Call Out

Copyright 2011 by L.B. Clark

Smashwords Edition

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
places, and incidents either are the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual
persons living, dead, or undead is purely incidental.

This book is dedicated to:

Ben and Bryce, who have inspired me in more
ways than I can count, much less name.

Erin, my evil twin, travel companion, and
co-conspirator - I couldn’t have done this without you.

All the artists whose music made up the
soundtrack for my writing, particularly the boys in Lifehouse,
Elvis Monroe, Juke Kartel, and Paperback Hero. This book wouldn’t
exist if not for them. My sanity probably wouldn’t, either.

And the friends and family members of all of
us dreamers – musicians and artists and writers and poets – who’ve
stood beside us, supported us, cheered us on, and put up with us
through it all.

Chapter One

From all around me came the sounds of battle:
the dull thump of mace on shield, the jingling of chain mail armor,
the heavier clank of full plate, the rhythmic chanting of wizards
and healers casting their spells. Somewhere in the chaos my
brothers-in-arms – my friends – threw themselves into the fight,
working to press the enemy back, away from the fortress we were
foresworn to defend. I had no time to spare a thought for my
friends as I moved to square off against an opponent, a sword in my
right hand and a shield strapped to my left arm.

The enemy, smaller and younger than me,
shifted lightly from foot to foot, looking for an opening between
me and my shield and trusting his compatriots to watch his back. He
was wise to let them; he had enough to do trying to protect himself
from the front. Speed and agility are the hallmark of the young,
but so are inexperience and overconfidence. The boy – for he
couldn’t have been more than that – danced forward and drew his
sword down, right to left, aiming for my legs. I dropped to my
knees in the dirt, and my shield turned his blade aside.

Seeing my opportunity, I flung my left arm
wide, following the deflected sword. Into the now wide open space
in front of me I thrust my blade. The boy tried to jump backward,
but I let myself fall forward, and my momentum carried the tip of
my blade into his belly.

I let myself fall to the ground, sword hand
still extended, and rolled onto my back, covering myself with my
shield. I looked up to find one of my allies shielding me, giving
me a moment to regain my feet and reenter the fray.

Staggering to my feet, I let my eyes sweep
the battlefield. I nodded to the man who had been guarding me, and
we moved together to engage a mace-wielding madman. I paused
midstride, listening. Then I stepped back out of striking range,
set my sword aside, and reached into the pocket of my jeans.

“Shit." I held my shield over my head in an
awkward gesture that signified defeat. “Sorry. Phone call. I gotta
take it,” I said. I didn’t recognize the number, and this close to
graduation any unfamiliar number could be a potential job
offer.

“It’s all good,” my team-mate said, never
missing a step, his attention focused on the game.

I scooped up my sword and shoved it under my
arm as I hurried off the field, answering my cell as I ran.

“Hello?”

Nothing but silence answered my greeting, and
I wondered for a moment if the call had dropped. Then a familiar
voice asked, “Elizabeth?” I’m good with voices. Sometimes it’s
easier for me to identify someone by his voice than by his face.
Even without that, I’d have known this voice anywhere. Brian Kelly
had the most unique accent I’d ever heard, not quite Australian and
not quite British but something in between the two.

“It’s me. What’s up Brian?” I asked,
wondering why in the world he could be calling. We were friends,
but we usually kept in touch through my best friend who happened to
be his girlfriend. I scored a bottle of water from a nearby cooler
and plopped down at a picnic table.

There was an uncomfortable silence,
punctuated by the sounds of my fellow gamers bashing each other
with foam-padded swords. After a moment, Brian asked, “Have you
heard from Dylan?”

Brian had convinced Dylan Connelly, my
closest friend and former roommate, to spend a week with him in
Orlando. From what Dylan had told me, her flight should have landed
by now. I frowned as I cracked the seal on my water bottle.

“I haven’t talked to her since last night. Is
everything okay?”

I listened to the silence spin out again as I
uncapped the water and took a long drink.

“Brian?”

“She’s not here,” Brian said. “Her flight
landed half an hour ago. I haven’t seen her, and she’s not
answering her phone.”

I took another drink before answering.
“Brian, you know Dylan’s bad about forgetting to turn her phone on.
She’s probably wandering around the airport wondering where you
are.”

“So...she didn’t change her mind, then?”

I almost laughed. Dylan had talked about
nothing but Brian for months. This week was likely to be the
highlight of her year – or maybe her decade.

“Brian, honey,” I said, “Dylan didn’t change
her mind. Not about this week, and not about you. Okay?”

Brian made a small sound that couldn’t quite
be called a laugh. “London said I was being paranoid.” London, I
knew, was Brian’s close friend and band mate. The band - named DPS
of all things – had a gig at the Hard Rock in Orlando at the end of
the week. Dylan was almost as excited about the concert – and
seeing Brian's friends again - as she was about having a week of
alone-time with her boyfriend.

“I would say so, yeah. At least about the
whole ‘changing her mind’ thing. Maybe not so much about the ‘she
hasn’t shown up’ thing.”

“Yeah. I’m going to try her cell again. I’m
sorry I bothered you with this. I’ll talk to you later.”

"Don't you dare hang up on me!" I snapped. I
took a deep breath, reminding myself that Brian had to be worried
and distracted. "You can’t just get me worried and then leave me
hanging, Brian.”

“Sorry.”

“Psssh. Is her phone going straight to voice
mail? And are you sure you’re at the right terminal, have the right
flight info?”

“Dylan sent me a copy of her flight
information. I’m in the right place, and her plane definitely
landed a half hour ago.”

“And her phone?”

“Straight to voice mail.”

