The Caller

by Dan Krzyzkowski

  “Are the police coming? Are they coming, Leslie?”

  “Soon, Justin, very soon. But listen, we’re gonna need to get you to a safer place than where you are right now. Okay?”

  “Why?” he asked, with a notable rise in his voice. No doubt, moving from beneath that bed was the last thing in the world that boy wanted to do.

  “You have to trust me on this, Justin. I’ll be here with you the entire time. I’m just afraid that man might come into your parents’ room, so I think we should move you before he gets there. Is he still down in the kitchen?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t hear anything now.” His whisper was fearfully unsteady.

  “What I need you to do very quietly is tell me about the upstairs of your house. What can you see from where you are? Can you see the hall at all?”

  “Uh-huh, all the way.”

  “You can see down to the end of the hallway?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “From under that bed?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Tell me, Justin, where are the stairs? How far down the hall are they?”

  “The end,” he replied. “I already told you.”

  “The stairs are all the way at the end? At the end of the hall?”

  “Yeah, but there’s more stairs in my room. Round ones that go down to the den.”

  This came as a surprise. Another staircase?

  “You have stairs in your room too?”

  “Yeah, round ones.”

  A spiral staircase, from Justin’s room going down to the den. I doubted the boy knew how crucial that information was.

  “Where is your room, Justin? If you’re looking down the hall right now, which door is yours, and which side is it on?”

  “First one on the left. That one’s mine. Then a bathroom and a study.”

  “The bathroom and study are on the left side also?”

  “Yeah.”

  “How ’bout the right side, Justin? What rooms are on the right side of the hall?”

  “A guestroom, then a big closet.”

  “And the stairs are at the end?”

  “Uh-huh. On the right.”

  Too many words were soaring through me for me to process at once. That spiral staircase in Justin’s room. More importantly, his was the first room on the left. Conceivably, the boy would only be exposed in the hallway for a few seconds before he could slip into his room and hide. When the perpetrator came up the main stairwell, Justin could slink down into the den and get out of the house.

  But what if the perp came up the spiral staircase into Justin’s room? And how wise was it to instruct the boy to step into the hall?

  As if reading my thoughts, Justin said: “I could go through the alley too.”

  “The alley? What is that?”

  “Through my mom and dad’s bathroom, into the guestroom.”

  “Hold up, Justin. Where is your mom and dad’s bathroom? Do they have a bathroom on the right side of their bedroom?”

  “Yeah, it’s the alley.”

  Now I understood. The alley. On the right side of the master bedroom was a bathroom that also connected with the guestroom—first room on the right. It suddenly made sense. Justin could slip through the bathroom and into the guestroom without ever stepping foot into the hall.

  But where would that leave him? A dead end?

  “So, what you’re saying is that you can get to the guestroom without going into the hallway. Right?”

  No response.

  “Justin?”

  No response.

  Keep your voice down. Don’t panic him.

  “Justin, what’s wrong?”

  “I heard him again. He broke something.”

  “What did he break?”

  “I don’t know,” he answered unsteadily. “Something glass. He broke it real loud. I’m scared, I’m really—”

  “Okay, Justin, I know. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too, but I’m right here with you. What you need to do is take a deep breath. Can you do that?”

  I heard him inhale, exhale.

  “Where did the sound come from?”

  “I think the dining room. It’s closer than the kitchen.”

  I knew what he meant by that. The dining room was closer to the main stairwell than the kitchen.

  “Okay, you told me you could get to the guestroom through the alley, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Is there another round set of stairs in there or something? Is there another way to get downstairs through the guestroom?”

  “No, there’s a window.”

  “There’s a window in the guestroom?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Can you climb out of it and get to the ground safely?”

  “I can go down the web, but I don’t have shoes or socks on, and Daddy’ll get mad.”

  I didn’t have to think long on that one. The web, a trellis. Free and clear of vines this time of year.

  “Have you climbed down the web before, Justin? Have you ever done it before?”

  “Yeah, in the summer, but I got punished.”

  “Well, you won’t get punished now, Justin, believe me. If there’s someone in your house and you need to get out, your mom and dad will be proud when they find out you climbed down the web. I’ll even talk to them if you want.”

  “You will?”

  “I promise.”

  “But it’s snowing, and I have bare feet.”

  I had to stop and think about that. Maybe spidering down the trellis wasn’t such a hot idea. If the boy fell and injured himself, Teri would come after me with an elephant gun. The helpline itself might incur legal difficulties. And the shame and guilt I experienced for encouraging Justin to make such a bold maneuver would be overwhelming.

  But what were my options? That boy had to get out of the house.

  “Do you think you can get to the neighbor’s house once you reach the ground, Justin? I know it’ll be real cold on your feet, but is the house close enough?”

  “But there’s no one home there,” he insisted, alluding to his phone call prior to this one.

  “We may have to take that chance. You could probably get in somehow. If not, run to someone’s driveway and sit in their car. We just have to get you out of there. You understand?”

  “I think.”

  “Okay, one more thing before we do this. Listening, Justin?”

