Burn Phone

by Thomas Malafarina

  Wilson noticed the guard’s startled reaction but paid it no mind, since he had been receiving a similar reaction from many people today. And, what did he care? These people were mere mortals while he was now very close to becoming a god among them. They were like ants to be crushed beneath his feet.

  On the way up in the elevator, Wilson could feel the beating pulse of the phone against his heart. “Just a few more minutes.” he said aloud, partially to himself and partially to the phone. “Soon you will get to have what you have been waiting for. Soon we both will have what we have been waiting for.”

  As Wilson stepped off the elevator, he saw T. Martin Edmondson’s old bat secretary Betty signaling him from across the long expanse of the office, waving her scrawny wrinkled arms manically. She was such a maddening simple-minded hag of a woman whose sole reason for living and breathing seemed to be so that she could please the old man.

  If Edmondson told her to jump, she would ask “how high?” If the told her to take a crap, she would probably ask, “what color?” It was revolting to Wilson what a hopeless slave the woman appeared to be.

  He had heard rumors about the two having been a hot romantic item at one time in their younger days. He assumed that might explain a lot about her behavior. Edmondson obviously felt nothing for her, if he ever did, but she appeared to still carry a torch for him. The very thought made Wilson’s skin crawl.

  She walked up to Wilson, apparently not noticing the hidden horrible under-face, as the guard had. Wilson thought, “The old bat is so absorbed in pleasing Edmondson that she can’t see past the nose on her own idiotic face. Then he decided that as soon as he was finish dispatching with Edmondson, he would definitely have to take care of the old witch as well. Perhaps he would call her into the office and force her to watch Edmondson die slowly before he eventually did away with her. He thought he might enjoy watching her almighty face cave in over the horror of what she would witness.”

  “Charles”, the woman said loudly, interrupting Wilson’s train of thought, “Mr. Edmondson said that you MUST go into his office IMMEDIATELY upon your return.”

  “Betty, please.” Wilson argued trying to sound exhausted and frustrated, “I just got in from a long day of travel and would like to at least take time to go to the men’s room first.” In fact, he had already stopped along the way from the airport to take care of that particular bit of business and in reality couldn’t wait to get in front of Edmondson, but he just enjoyed screwing with the old hag’s head.

  She admonished, “Absolutely NOT! Mr. Edmondson was firm about this! He said to get you as soon as you stepped off the elevator. No ifs, ands or buts.”

  Wilson thought to himself, “Oh, just wait, you miserable sagging sow. In a few minutes you will be licking my feet clean while begging for me to spare your miserable life. I can hardly wait to make you squirm. Maybe I will get lucky and you will become so terrified that soil yourself. How wonderful would that be?”

  “Very well.” Wilson said feigning disappointment. “What Mr. Edmondson wants, Mr. Edmondson gets.” He smiled slyly as he walked toward Edmondson’s office knowing that in a few moments, the old man would be getting a lot more than he ever imagined in his worst nightmares.

  Wilson stood patiently like a good little soldier, waiting to be properly announced, while Betty called Edmondson to let him know that Wilson had arrived. He heard the old fart cackling, “Send him in,” over the ancient squawk box, circa 1953 that Edmondson refused to give up.

  Wilson never ceased to be amazed at how such an old fashion character such as T. Martin Edmondson could be the owner of a high tech information systems company. The man didn’t even own a computer! His employees may have been working on the cutting edge of technology, but the old man was part of another century.

  Several years ago, during one of the old man’s more mellow moments, Charles had asked Edmondson why it was that he owned such a high tech company when it was obvious that he had nothing but distain for modern technology. The old fool had replied that he did not “give a tinkers damn” about technology, whatever that meant, and it could “all go to blazes” as far as he was concerned.

  He stated that he was first, and foremost; a businessman and it just happened that owning a high-tech information system was the current way he was making money. However, he did expect his employees to be on the cutting edge of developments and to be available to him round the clock, but that did not mean that he had to be part of the idiotic circus himself.

