"I don't want to stop." She told me quietly, stopping her pacing and turning towards me.
"We have to Anita." I said.
"Maybe I don't mind being taken advantage of." She said, desperation in her voice. "Did you ever consider that? Maybe I want you to continue to take advantage of me if that's what you were doing. I can live with that Billy."
"No." I said firmly, wondering how, in my supposed maturity, I'd managed to miss how deeply she'd felt about me all this time. God I was an idiot. "That won't work. I couldn't live with that. I couldn't keep doing that to you. Despite the way I've acted, I have a conscience. My conscience will not allow me to do that."
She let loose a sob. "Billy, we can't just stop!"
"We have to." I insisted.
She began crying freely now, her chest hitching up and down, tears coursing down, sobs pouring out of her mouth. I stood and put my arms around her, letting her put her head to my chest and cry on my shoulder.
"I'm sorry Anita." I whispered to her. "I never meant for any of this to happen."
Her tears slowed down a little and suddenly her hand was around mine. Before I knew what was happening she'd pulled it under her shirt and placed it on her bare breast, allowing me to feel the familiar flesh. I tried to pull it out but she held it firmly with her hand.
"Anita." I said sharply, "Let me go."
"Just one more time Billy?" She pleaded, her free hand sliding down and tugging at the buttons on my jeans. "Just one more time?"
Again my teenaged body had ideas of its own. My teenaged body thought that one more time was a fine idea. Despite all that had just happened and had just been said, my dick stiffened up at the thought. My adult mind was appalled by this.
"No!" I yelled, slapping her hand away from my crotch a little sharper than I'd intended. I jerked my other hand free of her tit and stepped away from her.
The look in her eyes would haunt me. It was anger, hurt, and desperation. "Please?" She pleaded.
"I have to go Anita." I told her. "I'm sorry for everything."
I opened her bedroom door and headed for the living room. As I left she called my name again. I looked back at her.
"I'll be here for you when you want to come back." She said. "I'll always be here for you."
I swallowed nervously. "Goodbye Anita." I finally said. "And I'm sorry."
She remained in her bedroom as I made my way out of her house. The children gave me worried looks as I left. As I closed the door behind me I could hear the sound of her sobs coming from the bedroom.
I only picked at my dinner that night, scraping much of it down the garbage disposal when I did the dishes. My mother expressed concern but I explained my loss of appetite away by proclaiming I felt like I was coming down with something. She felt my forehead, in the way of mothers, and told me she hoped I felt better soon.
"Me too." I said sincerely.
After the last dish was done I went upstairs to my room. I opened my closet and removed a copy of the World Almanac, that great repository of usually useless but occasionally helpful factoids. I paged through the index until I found the page for the section I wanted. I turned to the page.
UNITED STATES AREA CODES read the heading. They were arranged alphabetically by state. I flipped to California and scanned down the column until I saw Berkeley. 415 was the code. I memorized this information, carefully put the book away, and then headed downstairs.
Mom and Dad were both watching television, or at least sitting in front of it. Dad was correcting some papers for his classes at school. Mom was working on some paperwork for her job. I figured they were well occupied so I headed for Dad's den. I called information for the 415 area code and asked for the phone number for the UC Berkeley bookstore. This was the first time I'd called information after being recycled and it startled me a little when the operator actually read off the number to me instead of having a computer do it.
"Did you get that Sir?" She asked.
"Uh, yes." I said, "Thank you very much."
"Your welcome." She said cheerily. "Is there anything else I can help you with."
"No thank you."
She hung up and I dialed the number she'd given me. A man with a decidedly feminine voice and trouble pronouncing the letter S answered the phone. Ah, California.
"Bookstore, can I help you?" He chirped.
I asked for Tracy.
"Just a minute."
The phone clunked down and, instead of being placed on hold, I heard the low murmur of conversations drifting into my ear and the sound of the man who'd answered yelling for Tracy. A few moments later I heard the phone being picked back up.
"Hello?" Came my sister's voice, a tinge of nervousness in it. She was probably not accustomed to receiving phone calls at work.
"Tracy, its Bill." I said.
"Bill?" More worry now. "What's wrong? Are Mom and Dad okay?"
"They're fine." I assured her. "It's you I need to talk to."
"Me?" She said, "How come? And how did you get this number? I'm not supposed to be getting phone calls at work unless it's an emergency."
"The number's a matter of public record Tracy." I told her. "And it's the only way I could think of to get hold of you. Sorry I had to bother you at work."
"That's okay." She said. "But what's wrong?"
"It's nothing immediate." I said. "But I think that there's a chance you might be in, well, in some danger."
"Danger?" She asked, alarmed. "What do you mean?"
"It's probably not a good idea to talk about this while you're at work." I replied. "And like I said, it's nothing immediate. But can you call me tonight when you get off work? Give me a time and I'll stay by the phone."
"Bill?" She asked. "I don't understand. What do you mean I'm in danger? You're in Washington and I'm in California. How could you know anything from there?"
"Tracy, I'll explain everything when you call. Or at least as much as I can. Will you please do it?"
A sigh. "Yes Bill." She answered. "Be by the phone at nine tonight."
"I will." I told her. "Thanks Tracy."
At nine o'clock sharp I was positioned by the phone in the den. When it rang I picked it up before it had a chance to get half a second into the first ring.
"Hello?" I said.
The operator told me I had a collect call from Tracy and asked if I would accept the charges. I told her I would.
"Okay Bill." Tracy said to me. In the background I could hear music and the squeal and giggles of many girls. I concluded she must be on the payphone in the dorm. "Tell me what this is all about."
"Well." I said. "Do you remember when I told you before that you should not get into a car with a certain person on a certain day?"
"Yes." She answered quietly. I could almost hear the shudder in her voice.
"Some disturbing things have happened lately." I went on. "Some things that lead me to believe that you are not exactly out of danger from that."
"What do you mean?" She asked. "I didn't get in that car that night and what you said was going to happen, happened without me. How could I still be in danger from that? Believe me, I'm still not going to get into a car with David Mitchell."
"That's the thing Tracy." I told her. "You didn't get into the car that night and Barbie Langston DID. But Barbie didn't die in the accident. She's still alive."
"So?" Tracy, obviously uncomfortable with the discussion, asked.
"So," I told her. "Some other things have happened that make me think, well this is going to sound crazy, that you were SUPPOSED to die in that car and that since you didn't, things are trying to re-align themselves the way they are SUPPOSED to be."
"Billy," She said angrily. "That is nuts. That's absolutely crazy! What do you mean I was SUPPOSED to die? I didn't. And I'm not going to die."
"Just promise me something Tracy." I asked her.