I lay there looking at the ceiling, pondering the painful sensation of burns and the deadliness of explosions. Maevis lay down next to me. I wrapped an arm around her as best I could and tried to think about how I was going to enjoy life as a bald man for the next few months.
Caller ID
By T.W. Anderson
Caller ID was the second story I ever wrote. It was a cold winter in Sofia, my first in Bulgaria, and I had the idea when I was walking down Vitosha Boulevard on a snowy Sunday morning. I’ve toyed around with the thought of expanding the story to explain more of the research that was going on in the other dimension, but in the end I felt it was good to end it where it was.
The morning snow was semi-fresh, only slightly dirtied from pedestrians walking their morning routes. The edges of his shoes crunched footprints into the slippery powder as he eased his way onto the sidewalk, tugging his scarf closer against his neck to ward off the chill. The lines in front of the rails were a mass of people huddled together for warmth while waiting for the train to arrive. Jerid tugged his coat sleeve back and glanced at his watch; plenty of time still before he had to be punched in.
Thick fog had settled on the city like a dense blanket of cold. The sun had only barely managed to cast a dull glow through the murk for the last five days and the weather forecast stated it was likely to last another few weeks until the end of February. Everyone seemed to be hunkered down beneath layers of sweaters and jackets, casting baleful glances towards the sky.
Despite the cold, Jerid bypassed the lines and continued walking down the street. A little light exercise never hurt, and it helped to get his mind off the weather. He glanced into the windows as he walked. Women’s clothing, a watch store, a fast-food place, his own reflection. He paused at that, rubbing a hand across his face. He looked gaunt against the background of snow-dusted street and bundled-up people. The train went by behind him and he wondered if maybe he should have shaved this morning. He brushed a finger against his chin one last time, then continued his walk.
As he turned from the window the edge of his shoe came down on something solid; a vidphone lying half-buried in the dirt-covered snow of the sidewalk. He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket to find his own still nestled within. A quick glance around found no one else looking. He bent down to pick it up.
“Anyone drop their phone?” He raised his voice to be heard above the din of the crowd. A few heads turned to look, a few hands checked pockets, but no one stepped forward to claim it. He shrugged his shoulders and put it in his outer pocket. Worse-case scenario he wouldn’t find the owner of the phone and could pawn it off for a couple hundred bucks. He pulled a pack of cigarettes from an inner pocket, lit one, kept on walking.
He was buying a coffee from the stand just around the corner from his office when the phone rang. He reached into his inner pocket and had his own phone halfway out before he realized it wasn’t his that was ringing. Curious, he pulled the new one out of his pocket and answered it as he took his cup of coffee from the cashier.
“Hello?”
The screen showed static. Silence. Heavy breathing.
“Hello? I found this phone on the sidewalk today. Is it yours?” He took a sip of his coffee, burnt his lip, and cursed under his breath. He started to hang up when he heard a woman’s voice, faint.
“Help me, Jerid.”
What the hell? “Who is this?” He stepped away from the stand and looked around, then glanced back at the view screen. Was someone playing a joke on him? He held the phone up to his ear to try and hear better.
“… talk now. Too much interference….” The woman’s voice was broken by intermittent static. “… must help… find… Jerid….” He jerked the phone awayas the static suddenly crystallized into an ear-piercing shriek. He felt his blood pumping.
“Hello? Are you there? Are you ok? Hello?” The scream faded back into static. There was a click, and the image on the screen went blank as the connection cut off. He stared at the phone in his hand, his burnt tongue forgotten as he felt his pulse race. Someone bumped into him, cursed him for standing in the middle of the sidewalk. He ignored them. Had to be someone he knew, playing a joke on him. He shook his head and dropped the phone back into his pocket. He wasn’t sure which of his friends would go to such elaborate lengths to play a prank on him, but he wasn’t going to let it ruin the rest of his day. He shivered, whether from the cold or the residual shriek still echoing in his head he wasn’t sure. He headed across the street to the office.
*
“Hi, Linda. My name’s Jerid. Look, I have a question. I found this phone lying on the street today and I was wondering if you could tell me how to contact the owner so I can return it.”
“Do you have the number?” The woman’s voice was young, and bored. The vidscreen showed the logo of the company he had called, but not the person on the other end of the line. He pictured some teenage girl, a blank stare on her face as she tapped her nails against the edge of the desk. Halfway through his mental imagery he remembered he’d been there once. What a horrible job.
“Yeah, one second.” He reached for the pad of paper next to him on the couch. During lunch he had called his own phone with the one he had found and gotten the number. He had also gone through the new device and looked for any contact information, text messages, anything that might be a clue to who the owner was. Oddly enough, it was completely blank. There hadn’t even been a number for the strange call he had received first thing this morning. “Ok, here we go. You ready?” He distinctly heard the sound of someone chewing gum on the other end of the phone. The girl in his head blew bubbles as she tapped her fingers on the edge of her desk while he gave her the number.
“Just a moment, please.” The chewing noise cut out and was replaced by some horrible rendition of a Mellencamp classic. He grimaced and picked up the device, turning it over in his free hand while he waited.
