Crypt Calls

Bulldozing through the cocktail of sounds like a bowling ball through an aisle of wine glasses, the telephone blasted over the traffic and random conversations held by the crowd of pedestrians down below. I stood in the kitchen with dreaded eyes, sweat threatening to scrape my skin, taking what little of my nerves I had left.
         "Oh God! Who could it be now?" My mind, tattered, echoed the fear that had been plaguing me for the last couple of weeks. Why are you asking that question?! Of course you know who it is. Who else could it be?
         “But it might be my mom…I haven’t spoken to her for so long. Maybe it is her just checking up on me,” I said aloud.
         It’s possible. But what if it’s HER?
         “Maybe it is John. I have been leaving him voice messages for weeks. Maybe he finally got to listening to them and now wants to talk to me,” I continued in an attempt to block the negative thoughts from flooding my mind.
         Do you honestly think that he is still alive? You watched the news today. A body of a man in his early 20s was found dead in his apartment. Chopped up and hung like wet laundry.
         I fell onto the wooden chair standing next to the stove, cupping my head into my big, peach hands. “No. No, not John. He’s too slick. If there is anyone who can get out of a pinch, it’s him.”
         He knew what he was getting himself into. Both of you signed a contract with her. She was crystal clear about what would happen if anyone failed to honor it. And both of you failed.
         The phone continued to ring in the background.
         You should get it.
         “No. I won’t. If it is her, she can leave a voice message.”
         Have you gone mad?! Do you really think not answering the phone will just make everything go away? Ugo, you are smarter than that. Much smarter than that.
         The voice in my head was right. That reaper wrapped in a blanket of cashmere over a voluptuous frame, would stop at nothing to find me. I threw my head onto the table repeatedly, still holding it like a kick boxer on the defensive.
         By the time I had stopped banging my head, the phone had stopped ringing and sat silently in the middle of the living room. I could feel my thoughts engulf my mind. “Why did I agree to that stupid deal?” I thought. Was it out of greed, or fear? I just wanted to leave the slum-dog hell hole I’ve been in since I was in diapers. I didn’t want to be responsible for destroying so many lives. Especially not John’s. He was the only true friend I had. The thought of his dismembered body hanging from a clothesline, blue eyes staring lifelessly at the wall, made my heart sore.
         Tears pushed through my eye ducts, wetting the table's surface, becoming nothing more than pitiful puddles. “Get it together. There has to be a way out of this,” I muttered as I stared at the puddles. By this time, I was able to recollect myself as the phone began to ring once again. I stared at it for a brief second, then redirected my attention to the window that looked over the chain of stores lining 63rd Avenue. 
{indent}If I am already a dead man, then let me die on my own terms, I thought. All I have to do is close my eyes, crash into the window and let gravity do the rest. My apartment is 8 stories up, so if I dive headfirst, the impact will surely kill me.
{indent}But what if you don’t die? The voice in my head queried.
         “What if I don’t die?” I repeated.
         That’s right. Try to think this through rationally. You have just made one bad decision. If you fall and fail to kill yourself, do you think your suffering ends there? She will find a way to get to you. And given the condition you would be in when she does find you...let's just say, a newborn puppy would have a better chance of defending itself.
         I had never considered that. If my attempt to commit suicide was unsuccessful, then I would be at her mercy. That would be worse than death. Her men…those mindless morons would torture me any which way she asked them to, for as long as she wanted them too.
         I shook my head in protest. “The price of failure is too steep. I might as well deal with this thing head on,” I said to myself.
         There you go. All you have to do now is answer that phone, said the voice.
         I took a deep breath and got up from the table. As I walked toward the phone, I peered at the window once again.
         Don’t even think about it.
         “It’s just a thought,” I said and kept on walking towards the phone. The sweat began to accumulate again. I pleaded for it to stay still until after the conversation. I didn’t want it to give away my unsteady countenance. 
         As I stopped in front of the phone, I breathed a heavy sigh and allowed my shaky hands to pick it up and put it next to my ear.

“Hello?”