The fifth floor of the newly built apartment complex was not high enough to drown out the sirens of the passing ambulance, likely on its way to the slightly older emergency clinic down the street.  The curtains of the balcony drifted lightly on the breeze, the coolness of the evening wafting occasionally towards the bed.

The speaker/clock combo projected 4:03 AM in glowing numbers on the ceiling of the bedroom, as Celtic rock instrumentals thrummed out of the speaker, and those, combined with the passionate shuddering sounds from the bed, were, able to drown out the sounds of Crosswook below.

The sudden ring blaring out of the speaker altered the pattern from the couple in the bed, one breathlessly saying “Ignore it.”

While no verbal response could be heard, the ringing ended and the sounds of lovemaking began to resonate through the bed again.  As the panting increased in volume, the ringing blared out from the speakers again.

The distraction, loudly echoing over the speaker as the music automatically muted, resulted in a muffled, “God damn fucking bullshit.”

The silk sheet flew out towards the floor, and a woman rolled over towards the night stand holding a multitude of devices.  Her lover rolled onto the side, looking at her as she reached for the phone, with a snappish, “Who the fuck is calling you?  You just got off shift two hours ago. Fuck, Alani”

The woman slapped one phone down and picked up the other.  “It’s not mine, it’s yours.”

“I’m off today, let’s ignore it.”

“It’s not work.”

“Well, who the fuck is it?

“Doesn’t say. 701 P area code.”

“What? Give that to me.”  As she hands the phone over, the voice mail bleeps.

She clicks the icon for voice mail, then speaker phone, and hits play.  “Lindsay,” the voice is haggard, tired…..old, “call me.  Now,”  another long pause of just strained breathing, “please.”

As the message had played, the woman had reddened in sudden anger, but by the end of the short message, she’d gone pale, even for her.

“Lindsay, what’s wrong? Who was that?”

“My Dad.”

“Your Dad, at four in the fucking morning, after almost three years?”

Absently, Lindsay says, “It’s after six there.”

“So…..?” but Lindsay didn’t respond, she pulled up the contacts of her phone, selecting one, then hit dial.

It rang six times before a voice responded, “Hey……”

“Lukas, you….”

Then the recording continued, “for you old geezers that don’t know how to text, guess you can leave a message I won’t ever respond to……Lukas.” She should have recognized the younger voice, his voice had dropped an octave almost two years ago, when he passed six feet in height.

“Lindsay, I’m sure he’s fine.  Its six in the morning there, on a Saturday.  After the Homecoming football game.  I’m sure he’s just sleeping in.”

Lindsay nods, “I’m sure.”

She looked back at the phone, then pulled up the missed call message, and then selected callback.

The phone rang once, “Dunn County Sheriff’s Department, Deputy Keening.”

“Joel, put him on the phone.”

The deputy didn’t respond right away, then breathed in and said, “Sure, Lindsay.”  He covered the phone, but the shouted “Sheriff, line 1,” was plainly audible over the speaker phone.

“Sheriff Whitaker,” came over the phone gruffly.

“Dad?”

“Lindsay, I…..” followed by a deep sigh, “there’s a ticket for you on Southwest to Denver, departs from San Diego at 6:45 AM.  Then a United flight to Dickinson. “

“God damn it, Dad, what the fuck is wrong?  Is Lukas ok?”

The breathing on the other end was ragged, before the voice started to speak, then paused, then very quietly,  “I’ve got to go, honey, the ambulance is taking him to Dickinson right now.  I’ll meet you there.  Tommy will pick you up at the airport.”

“Dad…” and the tears are choking her, “please.”

“He’s alive, for now.  I have to go.  Call Tommy’s cell if you need anything.”