"Hey, you okay? Call me." Message deleted.
"Hey, this is Vigil. You alright? Text me." Message deleted.
"Hello, this the Vigil-babe calling for Johnny boy at-- god, no, what the fu--" Message deleted.
"I'm sorry. I bought drinks. Made too much food. Baked too much sweets. If you wanna catch up, I'm here. Love you. God, I sound fucking clin--." Message deleted.
"Sorry, if you're busy. This is Vigil. If you're not busy, let's go somewhere? Anywhere you like. Spa, sauna, volcano. Miss you. Love you. Kisses." Message sent.
The Vigilante was worried. Still worried. She wasn't good at fretting. Rather shite at it, she would say. It was the leaving messages bit that always tripped her up. She could text and keep her side filled, but voice mail was her foil. She had already felt she fucked up - on what or where, she hadn't known which bit to start - with him. With what she said.
She hadn't worried before - it was reassuring the last times. Key word: times. At least there was a location to investigate, but this time? Genuinely, she was scared. Devastated, sad, but really scared. For all she knew, that message could be put in a cube and float there for anybody to find it. As some joke and with her none the wiser.
Still, her pacing for almost eight hours straight was enough to raise any concern.