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Summary
He spends another twenty minutes staring at his phone before he musters up the courage to call Darla.It rings for several minutes. For a moment Bernard thinks he’s gonna get kicked to voicemail, which is exactly the kind of anticlimactic bullshit the universe would drop on him for being anxious about this.
The phone picks up, a quiet out-of-breath noise in his ear.
“Hey, dumbass,” Darla’s voice says. “You okay? Tim thinks you’ve been kidnapped.”
It’s her voice. It’s young and smooth and tripping over the corners of words in the ways a gangly teenager does, and how did she ever sound this young?
“Bernard?” Darla says, worried.
Bernard hangs up.
Post-Cult-of-Dionysus Bernard gets stuck in a time loop of the day Darla Aquista dies, which sucks just, royal balls.