036

June took one last look at herself in the mirror: a simple and rather loose ponytail, barely-there makeup, grey skinny jeans, light-blue tank-top, cream chunky knit cardigan and Converse sneakers. She wasn’t unfamiliar with backpacking and the façade felt perfectly natural. She’d spent half the morning packing so she mentally went through her checklist one last time, wishing she’d had one more day or two to prepare better, but she didn’t. There was no time. No time. Just one more thing left: she pulled the birth-control pills tablet from the drawer and swallowed the last one, then took a new, complete tablet and wrote the date a week from then on the back so she wouldn’t forget to begin taking them again.

Stepping back into her bedroom, she found Marco lying on the bed, hands crossed behind his neck, legs dangling from the edge, light-brown eyes vaguely staring at the ceiling. She put the pill tablet on one of the exterior pockets of the backpack, sat on the edge of the bed and laid back next to him before sighing deeply.

“You sure you feel well enough to travel? You still look somewhat pale”, Marco said, turning his face to her, unable to hide his genuine concern. He smelled like the gods, as usual, and not one of his light-brown hairs was out of place in his gelled head. He’d unknowingly pronounced the exact same words Jon had the previous night before saying goodbye to June. As she had then, June once again admitted to herself that she didn’t feel at her best, the food poisoning first and then Jon’s 18-hour visit to blame. Not that she complained, though, the mere recollection of those 18 hours of exquisite memories made her flesh quiver. She sighed inwardly: only two weeks and a secretive, risky enterprise stood now between them.   

“I’m gonna be alright, don’t worry”, she swallowed, then nodded silently in a private gesture of self-assurance.

“Well… you got Martin to take care of you, no?”, he wiggled his eyebrows and flashed a perfect grin.

“Don’t be stupid”, June rolled her eyes and shook her head. “This is strictly professional”.

“Strictly professional and so…romantic”, he hinted, trying hard not to laugh at June’s attempt of indignant chortle. He’d also noticed how Jon looked at her at the party, and it almost made him feel envious. June’s “brake” from relationships was taking far more time than was acceptable according to Marco’s standards, and he was starting to get frustrated by June’s reluctance to take a lover. Why, having so many admirers – the look of some of which made Marco weak in the knees -, she would still choose to be alone was something he was incapable of understanding, no matter how empathetic he might be.

“Let’s go before I seriously start believing we’re 12-year-olds, shall we?”, she said, sitting first and then standing up. Marco was a gossip addict, if he ever got a hold of the fact that June and Martin would be playing the part of an engaged couple, or that her heart belonged completely, and forever, to Jon, the whole world would know in less than 12 hours.  

They arrived at the bus station almost at the same time as Martin, 40 minutes before the 12 am bus.

“You take good care of her, Martin”, Marco said, extending his hand to the blonde man who was now sporting a pale-blonde stubble as part of the backpacker look.  

“You have my word”, Martin smiled and shook Marco’s hand.

As they took their seats on the bus, June allowed herself to imagine herself curled on Jon’s lap on the terrace of the cabin by the lake. Only two weeks, she repeated as a mantra. Everything’s gonna turn out right.

In fact, what would happen next was anyone’s guess, but June was completely certain that her plans did not include anything like what actually happened.

…

Back in the US, Jon was absorbed by a hectic schedule: squeezed between concerts, TV appearances, press interviews and photo sessions, he found time to spend with his kids and take care of the divorce proceedings. He hated the lawyers, the court, and the judges, so he was infinitely thankful for having married, and now, divorcing, a woman like Dorothea. If ever he had nursed doubts about how she’d react in the event of a divorce, she had managed to prove him wrong, and they were able to settle custody and the division of assets outside of court. Jon knew his ex-wife’s character: she couldn’t care less about the money or the properties, and she, in turn, knew Jon well enough to know that he’d always take care of her as if they were still married, even if it was just to upset her potential future husband. That was just how Jon was. The fact that they’d already completed the period of official separation, made everything run a lot more smoothly.

