The Call

Two

The harsh tone of Leonid’s home phone pierced the silence that was draped over his house since his son died. Leonid awoke where he’d fallen asleep, at his desk. But the room wasn’t right, it wasn’t supposed to be an office or a study, it was Max’s room. Where was Max? He wondered, and then the gauze of sleep lifted and the reality of his situation flowed over him like a river of fire.

Leonid noticed his desk drawer was open, and the bottle was empty. Kasha would leave him for sure if she knew about this, but luckily that wouldn’t be a problem with her away at the moment. Which brought him to the question as to who was calling his house phone?

He took the bottle from the desk and his mug, and stood up, nearly stumbling as he did so, thanks to the rush of blood to his head coupled with the alcohol he’d partaken of, creating a kaleidoscopic haze that was both beautiful and confusing at the same time. Taking a moment to steady himself, he left the room, and as he did, he saw in the corner of his eye, his son Max playing with his toys. A single tear fell down Leonid’s face as he exited the room that once contained the one thing in the world Leonid had ever really loved.

The house was dark, and no amount of light could shed the emptiness Leonid felt whilst walking through it. The joy had been sucked from the house and replaced with an oppressive presence that you could almost taste it in the air. This once happy family home was a constant reminder of death and disappointment.

The phone still warbled through the house, at an almost supernatural level of volume. Leonid put the bottle and mug onto a small tale in the hall, and then he reached over to the incessant phone and silenced the noise by placing the receiver next to his ear.

“Hello?” He murmured to the caller

“Mr. Pall, it’s Sebastian Faulkner here from Foley Lodge.”

Leonid tried to focus on what the man had said, and searched his foggy memory as to why he should know this man. He was drawing a blank and the caller sensed this.

“I’ve not actually spoken to you personally Mr. Pall, but I have spoken to your wife about your condition”

“My condition?” Leonid spat the words down the phone, angered that his wife had raised their problems to people outside of their marriage.

“Yes, I hope I’ve not caught you at a bad time, I was just confirming that you received the plane tickets”

Leonid wondered if he was still dreaming, looked around and saw a large envelope on the mat by his front door.

“I’m sorry” Leonid continued “but, I have no idea of who you are or what you want or why I’d be flying anywhere”

There was a pause for a moment, and then the caller spoke up

“Mr. Pall, Foley Lodge is a place where artists who have lost their spark, come to recuperate. A creative mind is a dangerous mind if not cared for. Couple this with a drinking problem and you’re really in trouble. The tickets were paid for by your wife, who was so concerned for your well being that she paid out several thousand pounds for your stay with us, which would only be for a fortnight by the way.”

Meddling bitch, Leonid thought.

“I’m doing fine as I am thank you.” Leonid lied.

“Really?” there was a different tone in the caller’s voice, something unsettling about it. “Mr. Pall, you see your dead son don’t you?”

Leonid, never told his wife about the phantom figure that he often saw in the corner of his eye, the real reason that he moved his office into his sons old room. There was no way the caller could know, no way.

“Who are you?” Leonid asked again

“Sebastian Faulkner. I do understand this must be difficult for you, I would have thought your wife would have mentioned all of this. Mr. Pall, we can help you. Just read the literature we sent along with the plane ticket and if you’re not convinced then don’t come. But if I were you, Mr. Pall, if I was in your condition, I’d get out of that house now.”

Leonid put the receiver down, and moved in a daze to the envelope on the floor. Why hadn’t Kasha said anything to him about all this? Things had been worse than tough on their marriage since the accident, and Leonid had fallen out of love with her, this was true, but they always talked about things.

He picked up the envelope and went back to the study; there on the blank page that sat in his typewriter were the words

Don’t go Daddy

Leonid couldn’t breathe for a moment. Then decidedly he turned around; left his son’s old bedroom, proceeded out of his front door, and left his house for the last time.