The Caller
Valerie Gaumont
The Caller
Valerie Gaumont
Copyright 2011 by Valerie Gaumont
The Caller
I was dreaming of a telephone when I awoke. A big, shiny, black telephone sitting on a small round table at the end of a hallway. It was ringing and I tried to answer it but it seemed the more I went towards the phone, the longer the hallway became. I awoke with a jolt, panting from my exertions and realized the phone was real.
I fumbled for my glasses, laid neatly on my night stand and the digital numbers on my clock leapt into focus. 4:38 am. My heart shot into my throat as I threw off my covers and lunged for the phone. No one calls at this time of night with good news. Even really good news. For some reason good news can always wait until the light of day. It was only bad news that had a fondness for springing up out of the dark.
In my dash I knocked over a precariously balanced stack of books sending various notes flying, fell headlong over a stool and slid the rest of the way into the kitchen. Either I was moving very fast or my caller was very intent on reaching me, because the phone was still ringing when I stood up. I picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" I said, my voice somewhat muffled as I rubbed my shin where the stool caught me.
"Philip? Thank God! I was hoping you weren't still out with one of your lady-friends." She stressed the word lady with a heavy dose of sarcasm. Apparently my lady friends weren't ladies.
Or rather Philip's ladies weren't.
"Michael Hill," I spit out my own name interrupting her lecture about my wasting time with loose women.
"So that's who you were with? Why didn't you say so? Did you get what you need?" She asked.
"Well," I tried to figure out how to convince her that I was Michael Hill and not meeting with Michael Hill. She cut me off before I could get started.
"Let me guess, a few loose ends?" A shiver ran up my spine at her tone. "Look I can't hold on to this much longer. I need to get out quick so whether you are finished with Michael Hill or not I need to complete my part of the game. Where are you?"
"324 Garrett Ave," I answered without thinking, immediately giving myself a mental kick for giving this strange woman my real address.
"Good, that's on my way. I'll leave it at the front door. Same old drill. Don't open the door until I'm gone. You know, the usual." A loud beep sounded. "Damn, they're closer than I thought." The phone slammed down hard on the cradle and I rubbed my ear as I replaced my phone somewhat more gently than my caller had.
What the hell was going on? Who was Philip? And what exactly was going to be dropped off at my front door? I walked back into the living room, righted the stool I had tripped over, began to pick up my scattered notes and put them back into some semblance of order.
A joke. That's what this was. Some kind of joke. Maybe some kids that I had met up at the college library while I was doing research decided to pull a joke on me. They had seen me as some dusty old academic, stuck in my world of ancient history and thought it would be fun to see how I handled being thrown into a spy novel. I chuckled aloud to myself.
Next time I went into the library they would watch me to see how I handled it. I tucked the last of my notes away. What would be the best way to deal with this? I could pretend it didn't happen or perhaps play along with the joke, maybe convince the students I actually fell for the scenario until they confessed. Then smile as if I knew all along?
Yes, that sounded like a good plan. Everyone would have a laugh and it would all just be good fun. I was trying out expressions of surprise and bewilderment when I heard a loud knock on the front door.
"My, my, they are going to great lengths for this joke aren't they?" I walked to the door and grasped the handle. Suddenly I remembered I wasn't supposed to open it until the woman had left. I looked through the peephole and saw a small woman with black hair as she walked briskly down my front path and into the waiting car. In half a second she was gone. She didn't look familiar, but they could have had someone I didn't know come to my place so I wouldn't suspect. I shrugged and opened the door.
A black case sat in my doorway. It was about a foot and a half long, about six inches wide and perhaps two feet tall. I reached for the bag and found it surprisingly heavy. With some effort I got it inside. I resisted the urge to open it immediately in my front doorway to see what interesting things had been placed inside. I would at least wait until I got it into the living room.
I shut and locked my front door and shuffle stepped with the heavy case to the living room.
I dropped heavily into my easy chair and took a moment to catch my breath. A yawn stretched my face and I looked at the wall clock. 5:32 am. I yawned again. Okay, I promised my body. I'll take a quick look inside, then go to bed. I snapped open the two catches on the side of the case and folded back the cover.
On top was a large envelope, the yellow-orangey kind that manuscripts are mailed in. I tried to remember the name of that type of envelope but couldn't. It was very annoying, after all I had purchased so many of them in the past. I shook my head in frustration. Maybe it would come to me later on if I didn't think about it.
I pulled the envelope out. It was sealed with packing tape across the metal fasteners. I would need a pair of scissors to get that open with out risking a nasty paper cut. I decided to wait and see what else was in the case before I opened the envelope. The next item in the case was a gun. It looked so real for a second that my heart raced.
"Relax," I said aloud. "It's only a toy." I picked it up. It was light, smooth and cool to the touch. It looked so real, but then what did I know? The only time I had ever seen a gun was in the movies, unless you counted that museum exhibit of muskets I once saw. Fascinating exhibit, but of no real use here. I turned the gun over in my hands. Recognition clicked as I placed it down on top of the envelope.
A few years back they took a line of toy guns off the market because they looked too real and people were actually using them for robberies or something of that nature. No doubt the toy in front of me was a relic of that line. No wonder they had taken them off the market. If I hadn't felt how light it was I would have thought it a real gun. But guns were heavy, weren't they? I shrugged and reached back into the case.
At first I thought I had hit the bottom but quickly realized it was much to shallow for this to be correct. I carefully lifted the last object out with both hands. It was fairly heavy and seemed more so because of my awkward grip. It popped out and I fell backwards into my chair. It was a laptop computer. I stared at it a moment before I realized that this was not a college prank.
Unless it wasn't a real computer.
I took a deep breath and turned it on. I heard the familiar sounds of a computer coming to life, the usual icons appeared on the screen and I switched it off.
It was a real computer.
I put it back in the case, stood up and went to the kitchen. My mind was whirling. Actually whirling is a bad term. My mind had turned into a flashing siren that turns and spills red light out into the night while making a hideous racket. I was impressed that red light was not coming out of my eyes, ears, nose and mouth. I took this as a good sign.
I fixed myself a glass of ice water, closed my eyes and forced myself to drink slowly, thinking about nothing but the water as it went from my glass and down my throat. When the water was gone I was calm enough to think clearly. I opened my eyes.
I could still see the case over the half wall partition separating kitchen from living room. I turned my back and stared at the refrigerator instead. My ancient cookie monster magnet was less threatening.
There was no way the kids from campus had pulled this joke. Who then? My sister Kate? Her son,
Randy, could do pretty much anything with computers, and there was a computer in the case. It was a long shot but still a connection. But the woman who dropped the case off wasn't one of my sister's friends. At least not one I had met.
Who else then? Roger, my best friend from college. It would be just like him to pull a trick like this. The woman at the door could have been a friend of his. She was even his type. But would Roger go to this much trouble? I smiled to myself. Yes, he would. And if Kate were to help him...
I winked at the cookie monster magnet and turned back to the living room. That was it!
