I Just Called To Say...

Rebecca Davies loved a bargain. By 25 she had figured that her
degree would have opened the industrial doors wide for her, but alas
that hadn't happened. So she was an over qualified secretary earning
enough to keep herself and her flat in the black. Her student scrimp
and save mentality had served her well since she'd moved into the flat,
but even with that necessary attitude, she was still fond of more than
the odd bargain. She was by no means on the poverty line, in fact she
was building a healthy bank balance as she worked, however her mother
was a committed bargain hunter, and that was certainly a gene that had
been passed from mother to daughter.

Working 9 to 5, and enjoying a sociable drink of a weekend left her
nicely enough time to shop on a Saturday, and browse the flea markets
and car boot sales on a Sunday. Which was where she was now, among the
stalls and junk of a local church sale, watching people rummage around
in the cardboard boxes and clothes bundles, whilst running her finely
tuned eye over their contents to seek out something that she could
utilise or modify into a worthwhile addition to her wardrobe or
shelves.

She'd been wandering for an hour when the telephone caught her eye. It
was a big old phone, red plastic with an opague dial. The numbers were
large and white amid the finger holes. She hadn't seen such a phone in
a long time, and it reminded her of the one mother had owned for many
years before upgrading to a touch tone handset. There was no price
marked on it, so she enquired about it to the weather beaten old woman
who was running the stall.

"50p love." she replied. Rebecca already had a minds eye picture of the
phone in her lounge before the silver coin came out of her purse and
into the old woman's pocket. The phone dropped into her 'bargain bag'
with a brief, but triumphant ring of it's internal bell.

That night, she was out with the small crowd of friends she frequented,
who went on to a night club, leaving her t o drift home around midnight
with a bag of chips and a desire only to sleep. Chips half eaten and
finally discarded, she retired to bed.

Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday passed without incident, she spent the
days answering phones and the evenings in front of the TV, engrossed in
the soap opera of the night. At some point during one of them, she
dozed off into a brief sleep, which was interrupted by a ringing bell.
Wearily she rubbed her eyes, and looked at the red phone atop the
kitchen worktop. It was ringing out, loud and proud. She rose, and
moved over to it, noting with disbelief that the thing wasn't plugged
into the phone socket, in fact it was nowhere near to a telephone
point, which made the ringing impossible. And yet still the bells
sounded.

She put her hand on the reciever, tentatively at first, but then with a
rush of courage she picked it up. The ringing stopped. She put the
reciever to her ear, and despite the sheer absurdity of the situation,
she answered "Hello...?"

Silence, at first, then a slow rhythmic breathing could be heard. It
wasn't hers, she was holding her breath.

"Hello." she repeated, more firmly, and with the held breath backing it
up.

"She's stopped screaming now, explained perhaps by the small fact that
she no longer has breath with which to scream." The voice was male,
even and calm. It could have been a salesman trying to sell her
windows, or a friend trying to entice her out for the evening. But as
the words began to sink in, Rebecca knew this caller was neither.

"Who the hell is this ? What girl ?" she demanded irately, anger
fuelled by fear.

"I just called to say this, she has a tattoo on her shoulder, it's a
broken heart." Came the reply, followed immediately by the dial tone.
Rebecca stood for a few minutes, staring at the telephone, and the
unplugged cord wrapped carefully in a bundle beside it. Then she
replaced the reciever and shook her head, as if trying to clear it of a
bad dream.

After a while she entered denial, she must have dreamt the episode,
unplugged phones don't ring by themselves, she was tired and obviously
in need of sound sleep. She figured she was answering far too many
phones in her life, and it was obviously getting to her. She took the
red telephone, wrapped it in a supermarket carrier bag left on the work
top, and dumped it in an unused kitchen cupboard.

The incident eroded from her mind as the weekend approached, and when
she finished work on Friday, she was fixed only on one thing, the
thought of alcohol and her friends. After she'd eaten, she adjourned to
the bathroom, sticking the radio on to penetrate the silence while She
showered. She was in front of the hall mirror, adding some finishing
touches when she heard the sound of the early evening news drifting out
from the radio. Much had been made in recent weeks of the
disappearences of a family, husband, wife, and their only child had
vanished. The news reader triumphantly announced that female had been
found, dead, her throat had been cut. Rebecca paid the bulletin no
interest until the newscaster casually mentioned that the dead girl had
been identified by a small tattoo on her shoulder, depicting a broken
heart.

Rebecca instantly went cold. The recollection of the telephone call
blasting back into her mind with the clarity of a moment just passed.
She shuddered, and went back to checking her hair, furiously denying to
herself what she had heard, both via telephone and radio.

