Chapter 5 - THE CALL FROM THE VOID
The office was humming with the sound of printers and distant chatter.
I was staring at a cost estimate for a new foundation when my phone buzzed.
I didn't recognize the number,
but the Miami area code made my heart skip a beat.
I answered it on the second ring,
my voice tight.
"Charles Miller speaking."
There was a brief moment of static,
the sound of a busy room in the background.
"Mr. Miller?"
A woman's voice asked,
sounding professional and weary.
"Yes,
that's me."
"I'm calling from Mercy Hospital in Miami,"
she said.
The world suddenly tilted on its axis,
the office walls closing in.
"Is it Sarah?"
I blurted out,
not waiting for her to finish.
"Mrs. Sarah Sanders listed you as her emergency contact,"
the woman continued,
ignoring my interruption.
"She was admitted this morning after collapsing at work."
"Is she...
is she okay?"
I asked,
my hand shaking so hard I had to grip the edge of my desk.
"We need you to come to Miami immediately,
Mr. Miller,"
she said,
evading the question.
"The doctors need to speak with her next of kin or emergency contact."
"I'm her ex-husband,"
I said,
the words feeling strange in my mouth.
"I know,"
she replied.
"She hasn't updated her information in three years,
but you're the only name she has on file."
"I'm on my way,"
I said,
already reaching for my jacket.
I didn't call my assistant.
I didn't cancel my meetings.
I just walked out of the building and hailed a cab to O'Hare.
The flight was a four-hour descent into hell.
I sat in the middle seat,
sandwiched between two people who were laughing at a movie.
I stared at the back of the seat in front of me,
my mind a whirlpool of dark thoughts.
The red stain.
The collapse.
The emergency contact.
She hadn't changed the contact because she had no one else.
Or she hadn't changed it because she knew this day was coming.
I remembered her face at the window,
the way the morning light made her look transparent.
She wasn't just hiding a stain.
She was hiding a death sentence.
The plane touched down at sunset,
the sky a bruised purple over the Everglades.
I took a taxi straight to the hospital,
the palm trees blurred by the speed of the car.
The lobby was filled with the smell of antiseptic and despair.
I walked up to the reception desk,
my voice failing me.
"Sarah Sanders,"
I managed to say.
The woman checked her computer,
her face softening as she looked at me.
"She's in the ICU,
floor four,"
she said.
"Wait for the doctor in the lounge."
I didn't wait.
I ran for the elevators,
my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
May you like
I was going to see her.
And I was going to find out what that red stain had really cost us.