  Edmondson had told Wilson that during his long lifetime, he had owned manufacturing companies, though he knew nothing about manufacturing. He had owned bars, restaurants, recording companies and virtually every other type of business one might imagine. And, the fact was, that he didn’t care one iota personally about any of them, but they all made him money; which was what it was all about to him. He said the key to success was not what you knew, but that you understood how much you didn’t know, and hired the right people who actually did know. Businesses in Edmondson’s mind were nothing more than a means to an end; and that end was making money. Making money was his life, his love, his passion and how he got that money did not matter.

  Charles turned the knob on the door to Edmondson’s office and prepared to enter, as the hatred and rage boiled ever hotter within him.

  Chapter 26

  As Wilson turned the handle to enter Edmondson’s office, Betty noticed for the first time the ‘face under the face’. She gasped loudly and Wilson turned to look directly at her as the hideous countenance swam away, replaced by Wilson’s own angry expression.

  “Is something the matter, Betty?” Wilson asked, knowing full well that there was, but enjoying her discomfort immensely. “Why, you look as though you’ve seen the devil himself.” Then he chuckled, turned away and opened the door to Edmondson’s office. Betty took two stumble steps backward and fell down with a thump into her desk chair, overcome with shock.

  When Wilson entered the office he found Edmondson sitting behind the desk looking stern-faced and grumpy as usual, but also as if he were displeased to see Charles, rather than curious about the fact that Wilson had just made the greatest deal that had ever existed in the company’s history. Wilson walked deliberately into the office, closing the door behind him and took a seat across from the man, without being invited to do so, exuding an air of confidence that was impossible not to notice.

  “Well Wilson. I would have invited you to sit down but it looks like you have already found your way.” Edmondson said sarcastically. “You appear quite pleased with yourself today. I hope that you are not letting your latest success go to your head. Because you know how I abhor any of my people acting too high and mighty.” Charles felt his temper beginning to boil.

  “Your people?” Wilson responded quietly as if contemplating the implication of what the old man had said, understanding that Edmondson really did think of his workers as his people, his possessions, things that he owned and that he could control. Wilson knew that within the next few moments all of that would be changing. He felt the phone beginning to vibrate rapidly next to his heart.

  “Of course, my people.” Edmondson barked. “You all are my employees and I pay your salaries, quite generously, I must also say. So therefore I think of you all as my people, my underlings, my subordinates, and as I said, I prefer that my people remember their places and not get too cocky. Do you understand me Wilson?”

  Wilson hesitated for a moment eager to begin torturing the man, and then said as calmly as he could, “Yes, I understand exactly what you mean.” The phone was pulsating wildly against his chest. It was anxious to get to work, but he wanted to delay it as long as possible to allow his loathing to build.

  “You see Wilson, humility is a trait that I expect from all my subordinates.” The old man began to drone on as of repeating a canned speech. Wilson no longer heard what he was saying and though he was looking directly at the man and trying to appear interested, all he could hear was “blah, bla
h, blah, blah.”

  He found himself enjoying the way in which he was able to block out the old coot and think of things much more pleasant. Perhaps this was what it meant to become a type of god, as he now believed he had done. After all, when a tiger was about to rip the throat out of a gazelle, it didn’t need to take the time to care about what the helpless creature was thinking. It was his victim, walking meat, nothing more, nothing less.

  “Wilson?” he heard the Edmondson say to him. “Didn’t you hear me Wilson? Are you all right? Or have you been struck deaf?”

  “Sorry, Mr. Edmondson.” Wilson said mechanically, although not actually sorry, but more out of habit than anything. “It’s been a long, trying day and I must be having trouble focusing. What was it you said again?”