The one thing that was still thousands of miles out of place was June. The fact that she’d be going with Martin wasn’t the problem (June had proved, in a very convincing way, that Martin didn’t stand a chance), the problem was that Jon couldn’t contact her directly, but instead had to wait for her to call, to which was added the extra difficulty of his constant traveling. In spite of all the obstacles, they had managed to agree on a few phone-dates that usually fell somewhere around 1am NY time.

Until one day Jon was reminded of what is really the loudest sound of all: the one of a telephone not ringing. Even if he were standing in the center of a stadium packed with thousands of roaring fans, he’d still be able to hear it. And the days passed, and the sound kept getting louder and louder.

…

It was well past midnight when Richie walked into Jon’s office and closed the door behind him with one hand, while he held a bottle of beer on the other. Even after closing the door, the chatting, music and laughs from the living room were clearly heard inside the room. The band hadn’t gotten together in a while and it was good to hang out together again, the house felt full of life and there  was a cheerful atmosphere, but it was immediately clear to all of them that it wasn’t quite the right time for Jon, and they all automatically credited his divorce for his grim mood. They’d supported each other through divorces and ugly breakups before, and this wasn’t going to be the exception, so everyone tried their best to keep the spirits up. However, at one point he announced he “needed a minute” and retired to his office. When the minute turned into 10, the burgundy-jeans-clad guitar player decided it was time to check on his long-time friend. When last he’d looked, June and Jon were back together, waiting for Jon’s divorce to be finalised so they could go public, so something was clearly wrong.

“Wanna talk about it?”, Richie offered and took a sit on the armchair next to the one Jon was sitting on, between them stood a round coffee-table with a small lamp and an amethyst ashtray on it. The ashtray was packed with cigarette butts and ashes, and thin smoke swirled up from it and from the cigarette held by Jon’s fingers.

“She told me it would be difficult for her to communicate, but we’ve been talking regularly”, Jon took another puff of cigarette and, holding the smoke in, continued, almost breathlessly. “Rushed…impersonal calls, anyway”. He let out the smoke while he quickly recalled. “She was supposed to come back almost a week ago, remember?”, Jon began and Richie acknowledged with a quick nod. “Then nine days ago I got this”, Jon stretched his torso and reached with his hands for the answering machine. As they both listened to the message, Jon held a blank look, while Richie’s expression turned from concentrated to baffled as the seconds passed.

“Look, Jon, something’s come up and I’m not gonna make it there on Monday…I’ve had to prolong my stay here… one more week, perhaps.  I still don’t know…I’m so sorry. I might not be able to call you for a bit…I’ll call you when I get back home, OK? Love you”

A long moment of silence followed.

“And no word yet”, was Richie’s easy guess, he rubbed his parted chin with his index and thumb. Jon softly lulled his head, his lips in a pout. “What does John say?”, asked Richie.

“He hasn’t mentioned her for a while, and I haven’t either, just…you know…”, all the not telling and lying finally seemed ludicrous. “And now apparently all the Cohens are boycotting my phone-calls ‘cause I haven’t been able to reach him either“, Jon finished.

Jon spared Richie the part when after 5 missed calls, devoured by anxiety, he’d called practically every person in his contact list that could have any idea of where he or his sister were, to absolutely no avail. After a couple more hours of pacing around the house like a caged animal, smoking one cigarette after the other, all his objections to her trip, his apprehension and fears that he’d kept to himself felt more and more solid with every minute that passed to the point that they felt like another piece of furniture in an already packed room, suffocating him. He’d put on his leather jacket, his black denim jeans and his heavy-work boots and had stomped in John’s apartment’s direction, only to be informed by Stanley, the doorman-slash-undercover-surrealist-poet, that John had left the apartment late in the afternoon and had not returned. He was accompanied by what seemed to be two officers in dark grey suits.

“I’m sure that if there was anything wrong, you should’ve heard by now”, reasoned Richie, trying to sound more convinced than he really was. “Why don’t you have some sleep, man? You look like shit”, he added, and immediately felt the air lighten when he heard Jon’s soft chuckle.

