Time's Up

Time's Up
By TesubCalle

Author's Note:
This was written for a challenge, with a limit restriction on the number of words.

It was an average and unremarkable Summer day; a Monday – the one day of the week I had off in my crazy schedule. Deciding to spend the afternoon with Troy, my ‘significant other’, as is the popular phrase, was a no-brainer. We hadn’t seen each other in a couple weeks, and I missed him. We decided on the lake to relax, get some rays and enjoy each other’s company.

The lake that afternoon was surprisingly unpopulated, given the soaring temperatures. Not that it mattered. I seldom had time alone with Troy, and was secretly grateful for the nearly deserted beach. I was lounging on a towel, watching Troy treading water when my cell phone rang.

I took a glance at the call display. Whoever the caller was, he or she was blocking their ID from their end, making it unrecognizable. I wasn't in the mood to talk to a stranger at this time, so I let the phone ring on.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Troy called out to me.

"Nah," I replied. "It's nobody I know."

But the phone rang on. I'd programmed in the 'X-Files' theme for the ring tone, even though at the time I was no longer a rabid X-Phile. (In my estimation, it was still a very cool theme song, regardless of how the series’ mythology degraded into mindless mush). By the twenty-first ring, though, I was getting rather irritated, and so was Troy.

"Just answer the phone, huh, hon?" he called out in an exasperated tone.

"Fine." I was about to flip it open when the obstinate thing ceased ringing.

"There, see? Even telemarketers eventually get the message that no one's home."

Five minutes later, the phone rang again. Annoyed, I glared at it, but it stopped at one ring.

"Just turn the darn thing off if you're not going to answer," Troy grumbled.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled back. I picked it up and was about to terminate the power when I noticed I had a text message waiting...

'TALK TO ME. OR ELSE.' The words glared ominously up at me from my cell phone’s backlit screen.

"Hey, Troy...Come take a look at this..." My voice was shaking.

"What is it?" he called from the waist-high water he was wading in.

"Please, just come see. Hurry." Who on earth could have sent this? I thought to myself.

"Okay, be right there." Troy said.

I watched as he started making his way to shore. In spite of my sudden feeling of fear, I found myself admiring his tanned bronze skin, his build, his powerful stride as he sloshed through the water. Then I saw him fall at almost the same instant I heard a crack. For a moment I was confused. Troy had almost reached dry land, and then he disappeared under the water with a splash.

"Troy?" I called out, terror gripping my heart. He had not surfaced.

"Troy!" I jumped up from my towel and started for the lake. But my left leg crumpled under me and I sprawled headlong in the scorching sand. My ears were ringing - another crack had pierced the calm of the afternoon. A sudden burning pain ripped through my left thigh. I moved my hand slowly down to the source of the pain and recoiled in horror when my fingers met with warm wetness.

I struggled to comprehend what was happening. In spite of my agony my one thought was to get to Troy. I had to get him out of the water. He would drown if I didn’t get to him. I began dragging myself along the sand, calling out his name. A shadow fell across me and I strained my neck to look up at what was casting it.

A tall figure was silhouetted against the bright sunlight, standing between me and the water. I could not make out any of his features, but in one hand I was able to make out a high-powered rifle. In the other hand, he was holding a cell phone.

"Why..?" I asked, my throat dry and voice cracking.

"I've been watching you for a while. All I wanted was a litte conversation; to hear your lovely voice," he said. "But you ignored me."

He dangled his cell phone above me. "I'd let you call for help, but, silly me, I just remembered I've used up all my minutes for this month. Guess it's a good thing we never talked on the phone after all."

He pocketed his cell phone and took aim with the rifle at my head. "Sometimes, those cell phone plans are a killer, aren't they?"

I did not hear a third crack.

END

A/N: UPDATE - A reader once asked me some interesting questions about 'Time's Up', like how the shooter obtained the protagonist's cell phone number, and why he might have been following her. This following hopefully answers that.

TIME’S UP:
Prologue

“Hello? He-l-l-o-ooo…Rachel, are you there? Hello…”

I was sitting on a train, homeward bound, trying not to draw attention to myself while I held my cell phone to my ear. I stared with annoyance at the face of the bulky, outdated piece of communications technology. The display screen was cloudy with wear and scratched rather badly. The power bar indicated the battery life was totally depleted, even though I’d left it in the charger overnight as per the manufacturer’s “full charge” instructions.

I’d been talking with my best friend, Rachel, when the phone suddenly died, cutting me off mid-sentence. With an angry pout, a shoved the phone into my shoulder bag and resigned myself to a conversation-less commute home. It was the third time in a week the phone had pulled the same stunt, and I made a silent memo to myself: “Time to get a new cell phone!”

Truly, it had given me five years of good service, surviving a multitude of accidents and unintentional abuses. With the latest failure, though, I decided to accept the fact it had finally given up the ghost.

There’s a cell phone dealership that’s within walking distance of the train station at which I usually disembark, situated next to a rather busy shopping area that includes a department store, hardware store (warehouse, is more like it), several restaurants and fast-food chains and other essential services.

I don’t usually go in for impulse purchases, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to go more than a few days without a working cell. Majority of my time is spent away from my home. When people dial my number, they want to reach me, not an address.

