The Caller

Twenty-Nine

Mr. J stepped out of the elevator on the fifth floor of the hotel he was staying in and calmly walked down the brightly lit corridor in the direction of his room — 515. As he stepped through the door, he placed the ‘do not disturb’ sign outside it and locked it behind him. A subtle and very pleasant scent of jasmine and vanilla hung in the air, courtesy of the aromatherapy treatment the hotel provided.

Mr. J dropped his briefcase and his jacket on to the sumptuous queen-sized bed, kicked off his shoes, and made his way into the white-tiled bathroom. In there, he turned on the washbasin faucet, bent forward over it, and began splashing his face and the back of his neck with ice-cold water. Some of it splattered on to his shirt collar and trickled down on to his chest and back, but Mr. J didn’t mind it. In fact, he welcomed the cooling sensation. A whole minute went by before he looked up again and faced his reflection in the mirror.

He looked so different.

Staring into his own eyes, Mr. J inhaled an overly deep breath and held it in his lungs. A few seconds later, with his lips pursed, he let go of it slowly.

‘Just breathe,’ he silently told himself. ‘Just breathe.’

He repeated the process five more times before he finally turned off the water faucet.

Time to go back to normal.

Mr. J brought his left hand to his face and, with the tips of his fingers, pulled down on his right-eye bottom lid. Then, using his right thumb and index finger, he carefully pinched and collected the baby-blue contact lens he’d been wearing for the past twelve hours. After collecting the one from his left eye, he dumped them both into the toilet and flushed them away. Eyes back to their original color, Mr. J proceeded to rid his face of the fake moustache, the goatee, and the false teeth, securely placing them to one side. He spent the next sixty seconds opening and closing his mouth in a stretching exercise and rubbing his chin and upper lip to do away with the awkward sensation.

Mr. J was starting to look like Mr. J again.

The last step was to carefully detach the blond wig from his head. That done, he took another minute and massaged his scalp with his fingertips.

Boy, did that feel good?

At that particular moment, Mr. J could think of only one thing he needed more than a shower. He returned to the bedroom and from the small fridge he grabbed a couple of mini-bottles of whisky and emptied them into a tumbler — no ice, no water. As he sipped his drink, he closed his eyes and allowed the golden liquid to envelop his palate. It wasn’t good-quality whisky, but the alcohol was strong enough. He had one more sip and placed the glass on the bedside table. As he reached for his briefcase, Mr. J heard his cellphone ring inside his jacket pocket. He identified the ring as coming from his personal phone, not his work one. He reached for it, checked the display screen and frowned. The call was coming from Cassandra, but it wasn’t a regular call, it was a request for a video-call.

Mr. J had only video-called with his wife once before, eleven months ago, to test the feature in Cassandra’s new phone. Neither of them liked it very much.

She’s probably calling to find out when I’m coming home, he thought. But why a video-call? The next thought that came into Mr. J’s head filled him with relief: Good job I’ve got all that crap off my face.

He held the phone in front of him and accepted the call, but as the image materialized on the small screen, Mr. J looked even more puzzled. All he could see was one of the walls in his living room. He knew it was his living room because he recognized the wall clock and framed Gauguin print his wife had bought a few years back.

‘Hello? Cass?’ he called in an unsure voice. ‘Where are you? Everything OK?’

No reply.

‘Cass?’

Silence.

‘Honey, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m not sure if this thing is working OK. I can’t see or hear you.’

Still no reply, but the camera slowly panned right and Cassandra’s face finally came into focus.

Mr. J felt an awkward chill grab hold of the back of his neck. Something was off. Something was really off.

Cassandra was sitting down on one of their dinner chairs, with her hair tied back into a ponytail. Her head was low, obscuring part of her face, but Mr. J could still see enough of it, and what he saw shook him. His wife had been crying, and judging by the redness of her nose and blotted eye makeup, which had run all the way down to her chin, she’d been doing so for a while.

Emotionally, Cassandra was the strongest woman he had ever met. It took a lot to make her cry. Mr. J had only seen it happen once, when her mother passed away eight years ago.

‘Cassandra, honey, what’s going on? Are you all right? Why are you crying?’ There was real concern in his voice.

She sucked in a deep breath through a blocked nose, but said nothing in return.

‘Cass, talk to me for Christ’s sake. You’re starting to scare me now.’ Mr. J twisted his phone left then right as if checking on something. ‘What the fuck? Is the sound on this thing on? I don’t know if I’m doing this video-call-thing right, honey.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with the sound, John.’

The voice that came through Mr. J’s tiny cellphone speakers made his entire body tense. It had been digitally altered to sound deep and full of gravel, way too deep to sound human.

‘What? Who the fuck is this? And what’s with the demon-like voice? What the hell is going on?’

‘What’s going on,’ the voice replied, ‘is that I have placed a little wager with your wife.’

Mr. J’s confusion intensified. ‘What? Is this a joke?’

‘Oh! Definitely not. I can guarantee you that this is as real as it gets, John.’

‘Who is this?’

‘Who I am doesn’t matter. But this does. Look up.’

The instruction was meant for Mr. J’s wife. Shivering, she obeyed.

Cassandra lifted her chin, and as her gaze met her husband’s in the small screen, a new onslaught of tears began pouring down her cheeks. Mr. J’s heart sank. He focused his attention on her eyes and in them he saw something he had never seen before, hopelessness together with tremendous fear. He knew then that whatever it was that was happening, it was no joke.

‘Cassandra, what’s going on? Who’s in the house with you?’

Her lips quivered again, and all she could do was gently shake her head.

‘She’s not allowed to speak, John,’ the voice announced. ‘I have to give her permission to first.’

Despite what the voice said, through drowning tears, Cassandra called out, but all she could manage was a poor whisper.

‘John, please.’

SLAP.

Cassandra was hit across her face so fast, Mr. J missed the movement completely. The strength of the slap made her whole head twist left awkwardly. The skin on her right cheek immediately reddened, and an agonizing pain-filled scream exploded out of her, followed by desperate sobbing.

For a second, and out of pure surprise, Mr. J’s heart lost its rhythm. His eyes widened in total disbelief.

‘What the fuck? You sonofabitch.’

‘I told you not to speak until I give you permission, didn’t I?’ the voice said calmly. ‘Don’t do it again.’

Slowly Cassandra turned her head and once again looked at her cellphone screen. The powerful slap had also split the right corner of her bottom lip, causing a small blob of blood to trickle down her chin. In her eyes, fear had suddenly become terror.

Anger traveled through Mr. J’s veins like a dark avalanche, spilling off in all directions until his entire body was shaking with it.

‘Cassandra, honey,’ he said. ‘Please listen to me. Everything will be fine, OK. I promise you. For now, just do what he says. I’ll get this figured out. I promise you, my love. I will die before I let anything happen to you.’

Cassandra swallowed dry, as more tears made their way down her cheeks. She blinked once and her head bobbed down a tiny fraction to signal not only that she had understood, but that she was also putting all of her trust in him.

Mr. J closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he finally reopened them just a second later, it was like he had mutated into a complete different person. One Cassandra had never seen before.