Читать книгу They - SLMN - Страница 9
ОглавлениеIt had been an exhausting day. Scratch that, Melissa thought, the worst day of her life.
Melissa kicked off her shoes and rubbed her aching feet. She was bone tired and her bruises throbbed. She popped the lid from a bottle of painkillers she’d bought from the little store in the lobby, and swallowed two pills with a bottle of water.
There was no pill she could take to ease the deep loneliness gnawing at her. At least, no pill she could buy legally without a prescription. Going to bed without Howie lying next to her was nothing new because they lived in different countries and spent far too much time apart. It was easy to convince herself, for a short time, that he was just somewhere else tonight, that he was thinking about her and sending her sexy text messages. She picked up her phone to divert her attention from the cavernous hole in her heart. She saw dozens of texts and voicemails, thousands of Instagram messages and more tweets than any sane person could ever read. She resisted the urge to turn off her phone and try to sleep. She doubted she’d get much rest anyway, and people she cared about were worried about her.
So she worked her way through her texts, given that they came from people who knew her best. She answered the one from Shania, her best friend and technical guru who ran her channel, wrote her apps and managed all her accounts. Shania was a genius and a friend for the ages. Melissa’s mom had texted her too, so Melissa replied that she was safe, feeling sad but okay, and would be home tomorrow. She didn’t mention her bruises. What could her mom do about those? She had enough to worry about.
The reply came back almost immediately. Why had she not responded sooner? Her mom was sick, perhaps terminally so, and it ate at Melissa that she might be the cause of extra stress. Melissa briefly explained that she’d been at the police station since the incident and couldn’t reply until now.
Shania was the next to message her.
Saw the video. Are you hurt?
Oh God, the video. Melissa stared at the words. In all of this, she had completely forgotten the broadcast from Howie’s phone. She should find it and watch it, to remind herself of what happened.
Did she really want to be reminded? The images already burned in her mind. She would have to watch it eventually, but not tonight.
She replied to Shania, sent another five texts in response to her mother’s frantic messaging, then turned her attention to her followers.
Melissa Jones’s channel had millions of subscribers, many of whom were avid viewers. She talked about fashion, celebrities, life and her own experiences with her mother’s many illnesses. A couple of her posts went viral, her subscriber numbers shot up, and it snowballed from there. She had no idea why her channel was so popular, but she did her best to post regular updates and respond to her fans. Of course there were haters too, but Melissa had a thick skin and didn’t let them get to her. That’s why she was able to screen out the vile comments without absorbing what they said.
Howie Do deserved what he got…
Donate to Officer Hagley’s defense fund…
Hagley did us all a favor today…
Maybe Jones will shut the fuck up now…
Melissa let them all slide past her like she always did with the inevitable hatred surfacing in the wake of everything she posted. Usually her real fans drowned out the shit. Not today.
Thick skin sister, she told herself.
But the trauma of today was unlike anything she’d experienced before. She knew she would have to post something about it. In the past she’d taken on causes, but they were for other people’s benefit. She was far too close to this to handle it at the moment. She wasn’t about to launch a fight for justice or anything like that. She wasn’t strong enough yet. She wanted time to grieve, and then she would talk to her followers.
One last text went to her agent, thanking her for arranging the hotel and flight, and promising to be in touch soon. Jasmine was a dynamo, a true angel on Earth who had taken Melissa under her wing and fought tooth-and-nail to get her and Howie an astonishing deal with a major US network. It had all been so exciting, until this morning when it all came crashing down.
She missed Howie so much. The thought of him caused physical pain in her chest. She curled up exhausted and wanting to sleep but with her eyes remaining stubbornly wide open. She had boyfriends before, but none of them were like Howie. He understood her on an emotional level, on a sexual level, and on an intellectual level. He was so smart. Nobody realized how smart he was. Most of her boyfriends had been man-child idiots attracted by her body and her rising fame. Howie loved her body, oh God his passion for her left her breathless, but he loved her mind too.
What would she do without him? How could she carry on alone? Now that she knew what was possible when you truly make a connection with someone special, how could she live without it?
A new text popped up on her phone from a number she didn’t recognize.
Hey Melissa. This is Howie’s brother, Wilson. You holding up?
She wanted to put the phone down, to just shut it all out. But that wasn’t fair to Wilson. She’d never met Howie’s brother; she was supposed to meet him and his folks today. He would understand if she didn’t reply right away. It was nice of him to check on her though.
Doing OK. Thanks for texting. Tired. Can we talk tomorrow?
His response came back quickly.
Sure. Get some rest. TTYL.
