Morning came to Poole in a frantic phone call from Jane Arness. She tore into him like any chainsaw into a fat trunk. How could you let this happen? What? How could you let him go through with it? he’s gone and fucking done it and you let him! Jane. They’ll find him, Dexter, they will hunt him down and they will throw him away for the rest of his life for this! Jane! Goddammit! why didn’t we just call the cops on him ourselves? it would have been easier on him to be accused of conspiracy but now he’s gone and actually done it, mutherfucker! and I blame you, Poole! Jane, goddammit! waitaminute! I blame you for this and I blame myself! Jesusfuckingchrist would you shut the fuck up for a half a fuckin second? She was silent except for her breath overdriving the tiny speaker in his ear. What the fuck are you telling me? he asked her, rubbing the crust from his eyes as his girlfriend crawled from the bed and wandered into the bathroom.
Turn on your television, she told him, local news. What? Just do it.
He stretched backward across the length of the bed and hit the remote. The screen on the opposite wall bloomed with bright animation and it didn’t take long for Poole to understand Jane’s anger. Oh my gawd, he said. You see it? Yes. You see that shit? Yes, Jane. This is your fault, Poole! you should have said something to him; you could have stopped him. Did they catch him? No, they haven’t found him; I can’t get him to answer his phone. He’s not gonna answer his phone, Jane, do they know it was him? No, they don’t know anything. Well, that’s something positive I guess. Positive? positive? are you fucking crazy? Jane. Don’t fucking Jane me, Dexter, this is your fault! How the fuck do you figure this is on me? Because he would’ve listened to you, goddammit! Bullshit. Bullshit? Jane, I told him not to do it; you told him not to do it; he didn’t fuckin listen; that’s nobody’s fault but his.
She was crying now. He listened to her in one ear and the news report in the other until she hung up on him but he didn’t notice her absence for several moments. Jane? Jane?
Goddammit. He threw his phone into the wall and grabbed his pants from the floor.
Turn on your television, she told him, local news. What? Just do it.
He stretched backward across the length of the bed and hit the remote. The screen on the opposite wall bloomed with bright animation and it didn’t take long for Poole to understand Jane’s anger. Oh my gawd, he said. You see it? Yes. You see that shit? Yes, Jane. This is your fault, Poole! you should have said something to him; you could have stopped him. Did they catch him? No, they haven’t found him; I can’t get him to answer his phone. He’s not gonna answer his phone, Jane, do they know it was him? No, they don’t know anything. Well, that’s something positive I guess. Positive? positive? are you fucking crazy? Jane. Don’t fucking Jane me, Dexter, this is your fault! How the fuck do you figure this is on me? Because he would’ve listened to you, goddammit! Bullshit. Bullshit? Jane, I told him not to do it; you told him not to do it; he didn’t fuckin listen; that’s nobody’s fault but his.
She was crying now. He listened to her in one ear and the news report in the other until she hung up on him but he didn’t notice her absence for several moments. Jane? Jane?
Goddammit. He threw his phone into the wall and grabbed his pants from the floor.
Edit 11.17.2018