Ultraviolet ✔️

10.1

Chapter Ten

I call Stan again on the way out to the car. At this rate, I'll be filling his voicemail box with an endless slew of concerned messages. I want him to answer. I need him to answer. In my isolated existence, I have very few people closer than arm's length to me. He is one of the few. He's so important to me that the thought of him dying breaks something open inside my chest.

I call him again just before we arrive. No answer.

"Stan," I say after the automated greeting plays. "I need you to call me as soon as you get this. Something terrible has happened and I need to know you're okay. Please get back to me."

For a second, everything is playing out at a normal speed. I get out of the SUV, my shoes hit the pavement, and the overcast sky looms over my head. We cross the police line with the flash of Joel's badge and approach the white sheet coated in drying blood. The man is curled up on the sidewalk, and they're doing the best they can to keep him away from prying eyes.

Just as Joel kneels to lift the sheet, someone calls out, "Wait!"

We turn to see one of the cops, out of breath as she rushes over. "There's been a mistake."

"What?" I say, cocking my head.

"That man isn't NYPD at all," she explains, flustered. "There was an error made when we looked at his badge. He's part of the Newark homicide department."

Sure enough, neither Joel nor I recognize the face under the blanket. He's a stranger, and it's such a deep relief when I see that. It's also a little frustrating, bearing the stress of wondering as we made the trip here. Surely someone should have double-checked.

"Have you contacted the Newark PD?" Joel asks.

"We're on it right now," she confirms. "I'm so sorry for dragging you all the way over here. My unit rushed to contact you before I'd given approval."

"It's alright," Joel assures her, his patience everpresent. I can tell he's just as happy as I am that we're not burying a friend today.

We're not out of the woods yet. Stan is still absent and hasn't contacted anyone. At least I know he's not the victim here. I'll be waiting for his response anxiously until I have some sort of reassurance, though.

We walk back to the car without speaking. Joel is talking to Chief, filling him in on what just happened. I stay quiet out of respect until Joel hangs up.

"It's horrible that an officer was killed," I say.

"It really is."

"I was so scared," I admit. "I didn't know what I was going to do if he was gone. It terrified me, Joel. It really did."

He leans a little closer to me. We're facing each other instead of driving away.

"You have nothing to be scared of," Joel assures me. "Nothing at all."

"Don't I? I feel like everywhere I go, I'm surrounded by death. It's so screwed up."

There's a long pause, a contemplative lapse.

Before he starts the engine, as the windshield wipers swipe across the glass, he takes my hand and starts talking. "When I was eleven, my brother, AJ, got hit by a car on his way home from school."

I glance up at him, surprised by his story. I'm genuinely curious where he's going with this, so I squeeze his fingers tighter to let him know it's okay to continue.

Joel is holding my hand.

He's holding my hand, and I'm okay with it for some reason.

"My sister was in junior high because she's three years older than me, so she took the bus home because her school was further away," he continues. "I was out that day because I had the stomach flu, so AJ was walking home alone. The driver wasn't paying attention, and she hit him and killed him."