And with that, her battery died and her phone went dark. Taking this as her cue to turn in, she plugged in her phone and grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste she’d bought at the same time as the painkillers.
There was a commotion coming from the street outside. She moved to the window, trying to ignore her painful arm. Parting the curtain she saw nothing unusual, but more noise drew her attention to much further along the street. Her head pressed against the window, she struggled to see far enough down the road to find out what was causing the noise.
Then they came into view. Hundreds of them, marching along the main street, waving banners and chanting. She wondered what they were marching for, as this was clearly a protest.
She had seen before on the news people holding signs at such demonstrations that read things like, ‘#icantbreathe’, or ‘Hands Up, Don’t Shoot!’, or ‘Black Lives Matter’, but it had always been an abstract thing. BLM existed in Toronto too, she’d seen them at Gay Pride and other events, but this was something else. This was a reaction to something. What?
As they drew closer and filled the street from side to side, Melissa was able to read some of the signs. Most were as expected, similar to what she’d seen before. She could make out what they were chanting now too.
Her mouth fell open.
“Justice for Howie!” they called. “Howie Do, killed by you!”
Melissa sat at her window and watched the march for some time, tears rolling down her face. It went on for a while, and eventually she could cry no more. Her eyes were growing heavy, and the weariness she felt seeped into her bones.
She stood up and drew the curtain, wondering if she’d be able to sleep with so much noise outside. She stripped down to her underwear and checked herself in the mirror. There was an ugly bruise on her side, which hurt if she touched it but thankfully caused her no discomfort otherwise. Her arm was a different story. Clearly it wasn’t broken or she’d be screaming if she touched it with her other hand. Nevertheless, the bruising on her upper arm was extensive. Her arm bone ached where the officer kicked her. Clearly the damage was deep, but she felt no desire to go to hospital.
She climbed into bed and laid down on her good side. The noisy protest and the pain in her arm kept her awake for a time, as did the images flashing through her head of a day straight from hell. Thankfully the pain was easier to ignore now that the pills had kicked in. She concentrated on saying a prayer, clearing her mind of her troubles one by one. Eventually she fell into a merciful sleep.
“Hey Penny, it’s Tim.”
“Hey Tim.”
“Hey. Sorry to call you so late.”
“Oh that’s okay. I was watching the protests on TV.”
“What protests?”
“Some rapper was shot by police this morning and his girlfriend beaten up. You didn’t hear about it?”
“No, I’ve been in meetings all day. You’re supposed to tell me about this stuff.”
“Sorry, I thought you knew. How was your meeting with Granger?”
“Not great. He wants to me to stall all my bills.”
“Really? Why?”
“I’ll tell you all about it tomorrow. I need you to start thinking about who else we can tap for donations and support.”
“Granger’s not paying any more?”
“I can’t do what he wants me to do, Penny. I can’t sabotage all our work because the moneyman says so. I’d be no better than the guys we defeated to get here.”
“No chance of a compromise? Delay some bills and not others?”
“He made it pretty clear I gotta do what he says or no more funding.”
“Shit.”
“Yeah. So, anyway, I figured it was time to cut ties. Nothing official or public, just line up alternative backers and quietly ignore Granger.”
“He’s not going to like that.”
“No, he’s not. But other than stop donating, what else can he do?”
“This is one of those, I-can’t-talk-you-out-of-it situations, isn’t it, Tim?”
“’Fraid so.”
“Fine, I’ll think about it. It won’t be easy.”
“If it was easy, it wouldn’t be fun.”
“Uh huh. Well I’m going back to scaring myself shitless with the news okay?”
“Sure, thanks Pen. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
Tim hung up the phone and turned on the local news. Sure enough, a protest was in full swing down East Main Street, a mile or so away from his house and heading his way. He watched the images of rapper Howie Do and his girlfriend, Canadian YouTube star, Melissa Jones, and watched the video of the shooting, his hand over his mouth in shock. He knew immediately he had to get involved. It might piss off Lionel Granger and his ilk, but Tim didn’t give a shit.
He picked up his phone and called the governor, the state’s Attorney General and Virginia’s Senate majority leader. None of them answered – it was getting late that was true, but still, it was annoying. Protestors flooding into Richmond’s streets and the top brass weren’t answering their phones? Perhaps they weren’t answering to him. He tried calling Richmond’s police chief, but as expected, his phone went immediately to voicemail and the mailbox was full. That was no surprise. The guy had his hands full tonight.
Tim stood and went to his front door. Opening it up, he could hear distant sounds of chanting and shouting coming from the direction of East Main Street. He grabbed his jacket, his keys and his phone and headed out to join the protest.
