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This Shouldn't
Have Happened
Whitney filled up the tank and even cleaned Rebecca’s windshield. She wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but she figured it might be best to stay on Rebecca’s good side; at least while she still needed a ride. A surprise baseball auction wasn’t ideal, but Whitney could sit through a boring auction if she needed to. This wasn’t the end of the world.
On the drive, neither acknowledged the tension between them. Maybe if they both just kept smiling, everything would be fine. They only needed to make it through the night together and then they could part ways.
Doane’s campus was dark and smelled like dog-food. As they passed the lake, Whitney could see some college kids smoking a joint in the distance. She found some comfort in the idea that there were people around who could help her if she needed it. Or, at least, she hoped they would. She thought about herself in college. If some strange woman came up to her while she was smoking from a homemade apple pipe with her friend Pat, she liked to think she’d have helped that woman. She wasn’t sure how, but she felt confident she would have done something.
Why is she acting like she is in trouble, anyway? All she needs to do is wait until the end of this auction and then Rebecca will take her to York. Right?
Once they made it to the room where the auction was to take place, Rebecca asked if Whitney wanted to wait in the hall or maybe even read in an empty classroom. Whitney would have preferred a moment to herself, but was too scared to let Rebecca out of her sight. So, she took a seat in the back of the auditorium two rows directly behind Rebecca. When Rebecca went to the bathroom, Whitney followed. When Rebecca went to the vending machine, Whitney offered to buy her drink. Whitney tried to be very chill and calm about the whole thing. And if Rebecca was suspicious, she didn’t show it.
During the first hour of the auction, even the baseball nerds who actively chose to attend seemed bored. Most of the people buying stuff were from the Queens, Jackson Hole, and Osaka auction rooms. There were about forty people here. At the rate they were going, they probably wouldn’t sell forty pieces all night. Whitney wondered how far some of these people had driven tonight to buy absolutely nothing. At break, Rebecca promised that there was going to be something a little more exciting in the second half of the auction. The rumor was that Nebraska might have its first proven final jersey.
When the time came, an excited man in a full suit made his way to the front of the room. He took out a see-through garment bag with a jersey hanging by a wooden hanger. The uniform was green with silver trim and a red eight-point star over the heart. The team’s name was scribbled in big, white letters: The Servants.
“This, my fellow enthusiasts, is the sort of thing we wait centuries for. I do not think it is an understatement to say that after baseball has come and gone, as all things must in this fickle world in which we live, this may go down as the most interesting piece of baseball memorabilia to ever exist.
“What I have here is not just beautiful–which it is–but in fact, it is a piece of history bigger than the game of baseball itself. In fact, it is part of a story so old that it predates the idea of love or individuality itself.”
Whitney noted that none of the other speakers had taken this much time to explain their items. Most had kept their remarks as short as two or three sentences. A few items were auctioned with no remarks at all. But, no one in the room or in any of the zoom windows projected onto the classroom’s screen seemed bothered.
“In school, we teach our children about the Roman empire. We show them maps of conquests and timelines of battles. We talk about this conquered empire as if it were the height of human accomplishment. But we know that is not true. Even at the height of the empire, the ruling class spent more time assassinating their own family members than governing. The emperors whose names we ask our children to memorize made decisions by consulting with fortune tellers and priests for false gods. And while the Roman Empire left stones all around the world by which to remember them, when is the last time the Roman Empire impacted your day? Sure, there are a few Roman writers and thinkers worth mentioning, but when compared to empires of similar size in China, England, or Persia…is there any competition?
“So what is the problem with Rome? The problem was that they were too progressive. No, I’m not here to repeat that tired story about Rome falling because of sexual libertinism and multiculturalism. If I said anything so silly, you would shout at me to sit down. And you would be right to! What I am saying is that Rome created a theology that evolved. New Emperor? Build a temple for him! New religion gaining followers in the territories? Build a temple for that. But people cannot handle new information.
“Social scientists see this in study after study. You take someone who believes something that isn’t true–they aren’t hard to find, we all have our blind spots–and you show them hard proof that they are wrong. That person is not going to change their mind. They will question the source of your information, they will question your intentions, they will even question whether they are actually awake, but they will not question whether or not they are wrong.
“And you want to give that person…a new god to follow? How dumb are you?