…

After everyone left and Richie retired to his bedroom, Jon went through the possibilities once again. He counted them, classified them and narrowed them down to the ones most probable in between the two extremes. If luck was on his side, John would have found out what had happened between his sister and his friend and was upset. Nothing that couldn’t be solved with an honest, mature exchange of words. June was on her way to the Sates and was planning on surprising Jon, and her brother was not answering the calls as a part of his collaboration with the surprise. That didn’t explain the men in the grey suits, though, unless June was up to something really, really kinky. Worst case scenario, it wasn’t John but his father, Mr. Cohen, who had arrived and would at any minute enter through Jon’s door pointing a gun at his golden head. A gun to his head before breakfast. Jon doubted he could talk his way out of that, but defeated by fatigue and uncertainty, everything felt possible, palpable and real.

There must be a reason. Jon knew there must be. And whatever the reason was, it must be good. That much he was sure of. But what could it be? June did have a good reason. She had to.

When the housemaid arrived at 7 in the morning, though, Jon was still awake, ignoring Richie’s suggestion and trying to focus on a script he’d received, in an effort to keep his mind focused on something less harmful while he waited for a new day to come, a day that would hopefully provide answers for his questions.

It was only a matter of minutes before Jon’s perfect nose perceived the comforting smell of coffee being freshly brewed. Celia, what would he do without her? She was this close to being able to read his mind. Script in hand and with the same worn-out jeans and t-shirt he’d greeted her the day before, he sat, barefoot, on one of the stools in the kitchen and took the cup of coffee the short, curly-haired, middle-aged woman offered him.

By 7.43, hunched over the script, Jon felt movement with the corner of his eyes. Richie’s plane for Los Angeles wouldn’t leave until 5 in the afternoon, and Richie was never up before one in the afternoon, so it clearly wasn’t him. Intrigued, Jon looked up, only to find PR manager’s piercing stare. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in months and his usually neatly coiffed faux-hawk was flat and unkempt. The white of his eyes was reddish and if Jon could ever believe his friend was able to cry, he’d said John had been crying. What suppurated from the big, green eyes, though, was some sort of cold anger, or deep, gut-twisting sadness. Maybe both. In his hands only an A4 envelope. No gun. Good.

“Hey John…”, Jon ventured a greeting, but kept his expression blank.

“It’s June…”, John began, there was abandonment and pain in his voice that he could barely disguise with anger. “…she’s…”.

“She’s not here”, Jon hastily answered, not even knowing where the clarification had come from, then immediately the hairs in the back of his neck stood on end when John’s words sunk in: the worst thing imaginable, something he hadn’t even dared to consider. He placed the cup back on the kitchen counter and gaped at the man in front of him, the rest of the room was just a blur.

“I know she’s not here you idiot”, the blonde, tall man looked at Jon with the same expression born by someone who doesn’t know whether to spit or not on your face. His eyes were greenish-gold and round like two coins at the bottom of a fountain. He had that same way of looking at you June had, the one that left no room for bullshit.

“What the fuck is going on, then?”, all the hours of frustration and anxiety finally came out in the form of a bitter set of words.  

John took a deep breath, took off his green combat jacket and placed it on the kitchen counter next to the envelope. “You wanna know what’s going on…”, John chortled sardonically. “Alright, so to make a long story short, June goes to China with one of her coworkers, I don’t hear from her for two weeks, then she calls me saying she’s gonna stay a little longer”, he spoke with a sort of calm detachment that indicated he still couldn’t come to terms with the facts. “Haven’t heard from her since…and I’m going crazy”. He finished with a resigned sigh.

All expression left Jon’s face. He was far from satisfied and maybe even more confused than before. “Why do I get the feeling that you’re not telling me the whole truth?”, he said, crossing his arms over his chest, he wasn’t sure if he was playing the role of interrogator or interrogated.

John smirked, shaking his head, and took the envelope, from which he pulled a set of photographs that he threw on top of the counter in such a fashion that they fell chaotically splayed over the polished, cool surface. One of them glided to the floor. “Perhaps because you aren’t?”, he asked ironically. It was his turn to cross his arms over his chest now.