  “I asked you to tell me about your trip and about the deal?” Edmondson said with impatience. It seemed to Wilson from his new evolved status that Edmondson really didn’t want to hear about the deal any more than he wanted to tell about it, but that he too was asking out of habit or job responsibility. “I want to hear how you convinced them not to go with the competition. Especially since old man, Harcourt was fuming about your forgetting your cell phone. The arrogant bastard had the nerve to call me at home; and on a Sunday, no less. It was downright heathen behavior. Doesn’t he realize that is why I hire people like you? Anyway, just tell me how you managed to turn things around.”

  Wilson got the impression that Edmondson was playing some strange sort of game with him but nonetheless gave a half-hearted explanation, trying not to let his anger seep through, “Well. I simply persuaded R. John Showalter that we were the best firm for the job and that he would be risking everything by going with a lesser qualified company.” He was rapidly losing his patience and was like a boiling pressure cooker about to blow.

  “And he was willing to take such a risk, knowing full well that the president of the company was against using us?” Edmondson asked.

  Wilson continued impatiently, “Look. We both know that John Showalter is the real brains behind H & W’s phenomenal success and growth for the past two years and that those two idiots Harcourt and Washington were floundering, barely able to stay in business until Showalter came to the company. He was the one that really ran the company and he will be in control from now on.”

  Wilson was already getting tired of talking to Edmondson and was basically going through the debriefing process as a matter of course. But, he didn’t plan on doing this little song and dance for much longer. The pressure inside of him was growing too great and he simply not hold out much longer.

  Then Edmondson said something unexpected. “Tell me about this murder, about Washington going mad and butchering Harcourt right in his office. That had to be going on right while you were down the hall negotiating with Showalter. Tell me all the details.”

  For the first time since Wilson had entered the office, Edmondson almost looked excited at the prospect of hearing about the murder. “What kind of ghoul was this old man anyway?” Wilson wondered. Although somewhat surprised about how much Edmondson already did know, Wilson assumed that the old fart must have had an inside informer at Harcourt and Washington who was feeding him information.

  “You are right.” Wilson said, becoming more frustrated by the minute, still having to sit and explain to the old fool, “At the same time John Showalter and I were in his office, signing the contract, Samuel F. Washington must have gone mad and murdered J. P. Harcourt in his office. We didn’t find out about it until after the deal was signed.”

  To Wilson’s surprise, Edmondson did not show any emotion what so ever, no surprise, no excitement, no shock, nothing. The man just simply sat with his hands forming a teepee, fingertips touching. It was almost as if the old man had not heard him. Wilson did not understand how Edmondson could go from being excited to almost catatonic in a matter of seconds. Maybe the old man’s mind was finally giving out and shutting down. Whatever the reason, it only served to fuel Wilson’s’ anger to an even greater degree.

  “I just told you that the two owners of the company with which we just signed one of our biggest contracts in history are dead.” Wilson inquired, “Don’t you think maybe that is a bit shocking?”

  “Ah… Yes. Shocking. Tragic.” Edmondson interjected as if all of a sudden he was no longer interested. Again, Wilson got the impression that the old man already knew everything about the incident. Nonetheless, this series of bizarre reactions was not what Wilson would have expected.

  Edmondson said, “Then I assume that R. John Showalter will be taking over the reins of the company now, at least unofficially until the board of directors appoints him president. The board will not allow something such as this unfortunate little incident stand in the way of the company’s meteoric progress.”

  Wilson thought to himself, “Unfortunate little incident? Wow! This old bastard’s heart must be colder than an ice chest full of frozen mackerel.” Then he allowed this to make him even angrier, knowing that it would be to his extreme pleasure to eliminate Edmondson from face of the earth. Charles decided that he had had enough of this old man, this strange back and forth banter and this ridiculous staged respect for Edmondson.

  “Alright, that’s enough!” Wilson shouted, in a verbal explosion hurled across the desk at Edmondson, his temper rising greater by the second, as he stood up and approached the old man’s desk, slapping his palm flat on the top of the desk. “I have had just about enough, and I simply can’t take it any more!”