“This! This is where the Catholic Church built its power. It did not build new temples. The Donatists in Carthage were crushed. The Nestorians were exiled to Persia and China. When you look at the seven councils that created the Catholic orthodoxy, they were much more focused on who was NOT Catholic than they ever were about how best to enjoy a fruitful life as a Christian.
“That is true power; the power to decide who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. And to hold that power, you cannot let things change. There cannot be a…fun new thing you want to add. There cannot be something you were wrong about but have now fixed. You must act as if you are 100% right and were never wrong.
“What about the saints who supposedly killed dragons or banished them from desperate towns? We know that dragons don’t exist. So what happened? Did they kill anything? A beast? A snake? Or are those stories just entirely made up? The answer is, ‘Don’t ask dumb questions like that!’
“Not all religions do this. In Buddhism, there is an acknowledgement that some sutras passed down through the oral tradition might have flaws. There is an understanding that the first people to write down these sutras sometimes had ulterior motives or personal failings.
“But I ask you, where is the great Buddhist empire? It seems like a great way to find inner peace, but if you want to kill your enemy and conquer nations, you need Christianity.
“Look at the strength of modern biblical literalism in the 21st century! And yet, we know that we do not have any surviving original texts. We don’t have anything written in Moses’s or David’s pen. We have copies of copies of copies; continued on for centuries.
“And do those copies match each other?
“Kinda. Sometimes. Usually on the bigger issues, but not always.
“The texts shift and change based on who copied them and why, where they were and what was going on. This is true with everything, all of the time. In fact, the text keeps shifting and keeps changing until you have a big Pope daddy in charge who can say who is right or wrong. And if you are wrong, he can have you killed and your books burned and your soul sent to hell. That is power. My grandfather died believing my mother is going to hell because the devout Christian she married doesn’t believe in the infallibility of his big Pope daddy. I repeat: That is power.
“And it is a power that is not blunted by schisms or protestant reformations. Even if protestants outnumbered Catholics ten to one, the Catholics would still hold the power. Why? Because it's their Bible. They made it. When the protestants started translating bibles into the languages in which they spoke, they translated from Latin. The original texts were written in Hebrew and Greek, but the protestants knew that THE BIBLE was written in Latin. And if they actually changed anything in there, they might as well be Buddhists.
“So, the Bible that you have in your home, in your church, in your hotel room…it has more to do with the people who put it together than the people who wrote it. Because the people who put it together got to look at the thousands of copies of copies and decide, literally, what became Gospel. And yet, no one in this room could tell me any of those people’s names, or when that happened, or where. If God’s voice flowed through the pen of Moses and David, then does God’s voice also flow through the hands of archivists and the brushes of archeologists? How about the copy editors formatting the student Bibles they try to sell to you as an upcharge at the Christian bookstore? Ask this to a Christian and they will tell you: ‘Don’t ask dumb questions like that!’”
As the man hit his prepared climax, he paused for effect. However, it was clear to Whitney that he did not have the room’s attention. He had their patience because he had a baseball jersey they all wanted. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like the speaker might be recognizing this, too.
“So what does that have to do with baseball, you ask! And it is a great question. In the seventh century, the Catholic church created a secret monastery called the Servants of Gregory. While the church’s publicly acknowledged monasteries focussed on prayer and devotion, those monasteries important enough to be kept secret fulfilled…political purposes. The Servants of Gregory were tasked with finding and destroying anyone who wished to question the existing orthodoxy of the church.
“And they did. And, if you’ll believe me, they do.
“How do I know? Because until about three hours ago, I was a Servant of Gregory.
“Our order came to Nebraska in the 19th Century. With an influx of immigrants from northern Italy, eastern Europe, and rural China–all locations where supposedly dangerous heresies had previously been destroyed by our order–there was concern that new allegiances might create a threat to the established orthodoxy that lies at the heart of Christian power.
“The first Servants to arrive started a newspaper syndicate. They had five papers targeting different communities in Omaha the church was afraid of. It helped them control what speakers ended up on social calendars, what events received news coverage, and whose mistakes were forgotten while others were repeated.”
The speaker turned the jersey around, revealing five large patches that resembled the logos of newspapers. At this reveal, the crowd gasped.
