Last Call

I groped through my sleep-addled state of mind and tried, in my confusion, to decode what the noise was. The digital readout on my bedside clock showed three thirty-three. What a nice neat number, I thought, as I tried to pull my senses together. I was at home, in my own bed, I realized after a few moments. The years of travel have conditioned me to pause upon waking and gather my senses first before leaping out of bed. The sound started again and I realized that it was a phone ringing somewhere off in the house. 

I looked at my mobile, sitting on the bedside table but all was quiet. There should be no other phones in my house as I’d got rid of the fixed-line a long time ago and now just relied on my cell phone. My wife, Ellen, was staying at her mother’s for a few days. To give her some space, she’d said but I suspected a different reason. 

The house was silent as the distant ringing continued but I picked it up, just to be sure; scrutinized the screen then put it back down. I slid out of the bed and stood in the darkness, listening. At once the ringing stopped and I waited for it to begin again. I held my breath but all was quiet now. I shook my head, trying to clear the last vestiges of sleep from my mind. Standing beside my bed in the silence I began to question my mind. 

Had I been dreaming of a phone call?

Was it part of some intricate dream and the call was there to wake me up? 

I had no idea but as I breathed out, my shoulders relaxed and I smiled to myself as I slipped back under the fast cooling bedclothes hoping to slide back into the warm, comforting dreamland. As my head relaxed on the pillow I remained wide awake, expecting to hear the sound once more but after a while the warmth of the bed and tiredness overtook me and I was asleep once more. Then I heard it again, away in the distance. This time I was fully awake so I leapt from my bed and stepped out of the bedroom door. I stood on the landing, wearing only my boxer shorts, listening for the direction of the sound. A sudden blast of cold air hit my semi-naked body. I thought it came from an open door or window, which I knew was ridiculous. I’d locked everywhere the previous evening so I knew that couldn’t be right unless Ellen had come home during the night. Perhaps that was the answer and it was her ringtone I was hearing. The phone noise had stopped again and, once more, all was silent in the house. Being on my own, I was used to the silence but it seemed different at this hour of the early morning. 

Gingerly, I stepped down onto the stair carpet which felt good between my toes and I headed downwards. I could definitely feel the cold air now. Something was really wrong, I knew, as I went lower towards the hallway. The front door was closed and bolted, that much I could make out in the darkness. But to reassure myself I tried the handle. It didn’t move, the lock was solid and there were no other windows besides the ones either side of the door and they were intact. I could hear my heart pounding in my chest and I took deep breaths trying to maintain the calm. I knew there was something wrong but what, I couldn’t guess. The door to the lounge was closed, just as I had left it a few hours ago. The door to the kitchen was slightly open, I’d been meaning to fix that faulty catch for some time but it was still on my list. 

I shuffled along the hallway and opened the door to the lounge. I was met with silence and no wife. I fully expected her to be laid out on the sofa and giving me a cheery smile when I woke her. I thought she might tell me how much she’d missed me and she was back to resume our marriage. I was mistaken, there was just a gloomy silence in the room. I felt the draught again as I stepped back into the hallway. I could tell it was coming from the kitchen as I could see the door moving slightly in the half light of early dawn. I was apprehensive but pushed the door open, it creaked on its hinges. I was shocked to see the kitchen window open, the one over the sink was wide with the curtains blowing in the breeze. I shivered, not with the cold but with the sight of what looked like a man laid on the floor. 

“What are you doing in my house,” I said with a faltering voice, but there was no reply? My phone was still upstairs beside my bed and I cursed myself for not bringing it down with me. Should I run back up the stairs and phone the Police for assistance or should I try to get the man to leave? 

I initially thought the man was hiding from me but then I saw what looked like a pool of dark red blood around his head. It had flowed across the tiles and he was not moving at all. I stepped back to the kitchen door, flicked a switch beside it and the room filled with light. Now I could see what had happened. The burglar had forced open the kitchen window but fallen over the sink and, judging by the blood smear on the corner of the centre island, hit his head on it. I knelt down beside the body and felt for a pulse. As I got down close I felt that he was familiar to me. Not just familiar, I realized now that it was my best friend Karl. A man I had known for twenty years or so. A man who Ellen and I had helped and comforted through the recent collapse of his marriage. 

Why was he here in my kitchen in the early hours of the morning? If he needed anything all he had to do was to just ask. I was mystified by the strange events but knew I needed to contact the emergency services. I turned to leave the room and retrieve my mobile from upstairs when a phone started ringing again. I looked at the lifeless body of my friend and realised that it was his phone which I could hear. I knelt down and slipped his phone out of the back pocket of his jeans. With horror, I recognized the number. It was Ellen ringing him. 

I pressed the green button to answer but before I could speak she said.

“Is it done Karl my love, is he dead?” 

I just answered, “Yes,” and closed the call.