Chapter 11 - Same Time Next New Year's

It feels like I slept for maybe a minute before sunlight starts blasting against my closed eyes. I groan.

By the time I eventually fell asleep last night, I only got maybe an hour or two of sleep before I had to go on Mission: Rescue Liz. Sitting up slowly, I stretch my hands up while yawning wide. I let my breath out and reach over to the nightstand for my phone.

It’s not there.

I groan. I must have left it in the car. I stand up and walk to the bathroom, peeing quickly before brushing my teeth. I tiptoe towards the couch to find Liz still passed out, so I grab my keys and quickly run outside to grab my phone from the car.

Shivers overtake me immediately, and it feels like it’s colder today than it was yesterday. I pull my sweater up around my mouth as I speed walk to my car. I unlock it and poke my head in but I still don’t see it.

I frown. Where could it be?

I look for a few more minutes, checking under every seat and all the cracks it could have possibly fallen into, but there’s no sign of it. I let out a frustrated sigh before locking my car and heading back inside.

When I’m back in my apartment, I find Liz’s purse on the floor next to her shoes. I bend down and pick it up, looking through it until I find her phone. I open it and pull my contact information up to call my phone. It goes right to voicemail.

Shit.

It must be dead.

Did I leave it at the club I picked her up from last night? I do a quick search of my place, before finding the number to call. There’s no answer on my first try, but when I call again there’s a groggy voice that says, “Hello?”

“Hi, I think I left my phone at your building last night. Would you please be able to check for me?” I ask as upbeat and politely as I can.

“Sure, hold on,” the voice grunts before there are some sounds of shuffling. A few seconds pass before the voice says, “Okay we have three phones turned in. What does yours look like?”

I tell her the make and model and then add, “It has a bright purple and blue striped case, and there’s a silver ring on the back that’s used for like, uh, holding it and propping it up?” I poorly try to explain.

“No, sorry. That phone isn’t here,” they say. My stomach drops.

“Oh.” I try to think of what to do. “Would it be okay if I stopped by and just, I don’t know, looked around a bit?”

“We’re closed today for the holiday. You can come tomorrow, but our security and clean up crew is really good at checking for these things and turning them in. Unfortunately, if personal items like that are left around, they’re usually stolen and not turned in. It’s most likely gone.”

I bite down on my frustration and retort, “Okay. Thank you so much for your help.” I hang up after they answer.

I must stand there for a few minutes because when I hear Liz call my name behind me, I startle before turning around. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” she croaks, looking like she’s about to pass out again.

“It’s fine,” I tell her. “If you’re going to be sick, please use the bowl I left on the floor or preferably go to the bathroom.” And maybe I spoke too soon because her eyes get big really fast and she hurriedly jumps off the couch and over the bowl as she scrambles to the bathroom. I sigh, walking to the kitchen to get her a glass of water and some pain medicine.

A few minutes later she slowly makes her way out of the bathroom and towards the couch. “I’m never drinking again.”

I walk in her direction. “You say that every time you drink.” I laugh, handing her the medicine and the water.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“I can’t find my phone,” I tell her. “I called the club you were at last night, but they said they didn’t have it. They told me that there’s a good chance it was stolen. But I’m going to drive there and look around the parking lot. Maybe I just dropped it.”

“Okay,” she mumbles, placing the glass on the end table before she slinks back down and closes her eyes.

“I’m taking your phone with me,” I tell her.

“Okay,” she says again in a quiet mumble.

I sigh with frustration as I put my jacket on and head out once again.

I’ve looked everywhere. My phone is gone.

I scan every inch of that parking lot and around the club. Someone from inside must have seen me looking around because they pop their head out to see if I needed help.

“I think I lost my phone here last night,” I explain.

“Oh, you’re the one who called,” the woman grumbles. “Do you want to look around inside since I’m here? She reaches up and scratches the back of her head before brushing a few flyaway tendrils of black hair away from her face. I follow her inside, and she helps me look, but we have no luck.

Then I spend about two hours driving around, hoping maybe if I somehow left it on top of the car before driving away, I would find it on the side of the road. But that’s wishful thinking. I have to accept that it might have been stolen.

I yell out a cry of frustration as I stomp back up the steps into my apartment and close the door behind me. Liz has showered and is currently wearing some of my clothes as she sits all bundled up on my couch watching TV.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, her eyes still slightly red and her face a bit pale.

“My phone is just”—I throw my keys on the counter—“gone.”

“Oh no,” she cries.

“I looked everywhere,” I say in defeat.

She sighs and then asks, “Did you try to find your location using my phone?”

“Yeah,” I tell her, shrugging my coat off and hanging it up. “But it’s either dead or was intentionally turned off. So it’s just showing me the last time it was used, which was at the club.”

“I’m so sorry,” she says sadly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to call my provider to let them know and ask for their advice. Maybe they can shut it off until I can either find it or tell me how to get a new phone. Can I use your phone again?”

“Of course,” she answers. I mumble my thanks before unlocking her phone and looking up the number.

I spend about thirty minutes going through the automated voice before I finally get connected to an actual human. But then I basically answer all of the same questions again while I explain the situation.

“Did you back up your contacts and account information?” the woman on the phone asks me.

“Uh, I don’t know,” I say honestly. “I’ve never had to do that before, so maybe not?” I say, but it comes out as a question.

“Okay, and you said you think it was stolen?” she asks.

“I don’t know for sure, but it’s a big possibility,” I answer.

“Okay, you might want to consider a police report then.”

“A police report? For my missing phone?” I ask, surprised.

“If you think it’s stolen, yes. That way if it turns up, they know who it belongs to,” she answers. “To be safe we should shut everything down—completely disable your phone. This will help protect your personal information and keep possible hackers out. Do you have your number connected to any other devices?”

I think before saying, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Okay. If it was stolen, it’s possible for hackers to use your phone number to get into online accounts and even steal money from your bank account,” she tells me. “We recommend to people that had their phones stolen to change their numbers completely.”

I swallow back my groan of annoyance and say, “Okay. What does that entail?”

I spend more time listening to her recommendations and instructions as dread sinks deeper and deeper into my gut. I’ve had the same number since high school. It’s going to take a long time to update everything.

What a great start to the new year.