Jon could barely believe his eyes: the pictures showed a sequence in which he and June were walking on the street, then he opened the door for her to enter into her building, and as she passed by him he clasped her head, pushed her against the door and kissed her. And not just a smooch: Jon could still feel her taste in the back of his mouth and her velvety tongue caressing his.

There was a dead pause: Jon was speechless, but somewhat relieved. If this was the reason June hadn’t called, even if it was a little over the top, then it wasn’t that bad. When he finally found his voice again, he uttered “But this was almost 10 days ago…how…?”, his tone was still defensive.

“Out of respect for my sister and thanks to a favor the photographer owes me I was able to stop him from selling them to the press”, explained John. “That was the night before she left Hong Kong…”, he jerked his head swiftly to indicate the pictures scattered on the table. “The night you told me your plane had been delayed in Kuala Lumpur, remember?”.

It wasn’t until he’d seen the pictures that John admitted to himself that he already knew it. He knew it, only every time it became real in his head, he tried to convince himself that it was just not possible. If only he had prepared himself for it…the blow wouldn’t feel so hard now.

“John…”

“Shut up”, John snapped, and Jon queerly obeyed. “Apparently the real reason they went there was to help a Chinese author to cross the border illegally”, John chortled nervously, no matter who said it – himself, the investigators or his sister herself -, it would always sound ridiculous. And finally, the cherry on the cake: “And you know what’s the last thing we know of her?”, he began with a mock triumphant tone, which he couldn’t hold for long, since his voice cracked. “That she went to see a doctor there…”

Jon’s stomach twitched again and his whole body became tense. “What are you saying?...What happened?...Is she sick?”, he blurted out.

“You happened, it seems…My sister’s pregnant”.

Jon felt his lips trembling and an intense cold run all over his body. If he hadn’t been seating down, his legs wouldn’t have been able to support him. The expression died utterly out of his face, out of his whole body.

John gaped at the man in front of him: the genuine reaction struck him, and he began to relent a little. “Oh my god…You didn’t know, did you?”

Jon’s head went back, eyes closed, hands covering his mouth. His voice disappeared into the tornado of emotions he was feeling inside. When he lifted his face up to look at his friend’s face, he looked startled and a grimace of pain distorted his beautiful features, destroying John’s guard.

“External Affairs called me yesterday in the afternoon…they can’t find her, Jon. I’ve called the police, the embassy…they’ve been looking for two days and they just can’t find her. That’s what’s fucking going on…”

…

John and Jon arrived together to the Foreign Affairs Ministry subsidiary office where John had spent the last 16 hours, and were it was Jon’s turn to be privately interviewed by the investigators. They still wouldn’t know where she was, but at least they would have more information and, who knew, perhaps have a better idea of what her plans were. Or maybe not.

“So you had no idea what her actual plans were?”, asked the investigator after stating and confirming the nature of Jon’s relationship with the missing woman. He had introduced himself as Patrick.

Jon shook his head and grimaced. “I don’t know, she doesn’t tell me everything…I believe I’m stating the obvious, don’t you think?”. Knowing it was painful enough, being reminded of it felt ten times worse. Patrick just tightened a smile and offered Jon a faxed copy of a letter.

“Her brother says this is addressed to you, not him. We found it under the seat of the truck”.

Jon took the paper and held it in his hands as if he was about to throw the dice. He studied it for a few seconds before focusing on the letters. It was noticeable that the original was a crumpled piece of paper, the writing was runny and by its unevenness, one could tell she’d written it while the truck was in motion. June’s handwriting had always looked more like hieroglyphics to Jon, changing randomly from lower to higher case and from cursive to print. In this case, though she seemed to be making an effort to be clear, but it was her handwriting, no doubt about it.

Dear Jon,

We left the town in the morning. Nothing turned out the way we planned. I know you well enough to know that you’ll be pissed at me for doing this and missing our date.

Jon snorted sharply. Like the date was what mattered. He continued.

You’ll think I failed you, or worse, you’ll think that you failed me. I tried to call you many times but just couldn’t get through and I’m sure it wasn’t the work of chance…I wonder what they’re going to tell you about this...about me.