He’d looked up the model of the phone on the ‘net. It hadn’t shown up on any of the known types of vidphones on the market, past or present. It was also some brand he didn’t recognize. He’d run the name through all of the common search engines, and even a few of the lesser known ones, but nothing had come up. Add that to the list. He put the phone down on the couch next to him and picked up his pen, started tapping it on the edge of his pad of paper while he waited.
There was a vibration against his leg. A soft beep came from the phone next to him. He put his pen down and reached for it when the girl’s voice was suddenly back. “I can’t seem to find any listing for that number, Jerid.” She sounded as if she couldn’t care less.
“What do you mean, you can’t find a listing?” Everyone had a listing. You couldn’t even order a pizza these days without giving every last little bit of personal information you had.
“Exactly that, sir. The number doesn’t appear to be on any records that we can find. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
His fingers itched to strangle the boredom out of her voice. Hate your job all you want, but if you work in public relations at least fake it for Christ’s sake. He didn’t bother to reply, simply swiped the screen to close the connection. The phone next to him on the couch beeped again. He picked it up. The screen said a text message was waiting to be read. He slid his finger across the screen, and it flared to life.
“Are you alone?”
A shot of adrenaline. He quickly went to the two windows of his apartment living room and looked out. Nothing. Just the alley below and the building across; brick walls and pavement. He felt his palms sweating as he went to check his door. Locked, and no one was in the hallway, at least not where he could see through the peephole. He wiped his hands on the seat of his pants and typed his reply. “Yes. Who are you?”
The phone rang.
He nearly dropped it as he fumbled for the accept button. The screen glowed blue, but again showed no face. “Hello, Jerid.” The voice was crystal clear this time, with no static interference. A woman’s voice.
“Who the hell are you?”
“You may call me Sara. I apologize for the abruptness of my call to you earlier, but I—that is, we—are not working under the best circumstances and some things are… unavoidable. I would like—”
“I don’t give a damn what you would like,” he interrupted. “I don’t know who you are and I don’t care what you want to call yourself. All I know is I was trying to be nice and get this phone back to its owner. If you don’t want to play ball, that’s fine, I’ll pawn the damn thing off and use the money for something worthwhile.” He went to one of the windows and glanced out again. Still nothing. He forced himself to take a deep breath; his heart was racing. There was a brief static pulse on the blue screen, then stability again.
“Are you done?” Her voice was stern now, irritated. He laughed out loud at the audacity.
“Are you for real? I don’t even know you and you have the balls to be affronted when—”
“Shut up, Jerid, and listen!” She shouted, interrupting his tirade. “We don’t have much time. You can’t imagine the resources it takes. I need your help. You need my help. It doesn’t matter if you don’t understand, only that you listen!” He shook his head. Unbelievable! He started to reply when she continued, cutting him off. “Whatever you do, don’t lose that phone! It’s the only way I can contact you. Do you have a pen and paper?”
He nodded, then remembered he was talking to someone over a phone. “Yes, but what makes you think—”
“Don’t think, Jerid!” Her voice was strained now. Static burst over the connection. “... down this address.” Her voice broke through as it cleared.
Whoever this was, she was earnest, desperate even. He could hear it in her voice. What did he have to lose? He pushed his irritation and paranoia back and grabbed his pad. “Ok, I’m ready.” He jotted down the address she gave him, frowning slightly as he realized it was close to his apartment. “What is this place?”
More static. He could hear her talking, but it was coming through all garbled. He couldn’t make it out. He moved to sever the connection when he heard her yell, “Find him, Jerid!” followed by a shriek similar to the one from this morning. It cut off suddenly, leaving him holding his pad of paper and the phone in the stillness of his apartment.
“I must be going crazy.” He spoke out loud, looking around slowly as if dazed. Vidphones that aren’t sold on any markets around the world, strange numbers that don’t have listings, women that he didn’t know calling And he was actually thinking of going to check out this address. On a work night. He had to be losing it. Shaking his head, he went to get his coat.
*
The address he had jotted down was only two blocks from his own building. It was the mirror image; drab brick and dull glass staring down at him. He rang the buzzer for the apartment on his scrap of paper, but there wasn’t an answer. He shivered beneath his coat and questioned his sanity once again.
He pressed the button a second time, but there was still no reply. He turned to go when someone came out, glanced at him curiously and held the door for him. “Thanks,” he muttered as he slipped past and let the door close behind him.
It smelled musty. His own apartment had had the same smell when he first moved in, but he’d grown used to it over the years. The elevator was already here, so he stepped inside and rode it up to the fourth floor.
The hallway was dim. Half of the lights seemed to be burnt out, and the other half were flickering as if on their last legs. Somewhere to his right he could hear music playing, along with a baby crying. He checked his scribbled note again and went left. Unit 407. He chewed his lip for a moment, staring at the numbers nailed to the flaking green paint on the door. What the hell.
He knocked. The door swung in a couple of inches; it hadn’t been shut, apparently. Or the catch was broken. He pushed it open a bit farther with his foot and peered in. Nothing but the darkness of an apartment with the lights turned off. He glanced back up at the light in the hall above him, wishing it was one of the flickering ones instead of a burnt bulb.