“As you can see, this uniform includes the logo of each paper. And that is what makes this uniform so exciting! The Servants only played one game in these uniforms before the Archbishop found out and dissolved the team. You see, there is a paper trail proving that the Servants of Gregory exist. Many would prefer there wasn’t, but it is hard to keep anything around that long without leaving some evidence. And there is hard evidence showing that these papers existed. Copies are held in archives around the country. But there is nothing tying the Servants to the newspaper syndicate…except for this jersey, which I have stolen from The Servants of Gregory archives today. In addition to the jersey, I have brought documents showing the Archbishop’s decision to dissolve the team and burn their uniforms, as well as a signed injunction allowing the Servants to preserve one jersey in the archives for posterity.
“There is no maybe about it. This is definitely a final jersey.”
The room was quiet. No one quite knew what to do. This man, who hadn’t even given his name, seemed to have exactly what they were all looking for. If real, this would be the best final jersey that anyone had ever found. But he had also said so many…things. Much of what he said had absolutely nothing to do with baseball or collecting. And some of it seemed true, but some seemed downright conspiratorial. Besides, shouldn’t someone confirm the parts of his story that seemed…confirmable? It was one thing to risk a hundred bucks on a misprinted baseball card, but this jersey could go for millions of dollars.
Someone in London spoke first. “I’m confused, why are you selling this?”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to buy it?”
This answer did not settle the room. The speaker tried again.
“I have lost my faith. I joined the Servants of Gregory to protect that faith, but I started wondering what I was protecting. I wasn’t fighting evil people, just curious ones. And mostly, they were curious people who just wanted to understand the world and their place in it a little better. Sure, some people were seeking power or attention, but none more-so than the Archbishop I reported to.
“Sometimes, the most dangerous place to hold a belief is around those who agree with you. You get to see how else your beliefs can be used. I didn’t like how it looked.
“But, I took a vow of poverty and don’t have anything on my resume for the past ten years. What am I supposed to say in a job interview? ‘You don’t understand, I have a lot of direct job experience from my time working in a secret monastery in Omaha?’
“The money from this buys me a new life. And if that unearths some truths people would prefer hidden, fuck ‘em.”
There was another silence. This time, someone in the room broke it.
“How did you hear about us?”
“I found a strange post about ‘maybe-finals’ on a Reddit board for an anime—”
As the man said “Reddit,” the police burst down the doors. They rushed towards the man with guns drawn as he held the jersey in his hands above his head. Just before anyone could touch him, he threw the jersey into the crowd where the collectors dove on it like starving rats. While two officers handcuffed the Servant and led him away, the other officers got busy throwing people out of the classroom and trying to track down the stolen jersey.
Even in the chaos, Whitney’s focus stayed on Rebecca. She didn’t need a stolen jersey, but she did need a ride.
Walking to the car, Rebecca could not stop shaking. “That is the best auction I have ever been to. I cannot wait to tell Apphia about all this! She thinks this sort of thing is boring. But wait until she hears about this!”
By the time Rebecca made it to York, it was four in the morning. Whitney accepted her offer to sleep on Apphia’s couch and look for Dillon tomorrow. When she woke up, Rebecca and Apphia were already gone. They’d left a note on the coffee table with a phone number to call in case she needed anything. They had also left the door unlocked. Whitney wanted to lock the door, but was afraid of locking Apphia out of her own home. She called to confirm whether they had a key, but no one answered.
Whitney got ready and left as fast as she could. According to Find My Friends, Dillon was less than a mile away. She walked from 13th to 8th street without seeing a soul. She wondered where everyone was on a Saturday. A part of her hoped that she would find her truck on one of these roads and she could drive home without any muss or fuss. Another part of her was looking forward to making a fuss. She had been through a lot in the past 18 hours. There are certainly worse times to throw a fit.
Whitney knocked too hard on the door. She felt the sting in her shoulder. Some baffled person answered.
“Hi, is Dillon here? I need to talk to them.”
“There’s no Dillon here.”
“Please. I have been through a lot. I know Dillon doesn’t want to see me, but I really need to see them. It’s very urgent.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Well I’m not leaving until you do.”
“Look, I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
Whitney took out the map on her phone and showed it to the person she was accosting.
“See! I know they’re here!”
“Oh, that’s who’s phone that was.” The person walked away and returned with Dillon’s phone. “Here. Give it to ‘em when you find them.”
