He picked it up nervous. When he turned it around there were no words on it. He had expected some kind of note.

He didn't know what to do next. Call her again. He did that. But nobody answered on the other line. He was not surprised by that.

What to do next then? Drive to the Dolphin Hotel? It would be a crime scene. Cops. Journalists. Swarming it like flies on a corpse.

But what else could he do? Wait for news stories to come out about it?

On the way to the hotel he gave his friend a call.

"What's up?"

"I can't get a hold of Meghan."

"So? It's the middle of the day."

"Did you hear about what happened? At the Dolphin."

"No. Let me--- shit. What the fuck."

"I'm driving up there now. I can't get a hold of her. I went home. She's not there. I just needed to tell someone."

"It's okay, man. I'm here. I'm here."

He knew that his friend couldn't do anything. It was just a matter of comfort. He might tell him everything would be alright. Or maybe he wouldn't. The key wasn't the outcome. The key was having someone to talk to as he raced over to the Dolphin Hotel. He would arrive in eight or so minutes.