“Hello?” His voice echoed back from the apartment. There was no reply. He pushed the door open further and reached his hand around the jam until he found the light switch, flipped it on. No furniture. No pictures. Completely vacant. He glanced each way down the hall and stepped in, pulling the door behind him. It closed with a loud snick as the latch caught.
The blinds were closed, and the lights showed a thin coating of dust on the countertop of the kitchen, as well as some grease-stains on the stove-top. The tap was dripping, slowly. He turned it on and let it run for a few moments, then ducked his head down and took a drink. He heard something then, a scuffling sound, barely heard above the running water. He pulled his head back up and cursed at the site of a man standing in the entrance of the kitchen. Jerid threw himself backwards, his shoes screeching against the linoleum as he nearly fell, palms hitting the wall as he caught himself at the last minute.
“Jerid?” The man’s voice was weak and hoarse. Jerid wished he had brought a knife or something with him. His heart was in his throat, racing like an engine with the gas floored. He pushed himself upwards along the wall, poised like a spring. The man in front of him had his hood up; he couldn’t see the face, but there was something in the way he stood….
He reached into his pocket for the phone and shoved it across the countertop towards the man. It slid to a stop just out of his reach. “Look, man, I don’t want any trouble, ok?” Jerid couldn’t keep his voice from cracking. He swallowed. “There’s your phone.” This was just too weird. He needed to get out of here before he got stabbed, or worse.
The man heaved a sigh of relief, reached for the phone, kept on going. There was a resounding thud as his body hit the floor. His hood fell back, revealing a face that was pale, bruised.
His face. Jerid’s face.
There was a moment where he was sure his heart had stopped, along with his breathing. He could hear the water running in the tap but it was distant, almost an echo heard across the valley that was reality, spinning out of control. He caught himself as he started to fall and was jerked back into reality. He sucked down air in gasps as he held himself up, leaning against the countertop. He didn’t want to look back down at the body. Slowly his legs stopped trembling and he reached over, splashed water on his face, shut the tap off. He looked back down.
The man was alive. His chest was moving, anyway. There was no doubt in Jerid’s mind about the face, though. That was the face he shaved, the face that stared back out of the mirror each morning. Wiping water from his face he slowly knelt down and checked for a pulse.
It was there. Slow, but definitely there. Jerid looked down at his own face, pale and haggard on the floor. Was this for real? As far as he knew he didn’t have a twin brother. He was an only child, according to his parents. Or was this just a look-alike? He took another glance at the face and started checking the man’s pockets.
Wallet, notepad, pen, and some strange device that looked like a vidphone but was a solid piece of some type of plastic material, transparent and flashing with symbols he did not recognize. He put everything on the countertop next to the phone. He took a last look at the man lying on the floor and opened the wallet. Credit cards, driver’s license, cash. He shook his head in amazement as he flipped through the cards. Every one of them was in his name. The driver’s license was the same, although the weight and height were slightly different. This other person was two inches taller and weighed about fifteen pounds more than he did. He slid the cards back into the wallet and picked up the strange device. As his hand touched the outer edge the screen flickered to life. Please verify your identity flashed across the screen along with a picture of someone putting their thumb up to the screen. He started to reach down to use the finger of the man lying on the floor when he paused. It was a little too surreal, but everything else about tonight had been so why not? He pressed his own thumb to the screen.
“Welcome, Jerid.”
The voice from the machine was female, the same as the one on the phone from earlier. He looked down again at the body on the floor and felt a warm flush creeping over his own. “No way,” he whispered, unbelieving. That was… him? Lying on the floor? He fumbled in his pocket for his cigarettes, lit one. He needed to think for a few moments, calm down and get his bearings.
He was halfway through his smoke when the man on the floor stirred. Jerid eased back a couple of steps and kept his distance as the man slowly sat up and leaned his back against the refrigerator. He looked up at Jerid, his eyes weary and bloodshot. “Can I bum one of those,” he said in that raspy, tired voice Jerid recognized from his own voicemail recordings.
Numbly, Jerid handed him a cigarette and bent down to light it for him, still not quite believing what he was seeing. Almost an exact copy, sitting there on the floor. The man took a large drag, exhaled, tilted his head to look back up at Jerid. “Probably have a lot of questions,” he said wryly. “Sorry about passing out back there. It’s been a rough day. I guess the strain finally caught up with me.” He wiped a hand across his brow, took another drag. “Glad you found the phone, though. We weren’t sure it was going to work, but when I saw you standing here….” The man laughed then, wiping a tear from his eye. “I know you can’t possibly understand just yet but believe me, I’ve been looking forward to this day for the last seven years. More than anything else in the world.”
Jerid nodded his head. “You got that right. I don’t understand what the hell is going on. Who are you? Why do you have my name on all of your cards, even your driver’s license? Hell, we even share the same fingerprints, according to your little device over there!” His mind was reeling. He crushed his cigarette out in the sink and leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms.
Bloody Knuckles (And Other Tales) Page 13