Whitney walked away without the phone and called her friend Maria for a ride back to Omaha.
The End
On the drive, neither acknowledged the tension between them. Maybe if they both just kept smiling, everything would be fine. They only needed to make it through the night together and then they could part ways.
Doane’s campus was dark and smelled like dog-food. As they passed the lake, Whitney could see some college kids smoking a joint in the distance. She found some comfort in the idea that there were people around who could help her if she needed it. Or, at least, she hoped they would. She thought about herself in college. If some strange woman came up to her while she was smoking from a homemade apple pipe with her friend Pat, she liked to think she’d have helped that woman. She wasn’t sure how, but she felt confident she would have done something.
Why is she acting like she is in trouble, anyway? All she needs to do is wait until the end of this auction and then Rebecca will take her to York. Right?
Once they made it to the room where the auction was to take place, Rebecca asked if Whitney wanted to wait in the hall or maybe even read in an empty classroom. Whitney would have preferred a moment to herself, but was too scared to let Rebecca out of her sight. So, she took a seat in the back of the auditorium two rows directly behind Rebecca. When Rebecca went to the bathroom, Whitney followed. When Rebecca went to the vending machine, Whitney offered to buy her drink. Whitney tried to be very chill and calm about the whole thing. And if Rebecca was suspicious, she didn’t show it.
During the first hour of the auction, even the baseball nerds who actively chose to attend seemed bored. Most of the people buying stuff were from the Queens, Jackson Hole, and Osaka auction rooms. There were about forty people here. At the rate they were going, they probably wouldn’t sell forty pieces all night. Whitney wondered how far some of these people had driven tonight to buy absolutely nothing. At break, Rebecca promised that there was going to be something a little more exciting in the second half of the auction. The rumor was that Nebraska might have its first proven final jersey.
When the time came, an excited man in a full suit made his way to the front of the room. He took out a see-through garment bag with a jersey hanging by a wooden hanger. The uniform was green with silver trim and a red eight-point star over the heart. The team’s name was scribbled in big, white letters: The Servants.
“This, my fellow enthusiasts, is the sort of thing we wait centuries for. I do not think it is an understatement to say that after baseball has come and gone, as all things must in this fickle world in which we live, this may go down as the most interesting piece of baseball memorabilia to ever exist.
“What I have here is not just beautiful–which it is–but in fact, it is a piece of history bigger than the game of baseball itself. In fact, it is part of a story so old that it predates the idea of love or individuality itself.”
Whitney noted that none of the other speakers had taken this much time to explain their items. Most had kept their remarks as short as two or three sentences. A few items were auctioned with no remarks at all. But, no one in the room or in any of the zoom windows projected onto the classroom’s screen seemed bothered.
“In school, we teach our children about the Roman empire. We show them maps of conquests and timelines of battles. We talk about this conquered empire as if it were the height of human accomplishment. But we know that is not true. Even at the height of the empire, the ruling class spent more time assassinating their own family members than governing. The emperors whose names we ask our children to memorize made decisions by consulting with fortune tellers and priests for false gods. And while the Roman Empire left stones all around the world by which to remember them, when is the last time the Roman Empire impacted your day? Sure, there are a few Roman writers and thinkers worth mentioning, but when compared to empires of similar size in China, England, or Persia…is there any competition?
“So what is the problem with Rome? The problem was that they were too progressive. No, I’m not here to repeat that tired story about Rome falling because of sexual libertinism and multiculturalism. If I said anything so silly, you would shout at me to sit down. And you would be right to! What I am saying is that Rome created a theology that evolved. New Emperor? Build a temple for him! New religion gaining followers in the territories? Build a temple for that. But people cannot handle new information.
“Social scientists see this in study after study. You take someone who believes something that isn’t true–they aren’t hard to find, we all have our blind spots–and you show them hard proof that they are wrong. That person is not going to change their mind. They will question the source of your information, they will question your intentions, they will even question whether they are actually awake, but they will not question whether or not they are wrong.
“And you want to give that person…a new god to follow? How dumb are you?
“This! This is where the Catholic Church built its power. It did not build new temples. The Donatists in Carthage were crushed. The Nestorians were exiled to Persia and China. When you look at the seven councils that created the Catholic orthodoxy, they were much more focused on who was NOT Catholic than they ever were about how best to enjoy a fruitful life as a Christian.
