Page 84 of I Am the Messenger

When I turn the corner and see the phone booth, I discover a big problem--there's someone in it.

"Well, I don't care what she says," a very large teenage girl with a navel ring booms inside the box. "It has nothing to do with me...."

I can't help it.

I think, Get out of there, you silly bitch.

But she only gets more articulate.

One minute, I decide. I'll give her one minute and then I'm going in.

She sees me but clearly couldn't care less. She turns around and continues talking.

Right. I'm going in, and I knock on the glass.

She responds by turning around and asking, "What?" The word is spoken like gunshot.

I try manners. "Sorry to bother you, but I really need to make an urgent call."

"Piss off, mate!" She's not happy, to say the least.

"Look!" I hold up my hands and show her the blood on my palms. "A friend of mine just had an accident and I have to call an ambulance...."

She talks into the phone again. "Kel? Yeah, I'm back. Listen, I'll call you back in a minute." She stares at me obscenely when she says that. "Okay?"

When she hangs up, she saunters out and I can smell a mixture of her sweat and deodorant inside the booth. It isn't too charming, but it isn't a smell of Doorman proportions, either.

I shut the door and dial.

Three rings and Daniel Rose picks up the phone.

"Yeah, hello."

I whisper, nice and hard. "Now you listen to me--if you go down to the bush at the end of your street, you'll find your brother in a pretty bad way. I strongly suggest you get down there."

"Who is this?"

I hang up.

"Thank you," I say to the girl on my way out.

"There better not be any blood on the phone."

Nice girl.

Back on the Roses' street, I make it just in time to see.

Daniel Rose is helping his brother walk back to their house. I'm far away, but I can see him supporting him, with his arm around his shoulder. For the first time, they look like brothers.

I even let myself imagine some words for them.

Come on, Gav, you can make it. We'll get you home and fix you up.

There is blood on my hands and blood at the bottom of the street. I hope for a moment that they both understand what they're doing and what they're proving.

I want to tell them, but I realize that all I do is deliver the message. I don't decipher it or make sense of it for them. They need to do that themselves.

I can only hope they're capable as I make my way home to some running water and the Doorman.