She was on edge for an hour or so after she met her social circle, but
a few drinks loosened her up a bit, and she began to enjoy the night,
so much so that she stumbled home in the early hours of the morning
throughly drunk. After entering the flat, she draped her coat over the
sofa, slipped off her shoes, and padded along to her bedroom. She was
at the door when the telephone rang. It wasn't her normal phone though,
and she had no mobile. It was the red telephone. She paused, and let it
ring out for a few minutes before realising there was only one way to
stop it.

The drink had made her brave, she went directly to the cupboard,
wrenched open the door and dragged the ringing telephone out of it, and
it's plastic bag wrapper. She grabbed the reciever and put it to her
ear,

"Who the hell are you ? " she screamed into the mouthpiece.

"Temper, temper. I just called to let you know the child has been
gutted." replied the calm voice, then she was left with the dial tones
again. She stared at the telephone, before slinging it across the
kitchen and against the far wall. With a brief ring, and a crack, it
broke open and spilled it's internals over the kitchen floor, leaving a
dent in the wall.

She burst into spontaneous tears, and reached for the kitchen top to
steady herself. In the living room the radio suddenly erupted into
song, startling her. Drying her eyes she moved cautiously out of the
kitchen and into the lounge. The radio was unplugged, yet blasting out
a popular song. As she came within touching distance of it, the song
faded, and the late news chimes replaced the music. The newsreader's
took up the narrative of earlier today, except adding now that the
couples child had been found, less than a mile from Rebecca's flat,
opened from throat to waist. Rebecca suddenly felt faint, and dropped
to her knees, holding her head in her hands.

The radio went quiet. She slid down onto the floor, and sobbed into her
hands.

The telephone rang out. She lifted her head and looked back into the
kitchen at the pieces on the floor. No, this time it was her own phone,
beside the sofa. She unsteadily clambered to her feet and moved over to
it, her hand reaching out to lift it from it's cradle, but she paused.
It continued to ring, before she shakily collected it, and lifted it to
her ear.

"I just called to let you know we're down to one now, knife through the
heart should put a stop to him." The voice told her, and the line went
dead. She dropped the phone and collapsed onto the sofa, holding
herself and starting to sob afresh.

"Why me..?" she repeated to herself, over and over.

Daylight had taken a firm hold on the morning when she awoke, collapsed
on the sofa. The telephone was bleating an annoying sound to signify it
was off the hook. So she reached out and replaced the fallen reciever
in it's cradle. She dragged herself up, and went to the hall mirror.
Her face was awash with dried tears, and her hair was in a distressed
state. She began to fix it when a bell began to ring.

She spun around, her eyes catching the smashed telephone in the
kitchen, it was silent. The radio was silent as well. The noise was
coming from the door bell. She turned to look at the door, and through
the frosted window she could see a figure outside. It bent down, level
with the letterbox, and the flap opened a touch.

"Hello Rebecca, I'm here to see you.." it was the voice from the phone.
Calm, clear, and outside her flat. She retreated into the kitchen,
never taking her eyes from the door. The figure continued to sound the
bell. Her fingers found purchase on a drawer, it was the cutlery
drawer. She fumbled it open, and took out the first implement she could
get a grip on. It was a carving knife, one of a set given to her by her
mother when she bought the flat.

She moved forward, down the hallway, towards the door. The figure
continued to ring the bell. At the door she stopped.

"Who are you ?" she screamed at the figure. He made no reply. She
turned the key in the lock, and grabbed the handle with one hand, the
knife poised in the other. When the door opened the figure on the other
side was an ordinary looking man, dressed in sweater and jeans,
standing wearing a smile across his face, while his left hand held the
bell button down. Once the door was opened he took a step toward
Rebecca, she lfted the knife and without any hesitation plunged it to
the hilt into his upper chest. Blood immediately darkened his sweater,
but his expression didn't change, instead his wore his smile as he
toppled forward into the hallway, grabbing at Rebecca as he fell. She
flailed backwards in an attempt to escape his dying clutches and hit
her head against the wall, her last sight was his face, smiling at her
in death.

The TV newscaster straightened his tie as the three second countdown to
live transmission was conducted. His partner began the broadcast, and
when the camera switched from her, he went confidently into his first
news story.

"The jury today convicted 25 year old Rebecca Davies of the murder of
the Cartwright family. Davies, who for the length of the trial has
denied anything but the killing of Mr Cartwright, where she pleaded
self defence, was sentanced to life. The horrific killings of Mrs
Cartwright, their Son Micheal and finally Mr Cartwright occuring over
three days last summer. Davies was caught after the body of Mr
Cartwright was found in her hallway with a knife through his
heart.

"The prosecution pointed to a record of Mr Cartwight's previous affairs
with young women, and it was surmised that he when decided to end one
such relatioship with Ms Davies, she was so enraged at this that she
abducted the family and callously murdered them."