I don’t know if you’ll ever get this letter…There are so many things I want to tell you, Jon. things you never knew and maybe never will, but before I begin to tell you, I want you to know that I hope someday you’ll be able to understand how much I lo

The letter wasn’t finished and a half-blank, dirty, silent piece of paper stared back at Jon.

“There was also a page torn from a book…”, Patrick handed Jon the torn faxed page. A paragraph was highlighted with marker, probably a fluorescent one by the recognizable thick, grey band over the letters. On the top of the page read The name of the Rose. It was one of June’s favorite books and one she usually carried with her.

“But you must learn to distinguish the fire of supernatural love from the raving of the senses. It is difficult even for the saints.”

“But how can the good love be recognized?” I asked, trembling.

“What is love? There is nothing in the world, neither man nor Devil nor anything, that I hold as suspect

as love, for it penetrates the soul more than any other thing. Nothing exists that so fills and binds the heart

as love does. Therefore, unless you have those weapons that subdue it, the soul plunges through love into

an immense abyss”

Jon’s heart lurched, it was like her talking to him, and suddenly nothing else mattered: his lips ached for her kisses and his hands ached for her skin. And her voice. He just missed her voice.

After a few more questions, he joined John in the waiting room, and as they waited for the investigators to return, the minutes passed by without any of them saying a word, secretly praying that someone would walk through the door and rescued them from that tense silence. Wide and tall as the room they were in was, it felt small. After a while, Jon left his cup of coffee over the black, shiny table and headed for the door.

“You mind?”, Jon showed the pack of cigarettes before walking out the door. The gray-green-eyed young man simply shrugged. You know how he is, June always said, everything in the inside.

On his way out he walked into Diane: as one of June’s closest friends, she’d also been summoned.

“She’s well, Jon”, Diane said heartily, patting his shoulder. “I know she is”. But she’d said the same thing on the phone 20 times in the last three hours, and each time she realized she sounded a little less hearty. Jon’s face was drawn and twisted, the face of a man who wanted to scream, or maybe weep, and was fighting it down with every scrap of his fiber.

“That bad, huh?”, she said, sensing in Jon’s mood the atmosphere that was being breathed inside the office. “He’s hurting Jon, it’s not you who he’s mad at, it’s the circumstances”, she spoke reassuringly.

“I dunno…”, Jon murmured and lowered his head. “I dunno”.

“Jack?”, Diane asked about June’s father.

“He’s on a plane, I arranged for him to be picked up at the airport”, he glanced at his watch. “He should be here any minute now”.

“OK”, she spoke with a gentle voice, and looked at him sheepishly. “I need to go talk to the officers…see you in a bit?”.

Jon nodded silently before putting a cigarette between his lips and heading for the door that lead to a marble balustrade open to an interior courtyard that doubled as smoking area.

In the interview, Patrick found that even when Diane’s information and attempt of explanation sounded reasonable, it was nothing but a groundless theory, and threw little light on the investigation.

Jon was finishing his second cigarette, gazing on the ground, when Diane came looking for him. “They’re here”, was all she said. “Jack, too”, she added. That was going to be awkward.

“Jack…”, Jon started, offering his hand to June’s father. His mouth was dry. Mr. Cohen shook his hand and planted two staring eyes on Jon’s face, making him swallow a gulp of air. “I don’t know what to say”

“There’s nothing to say, Jon. My daughter’s life is her own…”, even when visibly concerned, his tone was calm and soothing. “As for me, I just need to know that she’s happy, and that she’s still has a life”.

The four were led by Patrick and another woman, to a map-covered table against the wall, apparently they used it for planning or something. The woman’s name was Faith and she, like Patrick, looked around their mid-thirties. By their body language one could tell that they weren’t simply colleagues.

On the opposite wall to the entrance of the office there was a tall rack full of rolled maps. When Patrick found the map he needed, he pulled it out and splayed in on the table. It was a large roll displaying all of Guanxi Autonomous Region, Guangdong province and parts of the north of Vietnam. He spoke with calm assurance.