  “Yeah,” he whispered softly.

  “I don’t want you to talk to me during the entire time it takes you to walk from your parents’ room over to the window in the guestroom, okay?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I want you to be as quiet as you can, which means you can’t talk at all. What I’ll do so we can keep communicating is ask yes or no questions only. Do you understand, Justin?”

  “I think.”

  “If I ask you a question while you’re moving and the answer is no, then tap the mouth part of the phone once. If the answer is yes, tap it twice. You got it?”

  “Uh-huh. So I don’t have to talk.”

  “Right. Use a fingernail to tap the receiver, but tap it lightly, just enough so that I can hear it, okay?”

  “Yeah.”

  The wind seemed to have died out of his voice, his words coming through all breathless and constricted.

  “Is everything quiet right now?”

  A pause. His world of silence and stealth was a light fuzz of static to me. It was then I realized that silence has a sound—a sound unlike any other. Try sitting in your basement in the dead of night when you’re home alone. I guarantee you’ll hear everything: the subtle clicks in the ceiling, the scuttling of thousand-legged bugs over the concrete walls … and perhaps some sounds that don’t exist. Yes, I am a firm believer now. Silence h
as a sound.

  “I think so, yeah.”

  “You don’t hear anything? Anything at all?”

  “No,” he whispered.

  “Okay, that’s good,” I told him. I wanted to be sure the intruder wasn’t in the process of creeping up the stairs as Justin crawled out from his hideout … though a darker, deeper part of my mind insisted I had no way of knowing that for sure.

  “Just relax, Justin. Everything’ll be fine. I’m right here with you.”

  “Okay. Should I go now?”

  Now or never, a voice inside me said.

  “Yes. Crawl out slowly and quietly to the right side, closest to the alley. Then tiptoe into the bathroom and stop when you get there. Okay, go.”

  For several seconds I heard the loose rustling of bed sheets as the boy rolled to his right and into the clear. The rustling ceased, and I knew he was into the open. Exposed.

  It’s hard to explain this as I felt it, but I seemed to be living this vicariously, seeing everything as it transpired through a gaping eye in my mind. I envisioned rolling out from under that king-sized bed—an awful moment of vulnerability as I snapped my head around, searching for alien movement. And then getting to my knees and tottering slowly to my feet, my heart throbbing as my eyes found the open doorway, expecting a slovenly vagrant to be standing there, watching me with bulbous and luminescent eyes.

  “We’re on the tap system now, remember,” I reminded him. “Everything okay so far?”

  Tap-tap. Yes, everything was okay.

  “Into the bathroom,” I instructed him. “Just relax. It’s your house, remember. You know your house better than he does.”

  At least, that’s what we’re assuming.

  I chose to ignore that voice.

  “Are you in the bathroom now, Justin?”

  Tap-tap. Yes, in the bathroom.

  “All right, this is what I want you to do. Just hold still and listen for a minute. Make sure everything’s quiet before you go on.”

  I paused, listening to the static of my world as Justin listened to the silence of his. I heard a countless array of imaginary noises amid that phone fuzz. A chair sliding out, a door creaking open … a footstep. Silence has a sound.

  “Do you hear anything?”

  A pause.

  Tap-tap. Yes, he heard something. My pulse rate jumped a notch.

  “Does it sound like it’s coming from downstairs?” I asked.

  Tap-tap. Yes.

  That was good. But I could only wonder how much longer until the intruder moved up the stairs.

  “Do you feel all right, Justin? Ready to move again?”

  Tap-tap.

  Good. Ready to move.

  “I don’t want you to close any doors as you go, Justin. All right? Be as quiet as you can. You with me?”

  Tap-tap.

  “Okay, you’re in the bathroom still. You’re in the alley. Is the door from the bathroom to the guestroom open ahead of you?”

  Tap-tap.

  “Good. Tell me, Justin, are any lights on in the guestroom?”

  Tap. No, none on.

  “Good. It’s better if it’s dark.”

  My heart was speeding up now; I could feel it knocking up the pace the closer we got to the window. To the trellis. The ticket down, the way out. From there to a neighbor’s house. I had to force myself to remain calm and patient. I had to restrain the urge to rush to the window and scamper for dear life. Making haste would incite panic, I knew, especially for a seven-year-old.

  “This is what I want you to do, Justin. Are you listening?”

  Tap-tap.

  “I want you to stay in the bathroom, but right at the edge, so you can peek your head around into the guestroom. Can you do that for me?”

  Tap-tap.

  I waited for a moment, during which I saw myself craning my neck around that bulwark to inspect the darkness. Phantom shadows seemed ready to leap out of every corner.

  “Is the door from the guestroom to the hallway open?”

  Tap-tap. Yes.

  “Is it all the way open? Like wide open?”

  A short pause.

  Tap.

  “Is it halfway open?”

  Tap.

  “Just a little bit open?”

  Tap-tap.

  The door was ajar. I saw that slice of hallway through that Cyclopean eye of mine … and in my imagination, saw a shrouded figure moving suddenly past it, blocking out the dim light. I shuddered. And I was inside a church.

