‘Apple?’
‘Yes. I even have ice cream to serve with it. Now call.’
Jeff dialed. And held his breath as the phone rang. At the last minute, he put it on speaker, so that his mother could hear, too. He’d lain awake all night, his mind concocting terrible images of Mercy hurting herself because of what he’d allowed to happen to her. People killed themselves over less than this, he’d thought, over and over until he’d been ready to tear his hair out.
Yes, he was dramatic, but if Mercy wasn’t all right, he wasn’t going to be in any shape to repeat the conversation to his mom.
‘Hello?’ It was a girl. She sounded young. ‘Sokolov residence. How can I help you? And if you’re a telemarketer, just give it up right now.’
He coughed on a surprised laugh. ‘Um, hello. This is Jeff Bunker. May I speak with Mrs Sokolov?’
‘She’s not here right now. Can I take a message?’
‘Oh. Okay. Yeah.’ He organized his thoughts.
‘Is that the message? “Oh. Okay. Yeah”?’ the girl asked, her tone laced with humor.
It put him enough at ease that he could get real words out. ‘I was calling to check on Miss Callahan. I know she won’t want to speak with me, but I was up all night worrying and—’ He cut himself off. ‘I’m rambling.’
‘It’s okay,’ the girl said gently. ‘And Mercy is okay. She appreciated you getting that video taken down and she understood why you didn’t call the cops about Miss Romero’s body right away. The man you saw is scary. She knows that better than anyone.’
So there was history there. I knew it! He was about to ask, then caught his mother’s challenging glare. ‘Thank you,’ he said instead. ‘I’m glad she’s okay. If you could tell your mother that I called and, if she can, to please call me back. My article has sent a lot of people to my own blog and my YouTube channel.’
‘I know,’ the girl said, unimpressed. ‘One of them was me. You have some decent writing skills, Mr Bunker, but you’re wasting your time on that gossip trash.’
Part of him preened. But most of him stayed focused. ‘Thank you, and you’re right that it was trash. That’s why I wanted to talk to Mrs Sokolov. I read online that she and her husband do a lot of charity work. I was hoping they could give me some advice for how to use my fifteen minutes of fame to do something good.’
His mother gave him a proud smile.
‘Oh,’ the girl said softly. ‘I’ll tell her. It’ll be a while before she calls you, so don’t be worried. We had a family emergency and Mom had to go out of town, but I’ll pass this on to her.’
He wanted to ask about the emergency, but his mother’s lifted brows kept him on task. ‘Thank you,’ he said again. ‘Maybe I should contact her by email if she’s dealing with an emergency. She doesn’t need to call me back. Does she have an email?’
‘Uh, yes,’ she said, like he’d asked if her mother had a pulse.
‘I can give you my email so that you can forward it to her.’
‘Oh, I can find your email. I’ve been on your blog and YouTube channel, remember?’
He smiled at that. ‘Can I ask who I’m speaking to?’
‘Zoya,’ she said. ‘I’m the youngest Sokolov. Listen, I saw you from my window yesterday and I thought you were pretty brave to face my brother and Gideon. They can be formidable when they’re upset and they were very upset with you. But now they’re not, so . . . good on you. Stay safe, okay? The man you saw is . . . well, he’s really dangerous, but you knew that already.’
Something in her tone had the hairs lifting at the back of his neck. ‘He’s done something else?’
Zoya hesitated, then sighed. ‘Yes. I can’t tell you any more than to stay safe and keep your eyes open. He is not in custody. Yet.’
‘Okay. Got it. Thanks again. You stay safe, too.’ He ended the call and met his mother’s eyes. ‘Did I do good?’
His mother pulled him close to kiss his forehead. ‘You did. Now I’m going to make us supper.’
‘And pie!’
‘And pie. Go gather your dirty socks.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
Jeff went to his room, fully intending to pick up his dirty socks, but his gaze fell on his computer and he suddenly knew what he needed to do. First he needed to write a retraction of all of the lies that had ended up in his article about Mercy Callahan. And then he’d do some real good.
Instead of focusing on the aftermath of her February abduction, he focused on the impact of the media bullying of victims of assault – of all kinds. He apologized to Mercy and all of the victims who’d been shamed publicly after already having endured an assault. He offered his platform to those victims, giving them a place to tell their stories.
If they wanted to read their own stories on his YouTube channel, he would upload them. If they wanted him to read what they’d written, he’d do that, too. He would keep their identities secret and he’d offer space for crisis counselors to publicize the services they offered.
It was the least he could do. He wanted to do this correctly, though. Rather than posting it right away, he pulled up the email from Irina Sokolov, who’d contacted him less than an hour after he’d spoken with her daughter. She’d said she’d be more than happy to work with him on productive uses of his platform, and she’d copied in Daisy Dawson, who’d responded just as positively.
He hit REPLY ALL, attached the article, then typed his message.
Dear Mrs Sokolov and Miss Dawson,
Thank you for offering to help me not only make amends for the emotional damage to Miss Callahan I inflicted, but also for helping me grow as a person. I don’t want to be the person who allowed that article to be written. Even though the video was uploaded without my knowledge, I accepted it from my source without consideration of the possible outcomes. As my mother says, I got in over my head. Thank you for helping me to start digging my way out.
I’ve attached a proposal for use of my existing platform. I won’t have the spotlight for much longer, so I’d like to give it to those who can make the best use of it for as long as it lasts. If you would take a look and tell me what you think, I’d be grateful.
Best regards,
Jeffrey Bunker
He hit SEND and closed his laptop. It wasn’t enough, not nearly enough. Pushing away from his desk, he stood to look in the mirror over his dresser. The face that looked back at him was tired. But determined.
‘Jeffy?’ his mother asked from the open doorway of his room. ‘I was calling you to come to dinner, but I guess you didn’t hear me. Are you okay?’