“The investigation in Hong Kong indicates that June had been sending correspondence addressed to a foreign teaching institute in China that, it seems, doesn’t exist. They also found out that the person who’d been picking up the letters had used the name Fortune”, explained Faith, who was supposed to be an experienced negotiator. They pair took turns to explain.

“We got one of her translators, Paul Henderson, to translate the letters for us. According to them June had been planning this for a couple of months and had sent two agents to the village to make preparations before she arrived”, she placed the faxed copies on the table. “They don’t mention Martin, though, he seems to be a last-minute addition to the plan. On his side we hit a dead end: he hadn’t even told his family that he was planning on leaving Hong Kong, and the editorial could only confirm that he’d ask for a three-week leave. The same with the rest of June’s contact list”.

“But, apparently, our girl is not the only one with secrets”, Patrick took the word, “Martin also hired two young former soldiers to keep an eye on them in case plan A went wrong”, he said as he handed a folder to Faith, who took it from his hands and quickly browsed through it. “They didn’t establish much contact with Martin and June in order not to raise suspicion”.

“Everything we know about June and Martin’s stay in the village is through them, and it’s not much. June and Martin’s story was that they were an engaged couple of backpackers”, Patrick looked at Jon, who couldn’t help but feel the sting of…Disappointment? Anger? Jealousy? Not even himself could agree on what he was feeling.

“They helped in some of the tasks in the village, like bringing water from the well or helping with the harvest. June was hardly ever seen with Lipeng, so we suspect they saw each other secretly. Martin had told group B that they were planning on leaving the village on the 20^th, that’s yesterday, so evidently something went wrong. Apart from that, we know nothing except that one morning they were in the town and before nightfall, 7 people were nowhere to be found and no one knew where they had gone”, finished Faith and closed the folder.

“Fortunately, June was not the only one believing in doing what they must, so these two started to think like them and decided to walk towards the Quiet River, here”, Patrick followed the blue, meandering line on the map with the tip of his finger. “It was known in the ’60s to be a popular point to cross the border. The river runs south to west, it’s 20 paces wide and flanked on either side by hard-baked mud studded stones. Their hunch turned out to be right, only that they arrived too late. June and Martin’s hired truck was abandoned by the river, together with some of their belongings”, he pulled a picture from the folder and placed it on the table. Jon couldn’t help but notice what seemed to be a bullet whole on one of the sides. “And the Quiet River was not so quiet anymore, it was running wild southward after the intense rains in the northern part of the province”. Finished Patrick.

“Are you suggesting that they might have swum downstream to one of these villages? Vietnam?“ suggested Jon, pointing firmly with his index. Trying to keep impatience from his voice proved to be difficult..

“How far is the next village?”, asked Jack. His pragmatism and temper in the situation was admirable.  

“Not so far”, answered Faith, halfway turning her head to look at John, who so far was letting nothing appear of his inward. “But if they were being followed, and I’m sure they were, and were well aware of it, the surrounding villages would be too easy a choice”

Diane opened her mouth, then closed it slowly. Plainly she wanted to say something but did not know what. Again the silence of pure frustration.

“Look…it’s been three days”, Patrick spoke matter-of-factly and gestured gently with his hands. “Even if we hand out a description head to toe…chances that anyone will ever really talk to the police, are pretty slim”.

“So we need to go find them, they must be somewhere down there”, Jon suggested, trying, with positive words, to exorcise the grim possibilities his mind was creating.

“Do you mean to go chasing after her like some fool hero in a fairy-tale and bring her back?”, exploded John, a hint of sardonic laughter curling the corners of his mouth.

“But...”, Jack started thinking aloud, “…wouldn’t they be in trouble, too, if they haven’t been able to leave the country and anyone found out?”, he asked, again dismissing John’s explosion and propping his chin on his right hand.

“In theory, yes, but my guess is that in that case we’d have already heard about them. Chinese, yes, but foreigners…”, Faith shook her head, “They don’t just disappear, they usually serve a purpose”.