  Be strong, Justin. We’ll get through this.

  “Everything okay so far, kid?”

  Tap-tap.

  “Hear anything?”

  Tap.

  Good. Nothing.

  “Okay, I think we’re ready, but listen up first. Here’s the plan. You listening?”

  Tap-tap.

  “First things first, Justin. Be as quiet as possible opening the window. When you get it open, climb out slowly, quietly, and carefully. Whatever you do, don’t hurry. Drop the phone into the snow on the ground and climb down slowly. We’ll probably lose our connection when the phone hits the ground, so I’ll hang up over here. Don’t call me back right away; it’ll just waste time. You need to get to a warm place as quickly as possible. Just get to a neighbor’s house, anyplace with lights on. When you get there, I want you to call me right back, okay? All right? Can you do all that?”

  A hesitation, as if considering.

  Tap-tap.

  “Okay, then. I’m ready when you are. Let’s do this. Move quietly across the room and do your thing.”

  My mind’s eye took over. Though I’d never seen this guestroom before in my life, I envisioned a queen-sized bed and saw myself shuffling nervously around it, peeking over my shoulder at that crack in the door, that chasm of hallway. I felt my blood gathering speed with every step toward the window, snow crusting about the edges and a hard wind whipping by; never had a Connecticut storm sounded so sweet and so free. I felt the edges of that window in my hands, the phone tucked tightly between shoulder and ear as I slid the panes to one side … the snow rushing in, an Arctic blast blowing past me. Pausing for just a second as I locked my eyes onto the welcoming lights of neighboring houses, glowing distantly but invitingly—beacons of hope in a world of sudden chaos. Then crawling out and over the sill, the exhilaration of the action itself. Dropping the phone into the snow.

  But I wasn’t in that house. I was here, at the intersection of Main and Fifth, all cute and warm and snuggled in the church basement. All I heard was silence, and it was the deep chill of that silence that made me realize I had been waiting for something, something all along. A soft bump or a clatter. Or the window being moved aside, and then winter’s blizzardy breath roaring past the receiver, and the phone dropped to the ground—the click of a broken connection.

  But I heard none of those things. I heard nothing but silence. That deep, beckoning, apathetic phone fuzz. Silence has a sound. And that sound was now telling me something was very wrong.

  “Have you gotten the window open?”

  A pause.

  Tap.

  Did he hear something else? Footsteps making their way up the stairs, maybe? Or some other noise that has him frozen in terror?

  I opened my mouth to inquire about the possible noises—footfalls up the stairs, perhaps. And then it hit me with a shameful weight. I cursed myself for failing to foresee.

  “Is the window stuck, Justin? Is it stuck?”

  That’s what I saw in the silence now. A boy of seven struggling to move something. Something that wouldn’t go. And trying equally hard to maintain his silence.

  Tap-tap.

  Of course. The window was frozen shut.

  CHAPTER 4

  LIVING JUSTIN’S EXPERIENCE VICARIOUSLY was worse, I decided,
than had I been there myself. I had to this point made all the major decisions, including orchestrating Justin’s movements. But we had reached a point at which I could do no more. I can’t say for sure what I would’ve done had it been me in that house instead of a seven-year-old boy … but I can guess. Panic would have overwhelmed me. I would have struggled harder, grappling with that window regardless of the commotion it made. I would have forced it open on pure adrenaline, then thrown myself out to the trellis, scampering to the ground like a squirrel dashing down a tree.

  But I had to keep my emotions under control. I wasn’t the one in that house, and I couldn’t transfer my strength into Justin’s arms. I could tell him what to do, but no more. It was a powerless feeling.

  I asked, “The window’s frozen, isn’t it?”

  Tap-tap.

  Keep your voice low, Leslie. Low and steady.

  “Justin, I don’t want you to touch the window anymore,” I told him levelly. “It’ll make too much noise to get it open if it’s really stuck. Is everything okay? Are you all right?”

  No response. No tap.

  I waited, listening to my pulse thump against the edge of the phone. The plastic handle was damp with perspiration.

  “Justin? Are you okay?”

  I waited. Waiting, waiting …

  Be patient. He’s probably moving.

  No response.

  My heart picked up the pace. I didn’t like this at all.

  Waiting, waiting …

  He’ll answer, he’ll answer …

  Bullshit. Something was wrong. I couldn’t help but raise my voice.

  “Justin? Justin, what is it? What’s wrong?”

  Come on, kid, answer me. Answer me …

  “Justin? Justin, tell me—”

  That’s not a yes or no question, Leslie. Use your head. He can’t talk to you.

  I took a deep breath in an attempt to calm myself.

  “Justin,” I said slowly and smoothly, “I know you can hear me. I know you’re there, and I know you’re scared. We’re on the tap system, remember. You don’t have to move, but please answer me. I need to know.”

  I took another deep breath.

  “Do you hear him again?”

  A pause.

  Tap-tap. Yes.

  I closed my eyes, squeezed them shut, as if willing a bad dream to go away.