Dan Krzyzkowski [Krzyzkowski - The Caller

Also by Dan Krzyzkowski

One-Lane Br idge

THE CALLER

Copyright 2015 Dan Krzyzkowski

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This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously.

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ISBN: 978-1-4917-6323-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4917-6324-7 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2015904075

iUniverse rev. date: 05/05/2015

CONTENTS

For Bernice Horvath and Karen Hessel,

two names of my past that have

helped shape my future.

Silence has a sound.

Leslie Calloway

PROLOGUE

July 23, 1994

ITS DIFFICULT TO KNOW where things begin sometimes. Difficult because you cant predict which way the ball is going to bounce off the events that have a way of popping up in your life. This is something Ive always known, I think, but wasnt made aware of until late this afternoon, when I found the letter in my mailbox.

Im holding the letter right now, thumbing the unopened envelope with one hand. The paper feels crisp and firm beneath my fingers. It whispers of untold secrets. The return address is some little Iowa town Ive never heard ofShellicksville.

Im leaning back in an extendible deck chair on my back porch outside of Rocky Mount, North Carolina. Twilight is nearing, and the martins are swooping, and July surrounds me. I am cognizant of these things, in perfect tune with the present for the first time in more than six years. My right hand is clasped around a tall glass of Lipton iced tea, and I feel that toothe cold hardness of the glass and the dew that has condensed around it. Within arms reach is a half-eaten bag of Mr. Festradas peanuts, and I can smell the homemade aroma from that as well.

I havent procrastinated opening the letter, nor am I apprehensive of what I may find. Ive saved it for now because its one of those things that demand a sequential, orderly mind-set, I guess. It seems heavy and potent compared to its weight in my hand, and Id like to first be aware of where things began before taking the next step into whats yet to happen. Its tough sometimes, tracing your steps back to the starting lineits tough knowing where things began.

But this is a major point in my life, a time in which I feel like I can belong again, and I dont wish to impose any jeopardy upon that comforting notion. Not now, after all these days and months and years. What I can do is take a time-out. Mr. Festradas peanuts and the tea and the martins and the moment will wait for me, here by my chair.

As a twenty-nine-year-old single-parent mother, I dont often feel challenged to retrospect the events that have bounced the ball to where it is now, but this envelope is compelling me to do that. It seems to have gravity, seems to say things in words you dont read or hear but see in front of you.

Im beginning to see the words now and the events they comprise. Slowly I can see more of them as the peanuts and tea and martins begin to fade. Im aware of the peanuts and tea and martins fading, but thats okay because Im allowing them to slip slowly into a suspended existence. My mellow mood is conducive to this sort of reflection, as is the evening around me.

The evening is perfect, in fact. Its one of those summer nights in which the air is pungent with deep thought.

January 11, 1994

I REMEMBER STEALING A sip of Marys coffee and smiling when the call came through. The call. Its a rare instance, two of us free in one moment, for others are always waiting to get throughespecially on the 6:00 to 9:00 p.m. pull, when only six of us field the calls. Several of us, Mary and I included, had recently petitioned for an upgrade to tenthe winter season is always badbut the installation funds werent available.

My phone clattered at 7:42 p.m., according to my Lotensin digital desk clock, and I relished the quickening of my blood. Mary winked at me in that good-luck, good-natured way of hers from across the desk joint, and I winked back, unaware that more than seventy minutes would elapse before I next spoke to her.

My phone rang demandingly.

Music to my ears , I thought, and I picked it up.

Hello. If you need a friend, youve called the right place, I said in my smoothest, warmest introductory voice. The answering part is critical because many have sudden second thoughts and hang up. Your greeting needs to sound welcoming and sincere. My name is Leslie. Whats your name?

I think theres a man in my house, a small voice replied out in the state somewhere, causing a cold feeling to pass through me.

Did you see someone? I asked softly. Someone in your house?

No, I heard something. Down in the basement.

The voice was quivering, apparently terrified. I could tell immediately it belonged to a boy.

Well, you can tell me what you heard if you like, I told him. It was best to avoid speaking swiftly or loudly in such situations. Best to keep the child calm, relaxed, and at ease.

I was down in the kitchen getting some juice, the boy told me. He was keeping his voice low. I was standing on a chair to get up for a glass, the one with the polkas on it cause its my favorite.

Uh-huh, I followed smoothly. Im listening. What happened next?

And I opened the door, and I was reaching up for my glass to be able to get some juice when I heard this noise downstairs.

You heard something in your cellar, you mean?

Yeah. I got scared.

What did you hear? I asked slowly. Or better yet, what did it sound like?

I dont know, he mumbled, that innocent tremor still glistening in his voice. Like something scraping, then this bump. Like a bumping noise.

I paused for a momentjust a moment, mind youto quickly ponder my options. Calls of this nature were the worst because you were working in an extremely gray area. Most difficult to remember is that youre here in a warm, well-lit office surrounded by a group of consenting adults, whereas the child is someplace elsea world away, for that matter. All you know is what you perceive over the phone, and thats what you have to work with. The goal is always to calm the child. More often than not, the sound is merely imagined. Its amazing, some of the noises kids claim to hear when theyre alone in a big house. Every noise known to man is threatening to a latchkey child. Its simply a matter of ensuring the caller that the house was most definitely creaking with age or shifting on a gust of wind.

But as a volunteer, it is always your duty to field the calls objectively. Bad things do happen on occasion. Thus belies the gray area. Heck, some hear nothing at all but use it as an excuse to call and talk with someone. Thats how lonely some of these children arebelieve me. A girl named Samantha rang in one night to report some disturbing sounds coming from the attic above her bedroom. It sounds like someone is playing hopscotch up there, were the words she used if my memory serves. We spoke for more than thirty minutes. Near the end of our talk, she confessed to there being nothing at allshe was lonely and wanted someone to talk to. Her parents had gone to the movies and left her alone. She was six years old.