After a few minutes, a secretary entered the room and summoned Faith and Patrick to a teleconference with the Hong Kong office, so they hastily left the room, allowing for another tense silence to settle in the room. John barely exchanged looks with Jon, as they took turns in looking like the one who was the most worried. Mr. Cohen didn’t say a word but acted kept his cool calm. Diane had poured herself a cup of coffee and sat silent, deliberating. What they all had in common was that they all wished the waiting would be through.

John seemed absolutely unwilling to speak and kept a distance of his own. At moments, he succeeded in making Jon feel miserable and impotent. But how the hell could he have known? And if he had, could he really have stopped June from doing it? He seriously doubted anyone could.

“I can’t believe you didn’t have the balls to tell me”, John broke the silence with an indignant snortle, Apparently the rage inside was finding a way out. “She doesn’t deserve you”

“John, there’s no need to bring that up…it’s not gonna solve anything”, Jack spoke with a regal, deep voice. 

“You don’t understand anything, do you?”, sighed Jon, unsure about how to proceed. Jon had no idea where his calm was coming from, but he gave himself an imaginary pat on the back.

“I understand that you lied to me, to my fucking face, to someone you call your friend. I understand that you’ve been hiding this for months. I understand that maybe because of all this stupid secrecy my sister is not here to own up to the fact that she lied to me as well. That’s what I understand”.

Diane slowly shook her head, John’s desperation was robbing him of his dignity. She had to bite her tongue not to speak, but at least she gave John extra credit for admitting that it had taken two to tango.    

“Son, I think you’ve said enough already”, Jack’s words were an affectionate reprimand.

On the one hand, it was true that John was really pissed off at Jon, and that he ardently resented June’s consent; but on the other hand, it was his sister and his friend - for it had been long ago that he’d stopped seeing him as his boss -. So when two strong passions squeeze the heart of a man, not even himself can distinguish with clarity one voice from the other or know which one is the stronger.

“Alright”, announced Patrick as he re-entered the room, making everyone snap their heads towards him. “We can’t do anything else from here…the Hong Kong team’s doing what they can within their power, but Faith and I need to fly over there, ASAP. The office’s trying to get us seats on the first plane that leaves for Hong Kong. I promise we will do everything-“

“No way”, Jon interrupted him and Patrick’s attention immediately shifted to the man that had grabbed the jacket that was hanging on the back of one of the chairs, pulled his brick-size Nokia from the pocket and was now frantically pushing the buttons. “I don’t do waiting very well”, he explained.

…

Half an hour later, at Jon’s apartment, Richie was woken up by noises that seem to come from a revolt going on the other side of the door. He held himself up with one arm while with the one hand he rubbed his sleepy brown eyes and then ruffled his shoulder-length chocolate hair. Without even washing his face or bothering to put on a shirt, he stepped out of his room wearing nothing but his burgundy-denim jeans and quickly padded to Jon’s bedroom’s door, which was wide open. With both hands on the door frame, Richie stuck his bare torso inside the bedroom to find the singer in a rare state of nervous frenzy that merited him shouting orders on the phone while Celia shoved pants and shirts inside a small, grey suitcase. 

“Hey bro, everything alright?”, Richie ventured with a raspy, grave voice once Jon hung up.

“No, everything’s not alright, Rich”, Jon replied, raking his hands through his short hair and storming out of the bedroom past Richie.

“What happened?”, a deep frown furrowed Richie’s brow, and he followed Jon with his head.

“We can’t find June, she’s disappeared…”, explained Jon as he walked down the corridor towards the office. Richie followed him. From the living-room came the voice of Jon's assistant, apologizing for the cancellation of an interview.

“What?...You’re gonna have to be more specific, bro”

“She’s pregnant”

Oh. Richie was suddenly speechless.

“Good Lord”, was the only thing he could utter while Jon pulled his passport and other unidentified documents from the desk drawer. “How…?”, the question died before it reached his lips. One question wasn’t enough, and Jon evidently didn’t have time to answer any of them.

On his way out, Jon stood in front of the guitar player and grabbed his arm. “I don’t know…I’ll explain later…I’m flying to Hong Kong now”. Jon looked into Richie’s honey-brown eyes with those of a man who’s on the verge of losing it. “I need to go find her Richie…and I don’t know where the hell she is”.