  Edmondson looked somewhat shocked that Wilson would dare to speak to him in that manor. “Wilson, what the Hell is wrong with you? Have you gone mad?”

  “No I have certainly not gone mad, Marty Boy! But, I have just simply had enough! I must have been mad to put up with you and your idiotic tyrannical antics for so long. And for what? For money?” Wilson shouted, spittle flying from his lips. “Edmondson, I think its time we get something out on the table, right here and right now; time to stop this song and dance. The simple fact of the matter is that I hate your miserable old rotten disgusting guts! I hate what you are doing with this company. I hate this building and every one of your worthless idiotic employees in it.”

  Edmondson did not say a word. Once again, he got that slightly glazed over catatonic look about him. He simply sat staring at Wilson as if he had lost his mind. Wilson ranted, “And I have changed Martin. I have changed for the best over the past several days. I have learned things about myself that most men never have the chance to learn. I have learned that I am a force to be reckoned with, and now you are going to have the opportunity to learn these things as well.”

  As his anger reached its point of climax, Wilson reached into his shirt pocket and took out the cell phone, the relic and without hesitation, pressed hard on one of the chrome skull buttons.

  Behind Edmondson, the very fabric of reality began to shimmer and wave. A deep rumbling sound could be heard throughout the office as in the middle of the air, a long slit began to form from a point about eight feet above the ground. The center of the slit began to spread open as a nauseating stench filled the office. From the bottom of the slit dozens of steaming tentacles flopped out side-by-side creating a blanket of scorching writhing appendages, draping from the bottom of the portal to the floor of the office, forming a ramp of undulating flesh.

  Then from the center of the slit, Wilson saw two hands emerge and begin separating the opening, widening it to allow for its exit. He was expecting to see the leathery talon-clad claws of a demon, but instead, this time the hands appeared to be normal human hands. As the slit widened Wilson was shocked to see a man stepping from the opening, and slowly walk down the carpet of tentacles, not affected in the least by the searing heat. The man appeared to be a normal human male dressed in a business suit. The man was R. John Showalter.

  Chapter 27

  Wilson stood staring at the man with complete shock and confusion.

  “John?” Wilson asked confused. “What the Hell is going o
n? What is the meaning of this?”

  Edmondson sat behind his desk, watching the activities around him with no apparent interest or concern. Wilson noticed the continued incredibly off-base reactions from the man, assuming that perhaps the strain of seeing the portal had been too much for him and his brain finally snapped for good.

  “Good afternoon Charles.” R. John Showalter said, “So good to see you once again. And thank you so much for all you have done for me over the past three days.” Wilson wondered in confusion what all of this was about. Things were not working out at all as he had planned.

  Showalter raised his right hand and with a jerk the strange cell phone flew from Charles Wilson’s hand, hurtled across the office space to Showalter where he quickly snatched it from the air, coolly placing it into his suit coat pocket.

  “My..my.. phone!” Wilson exclaimed. He had just lost possession of the one thing that allowed him to be so much more than simply Charles Wilson; and with it went his power.

  “No Charles. Sorry. My phone!” Showalter said, with a note of finality that cut Wilson to the quick.

  “His phone…. His phone… His relic…. His relic.” Edmondson murmured from his desk chair, watching the activities as if watching his favorite television program. Wilson was shocked to hear the word ‘relic’ coming from the lips of Edmondson, and in a voice that seemed to be much raspier, growling and demonic. Wilson was becoming more confused by the minute and feeling a similar surrealistic sensation to that which he had felt two nights earlier at the strange store.

  “What.. what is this … all about?” Wilson stammered. “What is going on?” He was about to demand an explanation, then thought better of it and pleaded, “Please tell me what is happening.”

  “Yes.” Showalter said. “I suppose I do owe you at least a somewhat brief explanation for what we have put you through. It only seems right. Don’t you agree?” He looked over at Edmondson, who sat at his desk, patting his hands together with the excitement of a six-year-old schoolchild.