"I'm sure he's just buying something," Edward offered. The buzzing sound of unintelligible conversations filled the air. Servers moved deftly between tables, taking orders and shuttling food and drinks. A sudden afternoon breeze made a whirlwind of paper napkins that threw the room into frenzied snatching.

But Claire was oblivious to everything except the ringing phone in her hand, her countenance becoming more worried with every ring.

"What can I get you?" A server asked.

"Give us a minute!" Claire faintly heard Edward answer.

The couple at the table next to them clinked their glasses. Claire glared. Where is he?

"It just goes to voice mail. I don't understand. He was right behind me," Claire explained as if reassuring herself. Her brow furrowed.

"I'm going to go look for him!" She started to get up.

"Wait here. I'm sure he's just talking to another beautiful heiress," Edward teased.

Claire's murdering look pierced him. He used the dazzling grin that had always gotten him out of trouble as a boy.

"It's best to wait, C. He knew you were coming to this restaurant. I'm sure he'll be here momentarily." Edward's calming voice did nothing to assail Claire's fears.

The crashing sound of glasses brought the restaurant to almost total silence as a server dropped a tray of beverages and caused a collective cringe.

Claire looked up from the ringing phone.

"I swear I'm buying him a new phone. That clunker he has is probably dead," she forced a smile, her mind a storm of scenarios, each one worse as time passed.

"We'll treat you real nice," the raspy voice of her captor flashed in her mind. Her eyes watered, and she trembled.

Edward reached over and squeezed her forearm in reassurance.

She sent a text.

[Roger, where are you? I'm at the restaurant. There's someone special I want you to meet.]

Her eyes glued to the screen, imploring for a reply. Did they take him? I should call Mr. Doyle.

The server returned, but before he could utter a word.

"Just give us a minute, okay?" Claire snapped.

"Got any husbands on the menu? My cousin seems to have lost hers," Edward quipped.

She cringed, "I'm sorry. I'm just in the middle of an important call. We'll call you, okay?" She added sheepishly.

The waiter smiled. "Don't worry, mam. I'll be right over there," he said, pointing to a station a few tables away. Just call when you're ready." His cheerful attitude made Claire cringe further.

She took a deep breath. You're worrying me, babe.

Then her phone beeped.

[Returning to NYC. I hope you have a nice reunion with your special friend.]

She read it. Then, read it again. A murdering look drew on her face. The veins in her neck bulging. That jealous idiot!

"I'm going to kill him!" She yelled. Edward cringed.

A few seconds passed. Possibilities considered and discarded. How would he get to NYC? The bus station!

She had noticed it kitty-corner to the wharf.

She jumped out of her chair, sending it crashing with a horrendous clatter. Apprehension gripped her.

She ran out, not waiting for Edward. That idiot!

The tables around them grew quiet—their attention on the receding figure.

Edward hurriedly followed.

He wanted to crawl inside himself, arms wrapped in a protective self-hug. With his eyes closed, he sat in the very last row. The smell of a not-often-used toilet mixed with the odor of old air conditioner in need of repair filled his nostrils. The sound of tires on the road was the only thing that broke his silence in the mostly empty bus. Again, he thought.

Luckily, when he crossed the street to the bus station, the express to New York City was about to leave.

The image of Claire leaping into the arms of a man replayed over and over. He became smaller. Long-forgotten wounds bled afresh. Aches suppressed by the years surfaced. His chest caved, and years of tears flowed.

Self-recrimination washed over him as the bus ate the miles. His phone vibrated insistently as it had long ago. He ignored it. I should know that history repeats itself.

The musky scent of worn seats blended into the background as he spiraled into his memories—a bus ride to New York a decade before. Then I had 200k; now I have almost nothing.

The insistent vibration stopped, and the phone dinged. It's not the first time I've gone hungry a few days.

[Roger, where are you? I'm at the restaurant. There's someone special I want you to meet.]

His jaw tightened. It took all his will not to rip the seat apart.

"Special," the word reaffirmed his doubts and pierced his bleeding heart anew. His breath caught as the image of a girl from long ago flooded his mind.

"He's just a special friend—" he heard her words again.

I shouldn't have accepted the old man's whims. So what if I slept in the park for a few days?

His life was doing well before that crazy old man!

Minutes of deliberate breathing passed. He reasserted his will and pushed, buried, squashed the pain.

Get a job. Go back to school. He wished he had Father Rivera to talk to. Maybe one of the other priests at St. Mary's.

He sighed, wiped the tears from his eyes, took the phone, and replied to the text. She's better off with someone like her.

[Returning to NYC. I hope you have a nice reunion with your special friend.]

I'll deal with those people if they show up again. If I'm not with Claire, they'll leave her alone.

His thoughts wandered back to a decade ago. His family gone. His girlfriend with another. His heart broken into so many pieces he no longer had one. He'd survived then. He'd survive now.

"...mzzzkhrmmmph...grzzlnk...vvvvshhhrmmm...in 10 minutes," the bus driver announced as the bus stopped.

Passenger descended. Roger stayed in his seat, oblivious to his surroundings.

He recalled the first time he saw New York. The anticipation. He was full of possibilities. Then he remembered being woken in the middle of the night. Two cops bagging on the back of the bench where he slept. Homeless. The insurance money pissed away on fake friends. He'd made it then.

Passengers filed back in. Two new faces came on. Roger made eye contact with one of them. He saw as they whispered between themselves. At another time, Roger would have paid attention and prepared, but in his current state, he paid no heed.

His eyes shut, and he slept lightly.

His head hitting the window woke him. The bus swerved as the driver overcompensated, trying to bring the iron monster to heel.

A child cried.

The screeching sound of metal on metal as the bus scraped the guardrail was followed by sudden acceleration as if a rubber band had launched the vehicle. There was a moment of weightlessness, broken by a deafening crash.

Detachedly, he heard the screams of pain that surrounded him.

Rolling. Confusion. Glass shards covered him. He lay on the roof, a broken light fixture cutting into his cheek.

"... I'll be your proper wife..." Then black.

Claire and Edward jumped out of the helicopter the moment it touched down. Five hundred yards away, a beehive of police from every conceivable department swarmed the scene.

Flashes illuminated the dusk as NTSB experts preserved every inch of the site.

Further back, a cavalcade of ambulances tended to the injured on the road. Beside them, the coroner's van and two bodies under grey sheets, waiting for transport.

The blue and red flashing lights reminiscent of a macabre nightclub. The scene buzzed with unintelligible voices, barked commands, and radio chatter. The squelching sound of radios the melody of this symphony.

A captain stepped away from the fray and hurried to meet them.

"My brother-in-law was on that bus. Where is he?" Edward interrogated the man even before pleasantries could be exchanged.

"We have three missing passengers, congressman," the Captain answered.

"Where is my husband?" Claire demanded frantically.

"Your husband and two Mexican nationals listed on the passenger list are missing, Mrs. Williams," he answered. Then, as if trying to reassure her, he added, "He isn't in the wreckage or anywhere in the surroundings. We've checked every inch." Apprehension and concern were marked on his face.

These people again. The image of her captors flashed briefly.

I'm going to eradicate every last one of them! She would get her husband back. She pulled out her phone and dialed Mr. Doyle.

A pivotal moment in the story. Where is Roger?

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