“That is true power; the power to decide who goes to heaven and who goes to hell. And to hold that power, you cannot let things change. There cannot be a…fun new thing you want to add. There cannot be something you were wrong about but have now fixed. You must act as if you are 100% right and were never wrong.
“What about the saints who supposedly killed dragons or banished them from desperate towns? We know that dragons don’t exist. So what happened? Did they kill anything? A beast? A snake? Or are those stories just entirely made up? The answer is, ‘Don’t ask dumb questions like that!’
“Not all religions do this. In Buddhism, there is an acknowledgement that some sutras passed down through the oral tradition might have flaws. There is an understanding that the first people to write down these sutras sometimes had ulterior motives or personal failings.
“But I ask you, where is the great Buddhist empire? It seems like a great way to find inner peace, but if you want to kill your enemy and conquer nations, you need Christianity.
“Look at the strength of modern biblical literalism in the 21st century! And yet, we know that we do not have any surviving original texts. We don’t have anything written in Moses’s or David’s pen. We have copies of copies of copies; continued on for centuries.
“And do those copies match each other?
“Kinda. Sometimes. Usually on the bigger issues, but not always.
“The texts shift and change based on who copied them and why, where they were and what was going on. This is true with everything, all of the time. In fact, the text keeps shifting and keeps changing until you have a big Pope daddy in charge who can say who is right or wrong. And if you are wrong, he can have you killed and your books burned and your soul sent to hell. That is power. My grandfather died believing my mother is going to hell because the devout Christian she married doesn’t believe in the infallibility of his big Pope daddy. I repeat: That is power.
“And it is a power that is not blunted by schisms or protestant reformations. Even if protestants outnumbered Catholics ten to one, the Catholics would still hold the power. Why? Because it's their Bible. They made it. When the protestants started translating bibles into the languages in which they spoke, they translated from Latin. The original texts were written in Hebrew and Greek, but the protestants knew that THE BIBLE was written in Latin. And if they actually changed anything in there, they might as well be Buddhists.
“So, the Bible that you have in your home, in your church, in your hotel room…it has more to do with the people who put it together than the people who wrote it. Because the people who put it together got to look at the thousands of copies of copies and decide, literally, what became Gospel. And yet, no one in this room could tell me any of those people’s names, or when that happened, or where. If God’s voice flowed through the pen of Moses and David, then does God’s voice also flow through the hands of archivists and the brushes of archeologists? How about the copy editors formatting the student Bibles they try to sell to you as an upcharge at the Christian bookstore? Ask this to a Christian and they will tell you: ‘Don’t ask dumb questions like that!’”
As the man hit his prepared climax, he paused for effect. However, it was clear to Whitney that he did not have the room’s attention. He had their patience because he had a baseball jersey they all wanted. She wasn’t sure, but it looked like the speaker might be recognizing this, too.
“So what does that have to do with baseball, you ask! And it is a great question. In the seventh century, the Catholic church created a secret monastery called the Servants of Gregory. While the church’s publicly acknowledged monasteries focussed on prayer and devotion, those monasteries important enough to be kept secret fulfilled…political purposes. The Servants of Gregory were tasked with finding and destroying anyone who wished to question the existing orthodoxy of the church.
“And they did. And, if you’ll believe me, they do.
“How do I know? Because until about three hours ago, I was a Servant of Gregory.
“Our order came to Nebraska in the 19th Century. With an influx of immigrants from northern Italy, eastern Europe, and rural China–all locations where supposedly dangerous heresies had previously been destroyed by our order–there was concern that new allegiances might create a threat to the established orthodoxy that lies at the heart of Christian power.
“The first Servants to arrive started a newspaper syndicate. They had five papers targeting different communities in Omaha the church was afraid of. It helped them control what speakers ended up on social calendars, what events received news coverage, and whose mistakes were forgotten while others were repeated.”
The speaker turned the jersey around, revealing five large patches that resembled the logos of newspapers. At this reveal, the crowd gasped.