It was late evening when I hit the cell phone store. I noted it was fairly close to the end of its business hours for the day. Still, there were about half-a-dozen patrons being tended to by two staff members. The door had one of those bells attached announcing the arrival and departure of any customer, so when I entered, it jangled noisily. One of the staffers, a tall man of about 30 or so, looked up from the woman he was helping and said: “Be right with you.” I smiled back and gave a short nod in reply.

I took that opportunity to peruse the wares: Flip-phones, camera phones, and even TV phones announced their presence to me on their own individual pedestals, along with a little card detailing their other pertinent features. I idly wondered what on earth someone would do with a TV phone, since it would probably suck the life out of the battery after 10 minutes of viewing. Obviously, my own dead phone left me jaded and critical of the viability of cell phone battery life.

What I really needed, I concluded, was a phone with a decent plan for minutes, text messaging, good battery life and signal strength. All the other flashy add-ons would simply be a waste of my hard-earned money.

I’d just about come to the end of poking through all the possible phone accessories the store carried when the sales clerk who’d motioned to me earlier approached and said: “Sorry for the wait. Can I help you?”

His nametag simply said: “TRAINEE”, so I decided I was going to be extra nice, but short and to the point.

My mind was made up about the model I wanted by then, so I said: “Yes. Follow me, please. I’m pretty sure I know what I’d like to purchase.”

He took my lead and I pointed out a small, silver flip-phone with a colour screen. In fact, the term ‘flip-phone’ was probably redundant, as all the phones in the store ‘flipped’ open.

“My old cell phone’s battery is completely dead,” I said by way of explanation. “It’s a really old phone as it is, so I decided to go ahead, bite the bullet, and get a brand new one.”

“You’ve made an excellent choice,” he proclaimed cheerily, upon seeing my selection. He gave a lop-sided smile that I wasn’t sure was entirely sincere, but I dismissed it as new job jitters. Some people have the misfortune of sounding like they’re patronizing when they are being completely honest. “If you trade in your old phone, we can sign you up for a 2-year plan. 300 minutes per month and unlimited evenings and weekends. You also get some free ringtones you can download, and this new phone comes to no cost to you after a mail-in rebate.”

“Sounds like a deal to me,” I replied, pleased that even as a new staff member, he sounded reasonably informed about the products.

The tall trainee gave me another lop-sided grin. He maintained a solicitous look that lasted longer than was professionally polite, I thought with a hint of annoyance. He’d already made the sale. Any pretence of friendliness to gain my confidence ought to have been dropped by now. Instead, I felt my cheeks growing warm with discomfort.

“Has anyone ever told you that you have a very nice voice?” he said out of the blue.

Truthfully, I’ve received compliments on my singing when I’ve had the chance to solo. But that was years ago in my high school choir days, and it was usually the parents of friends, and they were being nice and courteous for the most part. I’ve also been told I have a ‘warm’ singing voice, and to my ears, it tends to have a husky edge. Some would probably describe it as ‘throaty’. But no one’s ever commented before on my speaking voice.

“Um, no, not really,” I replied to his inquiry, feeling flustered by the unwelcome attention.

“It’s lovely,” he persisted. “You should be on the radio, or something. Voice-overs on commercials and things like that.”

I gave a tight smile, and motioned with my eyebrows to the model of cell phone I was ready to take home. In case he still didn’t take the hint, I cleared my throat.

“Sorry. The phone. Come around here to the desk and I’ll get it out for you along with the contract.” From the nearly imperceptible slump of his shoulders, I could tell he felt somewhat slighted and disappointed that I was ignoring his compliment. But I simply hadn’t the time or patience to put up with a flirtatious sales clerk. I already had a steady boyfriend, Troy, and this tall trainee wasn't in any position to dethrone him.

“So, you have the old phone with you?” he asked when he pulled out a box containing the new cell phone and a form for me to sign.

I dug into my shoulder bag for the antique and handed it to him without a word.

“Oh, yeah, this is an old one. I haven’t seen this kind at all. But I’ve only been working here for a few weeks. Where do you work?”

“Look, I really don’t have much time to chat,” I said, trying to speed things along, abandoning my previous decision to be extra nice to ‘TRAINEE’. “I’d like to see and sign the contract and make my purchase quickly.”

A certain look flashed across his face for the briefest of moments and then disappeared. “Oh, sure,” he said amicably after a pause, and slid the contract towards me and unclipped a pen from his front shirt pocket. I read over all the ‘fine print’, was satisfied with what I was getting, then signed on the dotted line.

“I’ll activate the phone right now,” he said, removing it from its box.

“Great,” I said, with little enthusiasm.

“So, you can keep the old phone number you’ve always had, which is 555-6402...and how will you be paying?”

“Credit,” I said, and pulled the card from my wallet.

I signed the receipt when it printed, and the trainee bagged my purchase along with the mail-in rebate.

“There you go,” he said, handing everything to me.

“Thanks,” I said, and turned to leave.

“See you again sometime, okay? Talk to you later!” he called after me.

I doubt it, I thought to myself as the bell on the door jingled as I exited. In the lingering twilight of the Summer night, I hurried towards the train station/bus depot to finally head home, quickly putting the brief conversation I had with the sales clerk out of my mind.

END