were hurt, pained and killed, for no other reason than they were in my life. I was like a plague, a twisted infliction. And if my relationship with her passed on my fate to her, I would never forgive myself.

"Mr Styles?" a deep, even voice greeted me. I almost tripped over my own feet, surprised and frantic to finally have someone on the end of this line.

"Yes, Im here," I said, my voice clearly panicked.

"This is Mike Ward," he said, and I vaguely recognized his name. "I believe we met at the NYU student exhibit back in the spring."

"Have you heard anything?" I blurted, not in the mood for niceties. "Where is she?"

His momentary silence annoyed me. Either he was taken aback from my abrupt discard of his introduction, or he had bad news. Either way, I wanted to reach through the damn phone and strangle him if he didn't speak soon.

"We haven't heard anything yet," he said calmly. "I am sorry to keep you waiting, but until your call, we knew nothing if the attack. While you were on hold, we have been trying to get in touch with the local military to try and send out a search party."

"So you've heard nothing from them?" I asked, my body sagging back against the back of my couch.

"No," he said solemnly. "It is most likely that they had to leave immediately, and have been unable to find a form of contact. Trust me when I say we have some of the best in the country working to protect our staff and those with DWB. We will be working endlessly to reach them, and to bring them home immediately."