I nodded, even though I knew Brian couldn’t
see it. I took another swig from the water bottle while I collected
my thoughts.

“Okay, so. The voice mail thing tells me her
phone’s off, like I said. But she should have tried to call you by
now if she thinks you guys have missed each other.”

“Right.”

I tucked my feet under me on the bench, what
we used to call ‘sitting Indian style’ before the term became
politically incorrect. “Well, hell. I don’t know what to tell you,
Brian,” I said. “No, wait...I wonder if she missed her flight. It
wouldn’t be the first time.”

“If she did miss her flight, and she’s in the
air...”

“Then you won’t be able to get her on her
cell. And you’ll be left in limbo for who knows how long.” I waited
a beat, and then added, “But it just so happens that she trusts her
best friend way too much. As soon as I can get to a computer, I can
find out if her flight got changed.” I unfolded my legs and stood
up, digging in my pocket for my keys. I wanted to get home and find
out where the hell Dylan had disappeared to.

“Could you tell someone else how to find
out?”

I tucked the phone between my ear and
shoulder so I’d have my hands free to gather up my role-play
equipment. "Not that I don’t trust you, but I feel weird about
giving you Dylan’s info.”

“I didn’t mean me,” Brian said. “I was
actually thinking of London. He’s probably at his computer right
now. But I guess the same’s true of him.”

“Even more so,” I agreed. I managed to hit
the trunk button on my key fob without dropping any of my gaming
gear, but fumbled the phone when I shoved my bundle of weapons and
armor into the trunk.

“I can be home in 20 minutes,” I said, as I
unlocked the car. I stopped, turning to lean my back against the
car. “You know what...no. When we hang up, try Dylan’s cell again.
If you don’t get an answer, have London call me. If you do get an
answer, have Dylan call me. Okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course. Someone will call you
back in...ten minutes, either way.”

“Perfect,” I said. “Good luck, Brian.”

“Thanks.”

We hung up, and I got into my car. I turned
on the radio for something to concentrate on, but didn’t start the
engine. I didn’t want to try to drive and talk on my cell at the
same time, so I stayed put.

I passed the time imagining how the
conversation would go if it were London who called. Everything I
knew about him I had learned from Dylan: he drummed for DPS and he
was one of Brian's closest friends. I had heard a few of the band's
songs, and I liked the music well enough. The mellow pop-rock sound
didn't seem to fit Brian all that well; it didn’t fit the mental
picture I had of London Dahlbeck, either. I’m not sure why, but I
pictured London as a modern Mick Jagger. I could imagine him
raising hell and terrorizing the staff in some high-class hotel,
though as far as I knew DPS hadn't ever caused any scandals.

Less than ten minutes later, my phone rang
again, startling me back to the here and now. The number wasn’t
Dylan’s.

“Hello?”

“Hi. This is London. Dahlbeck? Brian Kelly
asked me to call you.”

The voice wasn't at all what I had been
expecting. Instead of having a Jagger-esque British accent, he
sounded...normal. More than ever, I found myself wondering what
kind of people would name their son ‘London,’ especially paired
with ‘Dahlbeck.’ Elementary school must have been so much fun for
this poor guy.

“Hi, London. Brian wanted me to pair my brain
with your computer.”

London laughed. “You make it sound like I
don’t have the brains to pair with it.”

“Well, I have no proof to the contrary,” I
said. I shook my head. “Prove it to me. Help me figure out where
Dylan is.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he promised. “Okay, I’m
guessing your plan is to look at her flight information on the
airline website?”

“Yep. And I’m sure you know that....”

“We’re going to need a res number, yeah. We
hacking her email?”

I smiled. He was already proving himself
sufficient in the brains department. Good. “It’s not hacking if she
gave me her password,” I replied.

“True enough. Where’m I going?”

I told him which website she used for email
and gave him her login and password. I could hear the
click-clacking of keys as he followed my directions.

“I’m in,” he said. “Okay...she’s got a
billion little folders in here, and I have no idea what most of the
labels mean. I mean ‘work’ and ‘Brian’ are pretty self-explanatory,
but I don’t see...oh wait, maybe....”

“Try search,” I suggested.

“Too late. I found the confirmation.”

“You got lucky.”

“I’m good at that,” he said.

I laughed. “The advantages of being in a
band.".

For a moment there was utter silence, not
even the clacking of his computer keyboard coming through the
phone. Then, “That is so not what I meant.”

“Sure,” I said.

“I mean, I’m not denying that I’m good at
'getting lucky', but that really isn’t what I meant.” Before I
could think of a witty retort, he said, “Fuck. She didn’t change
her flight. She checked in...she should have been on that plane.
She should be in Orlando.”

“Fuck,” I agreed, leaning my forehead against
the steering wheel. “Now what?”

London took his time replying. After a
moment, he spoke, his voice low and somber, “It’s too soon to file
a missing person’s report.”

“And the airline won’t tell us anything,” I
added. “But I can’t just sit here and wonder.”

We spent another quiet minute or two
thinking.

“Elizabeth?”

“I’m here,” I said.

“Can you get to Orlando?”

“What?”

“Can you get away from work or whatever and
get on a plane to Orlando – today?”

“I...I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, if I knew
it would help....”

“Elizabeth, I need you to trust me on this. I
need you to get a flight to Orlando as soon as you can. And if you
have something of Dylan’s, I need you to bring it.”

I sat up, rubbing my forehead. “What do you
mean? What sort of ‘something’?”

“Just about anything that belongs to Dylan
should work.”

‘Work for what?' I thought. Aloud I said, “I
have some heels I stole from her. And probably some of her books.
I...I don’t know.”