Chris Carter - The Caller

‘Relax, John,’ the demonic voice said in a calm and eerie tone. ‘Your wife isn’t dead. Not yet. I simply injected her with something that will numb most of her body, but it will not do the same to her brain, or her nervous system. Her hearing and visual cortex won’t be impaired either. You know what that means, don’t you?’ This time, the person with Cassandra was the one who paused for effect. ‘It means that though her body will be temporarily paralyzed, she will still be able to hear, see, and feel absolutely everything. Isn’t that precious?’

On the small screen, Cassandra’s eyes wavered aimlessly for a couple of seconds before finally settling down again. The confusion in them first morphed into struggle then to desolation and ultimately into complete terror as she finally realized that she had no physical control over her body anymore.

Mr. J read her eyes like a book and his heart sank for the second time.

‘So, as I was trying to explain to you before you interrupted me, John, these are the rules.’

Mr. J’s body shook with a combination of rage and something he hadn’t felt in a very long time — fear. He had meant what he’d said. Given half a chance, he would give his life for his wife’s any day and without any hesitation.

‘Take me,’ he said, holding all his anger inside and keeping his voice as steady as he could muster. ‘I will come to you, hands tied, blindfolded... whichever way you want. Just tell me where and I’ll be there. We can swop. You let my wife go, and you can have me. Then you can do whatever you like. If that’s what pleases you, you can hurt me to your heart’s content before killing me. I will not put up a fight. I promise you. Just let her go.’

Total silence.

Only then, a whole new theory slapped Mr. J straight across the face.

‘Is this about money?’ he asked, doubting his own words. ‘Is that what you’re after?’

Still silence.

‘I have close to four million dollars in an international bank account. If I pull some resources, I can probably gather together another million. That’s five million dollars. All yours. I can transfer every last penny to you. All you need to—’

‘You’re not listening to me, John.’ The demon cut him short again. ‘There’s only one way in which you can help your wife right now, and that’s by answering both of my questions correctly. If you interrupt me again, I will take that as a wrong answer. Every time you give me a wrong answer, your wife gets punished. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

Cassandra begged her husband with her eyes.

‘Yes or no, John? No other answer will do. You give me any other answer other than “yes” or “no” and I’ll start punishing her.’

Away from the camera’s eye, Mr. J’s fingers closed into a tight fist and his core shook with indescribable anger. He had never felt so helpless in his entire life. He finally gave the answer the voice wanted to hear.

‘Yes.’

‘Now, we’re finally on the right track.’ It took the daemonic voice just a minute to explain the rules. ‘Simple, isn’t it? And don’t even think about calling the police. I can assure you that they’ll never make it here in time.’

Mr. J’s mouth went desert-dry.

‘So listen up, John, because your wife’s life depends on it.’

An overly tense pause followed.

‘Where was Cassandra born?’

Mr. J squinted at the small screen. Had he heard it right? Was this psycho for real? What sort of life-depending, dumbass question was that?

‘Is this a fucking joke?’ he asked, his blood boiling in his veins.

‘You have five seconds.’ There was no play in the digitally altered voice.

Though Cassandra wasn’t able to move at all, including her facial expressions, the look in her eyes mutated just as much as the one in her husband’s. First, from terror to confusion.

‘ What? Is that the question? This can’t be real. What the hell is going on? This has to be some sort of sick joke. ’

Then from confusion to hope. Mr. J had been to the city where she was born so many times its name was probably etched in his brain. There was no way he could get this wrong.

‘... four... three...’

‘Cassandra was born in Santa Ana,’ Mr. J replied. ‘Orange County, California... what the fuck is this?’

The look in Cassandra’s eyes softened as new tears welled up in them. This time, they were tears of joy.

‘That is correct, John. Congratulations. See? Not that hard after all, was it? Now, all you need to do is give me just one more correct answer and you and your wife can go back to being a couple again, though I have a feeling that you’ll have quite a lot of explaining to do.’ A new short pause. ‘But let’s not jump to conclusions just yet. One more correct answer.’

All the while, Mr. J’s eyes never broke away from Cassandra’s. The hope in hers now joined by apprehension. The anger in his by disbelief.

‘Your wedding anniversary, John,’ the voice said. ‘When is it?’

On hearing the question, the look in Cassandra’s eyes mutated yet again. This time from apprehension to total panic.

Despite how much he adored her, for the last seven years, Mr. J had completely forgotten about their wedding anniversary. Cassandra had reminded him three times, but when he didn’t remember it for the fourth year running, she didn’t see the point in reminding him anymore. She never really blamed him, though. She knew that his memory lapse only began once she’d entered her depression phase, a phase he knew nothing about, as she had always gone to great lengths to keep it all from him and everyone else. As Cassandra, guided by her condition, distanced herself from Mr. J, he did the same, but in his own way. Forgetting their wedding anniversary had been a simple consequence of it.

The despair in Cassandra’s stare was mirrored in Mr. J’s entire demeanor. For the first time since his wife’s face had filled the small screen on his cellphone, he broke eye contact with her. As if searching the air around him, he first looked left, then right.

‘You have five seconds... four...’

Mr. J looked up at the ceiling. He knew the date. Of course he knew the date of his own wedding. He just had to search his memory.

‘Three...’

He breathed in a lot more anxiously than he thought he had.

‘Two...’

His eyes returned to the screen just in time to see that tears were once again cascading down his wife’s face. There was no joy in them.

‘One...’

‘Seventh of March,’ Mr. J finally blurted out. ‘We got married on the seventh of March. The year was nineteen ninety-six.’

Sitting inside interview room number two at Rampart Police Station on West Sixth Street, Dr. Gwen Barnes had the last of her stale coffee. As she swallowed the bitter liquid down, it made her stomach churn inside her.

‘This is it,’ she whispered, placing the now empty paper cup back on the large metal table in front of her and readily pushing it away. Even if it had been the most amazing gourmet coffee in the world, after five cups, there was no way she could stomach another one. What she really needed was a large glass of wine. No, scrap that. A whole bottle was a lot more like it.

‘C’mon, this is way past ridiculous now,’ she said, turning to look at the large, window-like mirror to her right. This wasn’t the first time Dr. Barnes had been inside a police interrogation room. She knew very well that what she was looking at was in fact a two-way mirror, but this wasn’t an interrogation. No one would be at the other side of it, observing her, though she wished someone were. Maybe someone was listening in.