When he’s finished booking me into the system, I ask, “When do I get my phone call?”
“You can have it right now.” He lifts the receiver from a landline. “Who would you like to call?”
“My wife.”
I give him the number and watch him dial.
When it starts to ring, he hands me the receiver across the partition.
My heart is pounding.
Pick up, honey. Come on.
Voicemail.
I hear my voice, but it’s not my message. Did Jason2 rerecord it as a subtle marking of his territory?
I say to Officer Hammond, “She’s not answering. Would you hang up, please?”
He kills the call a second before the beep.
“Daniela probably didn’t recognize the number. Would you mind trying one more time?”
He dials again.
It rings again.
I’m wondering—if she doesn’t answer, should I risk just leaving a message?
No.
What if Jason2 heard it? If she doesn’t answer this time, I’ll have to figure out some other way to— “Hello?”
“Daniela.”
“Jason?”
Tears sting my eyes at the sound of her voice. “Yeah, it’s me.”
“Where are you calling from? It says Chicago Police on the caller ID. I thought it was one of those fraternal order charity things, so I didn’t—”
“I just need you to listen for a minute.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Something happened on my way to work. I’ll explain everything when—”
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, but I’m in jail.”
For a moment, it gets so quiet on the other end of the line that I can hear the NPR show she’s listening to in the background.
She says finally, “You got arrested?”
“Yeah.”
“For what?”
“I need you to come bail me out.”
“Jesus. What did you do?”
“Look, I don’t have all the time in the world right now to explain. This is kind of like my one phone call.”
“Should I call a lawyer?”
“No, just get down here as soon as you can. I’m at the Fourteenth District Precinct on…” I look to Hammond for the street address.
“North California Avenue.”
“North California. And bring your checkbook. Has Charlie already left for school?”
“Yeah.”
“I want you to pick him up and bring him with you when you come to get me. This is very—”
“Absolutely not.”
“Daniela—”
“I am not bringing my son to get his father out of jail. What the hell happened, Jason?”
Officer Hammond raps his knuckles on the Plexiglas and moves a finger across his throat.
I say, “My time’s up. Please get here as soon as you can.”
“Okay.”
“Honey.”
“What?”
“I love you so much.”
She hangs up.
—
My lonely holding cell consists of a paper-thin mattress on a concrete base.
Toilet.
Sink.
Camera over the door, watching me.
I lie in bed with the jail-issue blanket draped over me and stare at a patch of ceiling that I’m guessing has been studied by all manner of people in the throes of despair and hopelessness and poor decision-making.
What runs through my mind are the innumerable things that might go wrong, that could so easily stop Daniela from coming to me.
She could call Jason2 on his cell phone.
He could call her between classes just to say hi.
One of the other Jasons could decide to make his move.
If any one of those things happens, this entire plan will blow up spectacularly in my face.
My stomach hurts.
My heart is racing.
I try to calm myself down, but there’s no stopping the fear.
I wonder if any of my doppelg?ngers have anticipated this move. I try to take comfort in the idea that they couldn’t have. If I hadn’t seen that belligerent drunk at the bar last night, obnoxiously hitting on those women and getting thrown out by the bouncer, it would never have occurred to me to get myself arrested as a ploy to make Daniela and Charlie come to me in a safe environment.
What led to this decision was a unique experience that was mine alone.
Then again, I could be wrong.
I could be wrong about everything.
I get up, pace back and forth between the toilet and the bed, but there’s not much ground to cover in this six-by-eight-foot cell, and the more I pace, the more the walls seem to inch in closer until I can actually feel the claustrophobia of this room as a tightening in my chest.
It’s getting harder to breathe.
I move finally to the tiny window at eye level in the door.
Peer through into a sterile white hallway.
The sound of a woman crying in one of the neighboring cells echoes off the cinder-block walls.
She sounds so far beyond hope.
I wonder if it’s the same woman I saw in the booking room when I first arrived.
A guard walks by, holding another inmate by his arm above the elbow.
Returning to the bed, I curl up under the blanket and face the wall and try not to think, but it’s impossible.
It feels like hours have passed.
Why could it possibly be taking this long?
I can only think of one explanation.
Something happened.
She isn’t coming.
—
The door to my cell unlocks with a mechanized jolt that spikes my heart rate.