Love You To Death

CHAPTER SIX

We’ve had gut-churning moments on the show before. Bomb scares from university kids who threatened to blow up the Lab Building so they wouldn’t have to waste time studying for their finals. Suicide threats from people with pills. People with knives. People with guns. And people who knew how to tie a noose that would do the job. One night we even had a call from a guy lying on the subway tracks who said if we didn’t tell the world what a witch his ex-girlfriend was, he was going to cuddle up with the third rail.

Amazingly, we’ve never lost a caller. We’ve come close. But somehow I’ve always been able to find the words that convince our lost souls that life is worth living. At least till we get off the air and Nova can connect them with a professional.

Tonight, my bag of tricks is empty and so am I.

Rani has killed three people. She’s smart enough to know that her life is not going to have a happily-ever-after ending. The talkback is still open. “So where do we go from here?” I ask Nova.

She rakes her hair with her hands. “Beats me,” she says. “I guess we just take care of business and keep the show moving. I’m going to play music for a while.”

“We never just play music,” I say. “I should go on air and explain.”

“Explain what?” Nova says testily. “That we’re playing music because there’s a psycho out there killing our listeners? In my opinion, it’s better to have a hundred thousand people wondering why CVOX has suddenly become ALL MUSIC/ ALL THE TIME than to have a hundred thousand people going into cardiac arrest.”

“You’re right,” I say. “But you’re always right.”

“No, I’m not,” Nova says. “But I am right about this. Charlie, the police psychologist wants to talk to you directly. He’s on line two. His name, incidentally, is Dr. Steven Apple.”

“An Apple a day,” I say.

“He doesn’t like jokes about his name,” Nova says. “I tried. He likes to be called Dr. Apple, and he’ll call you Charlie-it’s a power thing. Have fun.”

I pick up the phone. “Charlie Dowhanuik here,” I say.

“I’m Dr. Steven Apple.” His bass voice rumbles with authority. Guys who are that certain of themselves make me want to scoop out their eyeballs with a spoon. But he’s the only game in town.

“So, Steve, what’s shakin’?” I say.

“Actually, it’s Dr. Apple,” he rumbles.

“Got it,” I say. “So lay it on me. What do I do next?”

“You have to get Rani out of the shadows,” he booms. “We have to know where she is, so we can keep her under surveillance.”

I’m tempted to tell Steve that Emo Emily, with her screaming soul and her shoe fetish, could have figured that one out. But I need him too much to piss him off. “I’m doing everything I can,” I say. “I just answered Rani’s latest email. I told her she was right-that the pressure is too great. The walls are closing in. Unless I get help, I’m going to walk away again, and this time I might not come back.”

“That’s a very good start,” Steve says. He sounds like my grade one teacher. She always smelled of mint Life Savers and gin. I hang up and check out Nova’s choice of music. The tune I’m listening to is Jann Arden’s “I Would Die for You.” Very tasty and very appropriate. I listen to Jann and stare at my computer screen. Rani is not answering my email. Steve calls. He believes that the reason Rani hasn’t answered is that she’s on the move. He thinks that she’s on her way to her next victim.

“So we’re screwed,” I say.

He laughs his deep bass laugh. “Not at all,” he says. “Rani’s obsessed with your show. Even if she’s on her way to commit murder, she’ll tune in. She’s the kind of listener you must dream about.”

“Maybe I can get her to do a promo,” I say. “So, doc, where do we go from here?”

“You go on the air and say everything you said in your email-pull out all the stops.”

“Most of our listeners are hanging on by their toenails. If I say I’m desperate enough to pull the plug on ‘The World According to Charlie D,’ all hell will break loose.”

“That’s a chance you’re going to have to take.”

Nova surprises me by siding with the good doctor. So as Jann Arden sings the final lament of the doomed lover, I turn on my mike.

“This is for Rani. You’re right. I’m suffocating, and I’m running out of time. I don’t want to say goodbye to ‘The World of Charlie D,’ but I may not have a choice. I need to breathe. You’ve offered help. I’m asking for it now. Come down to CVOX, and Rani, hurry.”

We go to music again. Three in a row. A record. But this is a record-breaking night. Our incoming call-board is twinkling like a Christmas tree, and the email inbox is jammed.

Nova calls me. “You’ve got to ratchet it up. The building is filled with cops, but they don’t want to spook Rani, so they’re staying out of sight. They’re ready to take her, but they have no idea what she looks like, so they can’t do anything until you get her inside the building. That’s problem number one. Problem number two is our listeners. They’re panicking, terrified that you’re going to leave. And you know what happens when our listeners get scared. Charlie, you have to find a way to reassure them and still keep the heat on Rani.” Nova’s voice breaks. “Drat,” she says. “Hormones. This is making me crazy. You’re dancing on the edge of a razor blade, and there’s nothing I can do.”

“Sure there is,” I say. “Be grateful I’m not wearing high heels.”

Nova rewards me with a small laugh.

“I’ll go back on the air and tell our listeners to hang with me,” I say. “That should at least give us a little time.”

“Do that. And Charlie, our old friend Marion the librarian is on line three. Take her call. Nobody can turn down the emotional temperature like Marion. Get her to unload some of her research-that’ll chill everybody out.”

“True enough,” I say. “Marion’s better than Xanax. Wish me luck.” I flip on my mike and dig deep for my sane and hopeful voice. It’s there.

“We’re back,” I say. “And I’m doing better-not tip-top, but I’m still here. A glance out my nonexistent window tells me there’s a full moon-always a lunar spookfest-so let’s send back positive energy. Stay tuned and stay loose-we’ve got a lot of living to do.”

I start to cue the music, and I realize that tonight being cool is not enough. Our audience deserves more. When I start to speak again, the emotion in my voice is something I didn’t put there. “Thanks for hanging in,” I say. “Knowing you were there made all the difference.” My voice cracks. It’s the real thing. I’m losing control, and it scares me.