Chapter Text
It’s nearly 3 a.m. when your phone goes off, waking you up from deep sleep. Instinctively, you answer.
“Hello?” you say groggily, but there’s silence on the other end. You wait a few seconds before hanging up and rolling over. Almost instantly, it rings again, you pick up, more awake and more irritated this time, “Who is this??”
“Andrew,” the voice on the other line says softly. You sit up, not fully believing that it’s Andrew Cody. But it sounds exactly like him. The last time you saw him was nearly five years ago. From the moment you met him, you knew there was something…off about him. But you liked him. That is, until he told you about smothering some woman with her child in the next room. You cut all contact, not wanting to be involved with a murderer. And, you remember hearing something about his big prison break. You remember the shock of hearing they found a body, they found his body, Andrew Cody’s. Even bigger, the incredible amount of horrible things he and his family had done. Murders, robberies, kidnappings, it was all insane and hard to believe the awkward guy you met at church could do all of it. Nervously, the voice asks, “Are you still there?”
The sound of his voice snaps you back to the present, “Andrew? I thought…” You trail off, in shock, you’re getting a call from a dead man. It has to be some sort of sick joke.
“I know. I’m sorry,” you hear his voice start to quaver, and he steadies it with a deep sigh. “I need you to come here. I need you.” You’re at a loss for words, so he takes the silence as a chance to keep talking. “I am in Mexico. I have a new life, a good and honest life. I bought us a ranch. Like from your Pinterest boards?” You hear the pure, almost innocent sound of hope in his voice.
The absurdity of it all forces out a laugh from you. Andrew Cody is calling to talk about a ranch. And Pinterest boards. The murderer, crime boss Andrew Cody who died 5 years ago. “Is this some kind of sick joke?” you ask flatly.
“No, I swear. I never wanted to leave you. I know I scared you,” he says. You can almost see his big puppy eyes, the ones you used to adore. You’d never admit it, but you do miss the way he’d look up at you.
“Andrew…” you say hesitantly. “Should you be calling me?”
“I have to. I need to hear your voice, to make sure you’re okay,” he says, this time with the firmness you distinctly remember. “I want you to come live with me. I need you to come live with me.”
You can hear your heartbeat thumping in your ears. Despite everything, you held a soft spot for Andrew. Even after everything came out about his family. Maybe it’s naive, but you chose to hold onto the idea that he could be changed. That everything he did wasn’t really his fault. “Andrew, I can’t. I have a job and a life here. My friends and my family…”
“I know, but we could have a life. I need you to listen very closely. Under your bed, way in the back, up by the headboard. There’s a vent. I put some cash in there when we were together. There’s more than enough for you to come down here,” he says, as if it would be that easy. “Please come down here.”
“Andrew…” you say, and this time, it’s your voice that is starting to quake.
“There’s a slip of paper with coordinates. It’s where I am. I know it’s a lot, but you have to trust me. I have enough money to last us several lifetimes. And we can go anywhere you want, we don’t even have to stay here,” he says, trying to get as much out as he can, as if he’s scared you’ll hang up. “But you’ll like it here. We have some cows and goats. And horses, I know you like horses. There are a few chickens, too. Anything you want, I’ll get it for you,” he continues, talking incredibly fast and desperate now.
“I don’t know, Andrew. I don’t even really know you,” you say softly. You can audibly hear him inhale, as if he’s trying to come up with the right words before saying them to you. Deep down, you want to go. You like how casually he says we too, as if you already have a life built together.
“You do know me. Just come here, if you don’t want to stay, you can leave anytime,” he says, “I have thought about you every single day since we last talked,” he adds, letting the pure desperation show in his voice.
“I’ve thought about you too,” you say, and it feels…good to admit that out loud. You really have been thinking about him. The last day you hung out, he confessed about a murder to you. You distinctly remember not just the terror you felt, but how Andrew fell to his knees, sobbing. The look of deep regret on his face was something you weren’t sure you’d ever be able to forget. Slowly, you get out of bed and bend down to look at the vent he mentioned. Sure enough, just by prying at it with your fingers, it pops off, and you see stacks of cash and a crumpled-up piece of paper. You’re curious when he had the time to put this there. And why did he put it there?
Hearing the vent hit the floor, Andrew says, “So you’ll come? Even if it's just for the weekend?”
Picturing those damn puppy eyes, you exhale before responding, “Okay. I’ll come, Andrew, but only for the weekend, okay?”
You can hear his smile now, “Okay, okay, yes. Everything is ready for you here. I’ve been waiting for you for a while. I have missed you.” His pacing back and forth stops, and he looks out the window, picturing you walking down the pathway.
“I missed you, too, Andrew,” you say. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” You say it confidently, but it sounds weird hearing yourself out loud. He was always exceptionally sweet to you. Maybe he didn’t do all the bad things they claimed he did.
“Okay,” he says as you hang up, you can picture the toothy grin he has. Sucking in a deep breath, you both know it’ll be longer than a weekend. You didn’t really care for your dead-end job anyway. And how evil can a man really be if he saves his situationship’s dream life Pinterest board and turns it into a reality, without even being asked?