Every morning it’s the same.
I drive past the cornfields where she was murdered. Coming home in the evenings I pass them too. Her killer is still on the loose. I look into the rearview mirror. Her death haunts me.
I blast the music and keep the windows up for fear that I might hear the screams among the stalks. I half expect to see her stagger out onto the road, her skull crushed, screeching with wild eyes as I pass by. Like a child I turn on the dome light. Nothing. No icy fingers curling around my throat. No eyes staring back. The car is bare.
Checking the night’s messages. Passing the numbers her entry appears on the screen. It hasn’t really sunk in. I just spoke with her a few days back. We were supposed to get together for breakfast, catch up on old times. There, like it isn’t real her name stares back, ‘Emily Privett,’ 404-555-8….
It’s still dark out. Passing the road. No staggering corpse. My thumb hovers and my breathing becomes shallow. What happens when you call a dead person’s cell phone? I punch in the block code and begin to sweat. I push call.
Waiting. The signal is always bad through here. I expect an ‘out of service’ message.
Ringing. I want to hang up but don’t. I would never tell anyone that I’m doing this. The darkness inside of me has to know though - always has to know what would ‘it’ be like, the taboo on the other side.
Ringing. Hairs stand on the back of my neck. Muffled sounds coming through. The sound of breathing….
Then….’Hi, this is Emily Privett. Please leave a message and I’ll….”
I shiver and hang up. Her voice is so vibrant, so alive. God I miss her. It’s not real, I keep telling myself. It’s not real. I feel angry and wonder why her family hasn’t canceled the account. They have had more important things to do, I suppose, than cancel her cell phone. It shakes me to hear her voice though, to remember her face. I look into the rearview again. Nothing.
That evening I shower before bed. The day seems to wash away as well. In for the night. I watch a cooking show and prepare to turn in.
My wife removes her robe and lies down next to me.
The television whispers in the night.
“No service calls tonight?” Her voice is stoic. “Anything you want to tell me?”
”Nope,” I reply, “just my nine to five.”
”Right.” She lets out a heavy sigh. “Whatever.”
I take a deep breath; I know when she is baiting me. “What….” I say without turning over.
”You had a call,” she says as she reaches to turn off the lamp.
”And….”
”Young girl….Emily. She said she’ll catch you in the morning.”
©2009 D Gavin Guddi
![[del.icio.us]](http://images.del.icio.us/static/img/delicious.small.gif){kind=small}
November 6th, 2009 at 12:36 am
This little story had me on the edge of my seat, from start to finish….
November 6th, 2009 at 4:33 pm
So many layers and creepy unanswered questions in such a short piece. Excellent.
November 6th, 2009 at 8:04 pm
Chilling and creepy! Great!
November 12th, 2009 at 12:45 pm
Loved the double meaning to the casual “catch you in the morning”…
shivers…
nicely done.