Part I:
I used to be strong. I did. Sure, laugh all you want, but it’s the truth. No, no, no. I’m not talking physical strength. I mean emotional, mental fortitude. It wasn’t always like that, though. Once upon a time I was as weak as … well, as a certified wimp. I think I had a membership to the Wimps Club. When you looked in the dictionary under ‘pathetic,’ there was the proverbial picture of me.
For twenty years I struggled to believe in myself. For twenty years I worked and climbed my way up from the depths of weakdom. Each day I took another step forward, rising from the ashes of one flame out after another. Each day building strength upon the foundation of brittle hopes and dreams.
I spent years alone, restless, and lonely. I never wept for myself, I never cried myself to sleep. It was the only life I knew. Every day started the same, and ended a little different. I didn’t notice it at the time, though. I didn’t notice those subtle changes happening around me. It’s like practicing something over and over and over, you don’t notice the improvement, but it’s happening all the same, just under the surface where the creatures stir deep into the night.
One day I woke up and everything was different. I was confident, brash, brazen even. I felt great and that carried with me wherever I went. I looked good, trim, fit, and most importantly happy. Nothing much had changed about my life, but it was about to. Everything was about to change.
The phone call that tipped over that first domino came at 8:43 in the morning. August 6th. I remember it well. I was making breakfast, taking my time on a day off from work. Scrambling eggs in the fry pan I snatched the phone from the counter, snapped the ‘talk’ button and put it to my ear.
At first all I could hear were odd noises. Muffled sounds, and shuffling. “Hello?” I said a second time and then the world changed forever.
“Mike,” a familiar voice called through. Hushed. Strained. “M-”
“Mary?” I said. I had been friends with Mary for about four years, and though I thought about her often, she was always clear that she didn’t want anything more with me than the wonderful, overplayed ‘friend’ card. I was fine with it. I mean, when you’re lonely, you don’t deny friendships, no matter how you feel about the person. That’s what weakness is all about.
Mary didn’t respond. It was more of that annoying scratching, rustling sound.
I stepped away from the stove, spatula in hand, apron tugging at me, the string caught in the oven door. “Mary? Is that you?”
Then the words came forth that would alter the course of my life forever. A whisper caught in the throat. Frightened, and worse. “Mike, help me.”
I was about to say something more to her, but I heard another voice, a male voice, muffled, angry. Then a loud crash, clattering, a scream in the distance, then footsteps clicking away, fading.
I held the phone to my ear, pressing it harder, as though that would help me hear (or believe it not, see) what was going on around Mary. I heard what sounded like sobbing. A catch in her throat. A sniffle. Then, farther away another sob. What was going on?
The line was open, that much was clear. Mary had called from her cell phone, I was a computer geek, so I knew that I could trace her location, as long as her GPS was enabled. I hoped it was. I transferred the call to speaker, set the phone down next to my computer, and began moving through the process of locating her phone.
I began to catch the odor of burnt eggs, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t hungry anymore. Within a few moments, I had her location. Home.
She was home. Or so said the GPS.
I stared at the computer screen, a tiny red icon pointing to a virtual map. Her home. I had been there a few times, but not in a while. She had two roommates, women about her age, one of them had a child with her as well. A daughter, if I remembered correctly.
What was happening in that house? Was it a crank? Some kind of joke? Was there nothing going on in there? Was my imagination, and all that loneliness, getting the best of me?
I dug out my cell phone, not sure why she didn’t call that number, and found her home line. I punched the ‘send’ button and waited. A busy signal greeted me. I tried again, as though that would have a different result. I snapped the phone closed, disconnecting from the incessant whine of the busy signal.
I picked the other phone, the one connecting me to her. At least I thought we were still connected. The line was open, but nothing was happening. Just a few muffled sounds. Shuffling? Steps? Scraping? It could be anything. It could be nothing.
Mike, help me.
It played over and over in my mind. How could I help? What could I do? Call the cops, obviously, but what else? What if I was completely wrong about all of this? What if I called the police and they showed up to nothing? What I called the police, they showed up, and made matters worse?
What matters? I thought. I was being foolish, I tried to convince myself of that.
Help me …
I couldn’t shake those words.
Help me.
I had to do something. I grabbed my keys and marched out the door. Since she called my home line, I couldn’t keep the line open. And I didn’t dare call her cell phone, not wanted to create a bigger mess for her if I didn’t have to.
Help me.