“As you can see, this uniform includes the logo of each paper. And that is what makes this uniform so exciting! The Servants only played one game in these uniforms before the Archbishop found out and dissolved the team. You see, there is a paper trail proving that the Servants of Gregory exist. Many would prefer there wasn’t, but it is hard to keep anything around that long without leaving some evidence. And there is hard evidence showing that these papers existed. Copies are held in archives around the country. But there is nothing tying the Servants to the newspaper syndicate…except for this jersey, which I have stolen from The Servants of Gregory archives today. In addition to the jersey, I have brought documents showing the Archbishop’s decision to dissolve the team and burn their uniforms, as well as a signed injunction allowing the Servants to preserve one jersey in the archives for posterity.
“There is no maybe about it. This is definitely a final jersey.”
The room was quiet. No one quite knew what to do. This man, who hadn’t even given his name, seemed to have exactly what they were all looking for. If real, this would be the best final jersey that anyone had ever found. But he had also said so many…things. Much of what he said had absolutely nothing to do with baseball or collecting. And some of it seemed true, but some seemed downright conspiratorial. Besides, shouldn’t someone confirm the parts of his story that seemed…confirmable? It was one thing to risk a hundred bucks on a misprinted baseball card, but this jersey could go for millions of dollars.
Someone in London spoke first. “I’m confused, why are you selling this?”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to buy it?”
This answer did not settle the room. The speaker tried again.
“I have lost my faith. I joined the Servants of Gregory to protect that faith, but I started wondering what I was protecting. I wasn’t fighting evil people, just curious ones. And mostly, they were curious people who just wanted to understand the world and their place in it a little better. Sure, some people were seeking power or attention, but none more-so than the Archbishop I reported to.
“Sometimes, the most dangerous place to hold a belief is around those who agree with you. You get to see how else your beliefs can be used. I didn’t like how it looked.
“But, I took a vow of poverty and don’t have anything on my resume for the past ten years. What am I supposed to say in a job interview? ‘You don’t understand, I have a lot of direct job experience from my time working in a secret monastery in Omaha?’
“The money from this buys me a new life. And if that unearths some truths people would prefer hidden, fuck ‘em.”
There was another silence. This time, someone in the room broke it.
“How did you hear about us?”
“I found a strange post about ‘maybe-finals’ on a Reddit board for an anime—”
As the man said “Reddit,” the police burst down the doors. They rushed towards the man with guns drawn as he held the jersey in his hands above his head. Just before anyone could touch him, he threw the jersey into the crowd where the collectors dove on it like starving rats. While two officers handcuffed the Servant and led him away, the other officers got busy throwing people out of the classroom and trying to track down the stolen jersey.
Even in the chaos, Whitney’s focus stayed on Rebecca. She didn’t need a stolen jersey, but she did need a ride.
Walking to the car, Rebecca could not stop shaking. “That is the best auction I have ever been to. I cannot wait to tell Apphia about all this! She thinks this sort of thing is boring. But wait until she hears about this!”
By the time Rebecca made it to York, it was four in the morning. Whitney accepted her offer to sleep on Apphia’s couch and look for Dillon tomorrow. When she woke up, Rebecca and Apphia were already gone. They’d left a note on the coffee table with a phone number to call in case she needed anything. They had also left the door unlocked. Whitney wanted to lock the door, but was afraid of locking Apphia out of her own home. She called to confirm whether they had a key, but no one answered.
Whitney got ready and left as fast as she could. According to Find My Friends, Dillon was less than a mile away. She walked from 13th to 8th street without seeing a soul. She wondered where everyone was on a Saturday. A part of her hoped that she would find her truck on one of these roads and she could drive home without any muss or fuss. Another part of her was looking forward to making a fuss. She had been through a lot in the past 18 hours. There are certainly worse times to throw a fit.
Whitney knocked too hard on the door. She felt the sting in her shoulder. Some baffled person answered.
“Hi, is Dillon here? I need to talk to them.”
“There’s no Dillon here.”
“Please. I have been through a lot. I know Dillon doesn’t want to see me, but I really need to see them. It’s very urgent.”
“Sorry, I can’t help you.”
“Well I’m not leaving until you do.”
“Look, I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
Whitney took out the map on her phone and showed it to the person she was accosting.
“See! I know they’re here!”
“Oh, that’s who’s phone that was.” The person walked away and returned with Dillon’s phone. “Here. Give it to ‘em when you find them.”
Whitney walked away without the phone and called her friend Maria for a ride back to Omaha.
The End
Copyright © 2015