Firefly

57: head on fire

Chapter 57: head on fire.

Justin 

I hang up with a meld of annoyance and distress. This is so unlike her. 37 missed calls in the last three hours and still nothing. My patience was ticking like a self-destructing grenade. 

In the first hour, I thought something had come up. Her father might have caught her, or Dylan could have held her back, or she might have even begun a late Christmas argument. I called her once in ten minutes for the next hour. After two hours of silence, I grew worried. 

She would've at least left me a message if something came up. If this is her way of torturing an insomniac, she's playing a dirty game. My temper and her safety go hand in hand. Unless I know she's safe, I know I won't calm down. 

The grandfather clock in my living room chimes at 12 am. Three hours and still no answer. I grab my car keys and head out of the house. Nine minutes later, I'm right in front of the Summer Residence. 

Nine minutes. That's how fast I made it. What's taking her three fucking hours? 

I study the calm white house—no sound of trashing, yelling, or screaming. The Christmas lights have stopped glowing and the snow is partially moved but there is no sign of fights. I call her once more time and end up with 38 missed calls. 

I choose to stake my life when I dial Dylan. He doesn't pick up on the first call so I try him again. What is with Summers' snubbing me tonight? 

"Justin, I know you need entertainment at this hour but I badly need to fucking sleep." Dylan's sleepy voice growls at me. 

I wait until I hear another person's voice. "Who's it?" Nate asks Dylan. Dylan probably showed him the caller ID because I hear Nate groan. 

I clear my throat. Okay, I'm going for the dive. "Is Elena there?" 

The silence is like a knife hanging above my head. Dylan moves, probably jolting up into a seating position at the sound of her name. "She obviously must be in her room. Why?" 

I clench my jaw. "Put her on." 

Silence again. Dylan must be wondering how I got the nerve to utter these words to him. I don't care if I have to apologize for this, I need to know she's safe even if she's decided not to answer my calls. 

"Why?" Dylan precedes the confusion I expected him to be in. 

"What does he want?" Nate mutters in a drawl but I somehow manage to hear it. 

"He wants to speak to Elena." Dylan sighs. "Justin, it's pretty late and all of us are tired so can you talk to her--What the hell, Nate?" 

I figure the phone has been snatched. Nate clears his throat. "Isn't she with you?" 

I freeze. His sleep is probably the excuse for his dumbness. "If she was with me do you think we'd be having this conversation?" 

"But she left to meet you." He pauses. "Three fucking hours ago." 

"What the fuck?" Dylan yells. "You helped her escape--is that why you've been talking to me? To distract me and make sure I don't do something responsible like stopping her?" I hear two groans before two doors open. "Great, she's not here." 

"And she's not with Justin either," Nate mutters. 

Then where the fuck is she? 

I know the identical thought is running in the minds of Dylan and Nate. I hit the steering wheel with open palms because no, my normal conclusions were wrong. I should've trusted my instinct. I should've offered to pick her up instead because she's missing for the last three hours and none of us had a clue about it.