I lost touch with their conversation when I noticed my beer tasted funny. Then, a wave of nausea struck me, and I leaned back on the bench seat.
“Lane, it’s happening again!” Adele’s voice grabbed me. I look up at her pale face.
Immediately I understood. Feeling around in my jacket front pocket, I pulled out a handkerchief that Adele slid in earlier that day. I pushed the cloth against my eyes as a blinding headache hit me.
I know I have no choice. They have to go on their own.
“I’m sorry, babe. That bitch isn’t letting me leave,” I told Adele, as my sight goes a fuzzy red.
“Adele, get Sally to Sacramento and both of you use your maiden names...call me at the office...leave a message...with Alice.”
I catch a glimpse of Sally, who’s staring openmouthed at the appalling sight across the table.
“I promise that... I’ll get ahold of you,” my voice sounds frantic because I’m giving out everything that I can think of through the growing agony inside my head.
“Don’t call anyone... promise me that... ahh... damn it, I won’t make it if I go on with you.”
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