The Call
A shudder went through Jon. The kind of feeling you
get when you think there is something under your bed reaching out to grab you
before you hop into it.
“Mr. Rooney,” asked Nathan.
Jon did not know what to say. He knew one thing
though; the voice on the 911 recording was one he did not recognize. “The
thing that gets me is why on earth did she say that?”
“Which part,” asked Nathan.
“Pretty much the whole recording”, replied Jon.
“I mean its just plain spooky. You said the call was made from Frank's house at
5:47 this morning, and when the EMT’s arrived the front door was wide open.
However, the only one there was Frank. So who made the call?”
“I was hoping you could tell me, Mr. Rooney,”
Nathan replied flatly.
Now Jon was really worried. “Now damn it, Nathan, you're not telling me something! What else is there? Is this a murder
investigation or what?”
“There is no indication of foul play. There are just
a few things that can’t be explained.” Nathan paused. He looked as if he was
reluctant to continue, but he went on. “I want you to listen to the recording
again. Closely.”
Nathan moved the mouse pointer to the file play button
on the computer screen, with one click the file began to play. Nathan turned the
volume of the speakers to full.
“911, how may I help you?” said the dispatcher.
Jon listened intently. Was he hearing what he thought he was? He could swear
there was music in the background. Then the voice that freaked Jon out spoke her
first words.
“Hurry,” the voice whispered, but the strange
thing was the voice was not in a whisper, but in a normal spoken voice that was
far away from the phone speaker. “He’ll be with me soon if you do not
come,” the voice said.
“Ma’am, please tell me the nature of your
problem,” the dispatcher insisted.
“I want him to come to me, but not this way, its not
his time,” the voice said.
“Ma’am, you have to speak up,” pleaded the
dispatcher, “Please repeat your last statement.” Jon had to hand it to the
dispatcher…she was concerned but was staying cool. Now Jon leaned toward the
speaker.
You are here and so am I…
It was music! Just as Jon was about to place the song,
the soft voice said as if on cue with the words he just heard. “He is here
with me now, but this is not the way, its not his time,” the voice said,
“Jon must take the time, or we may never have the chance. Please, Jon, take
the time.” The line went dead.
That same shutter went through Jon again. He was
grasping at something familiar when Nathan put a hand on his shoulder. Jon did
not mean to, but he flinched and felt his heart skip a few beats. “Jesus,
Nathan,” he exclaimed.
Nathan was looking at him as if waiting for Jon to
come to some sort of realization. Jon was sure something was eating at him about
the recording. Something so familiar, yet he could not put his finger on it,
“It has to be the song,” he said absently.
“What are you talking about Mr. Rooney,” asked
Nathan. “I don’t hear any music. Do you mean on the recording? Because if
you do then you have better ears than me. I wanted you to listen to the voice.
Don’t you recognize it?”
“No, I don’t,” Jon, said flatly. Nathan had a
disappointed look on his face. It was almost as if he was for sure Jon knew the
voice on the recording. Again there was a tickle in the back of Jon’s mind.
Jon shuttered again. “I don’t know how the person on that tape knows my
name, Nathan; that I’m certain of. Frank would have told me he was dating
someone, and you know our town; he would have never been able to keep a
relationship a secret. I swear I hear music on that tape, but I’m telling you
I don’t know how the person on that tape knows me. Maybe…”
“I know how she knows you, Mr. Rooney,” Nathan cut
in.
“What are you talking about Nathan? I’m telling
you I don’t know who that person is.”
“You do,” Nathan shifted his weight, the way
someone would do if they were trying to say something they really did not want
to say. “On a hunch, I ran the prints I lifted from the phone. I would not
have even looked for prints in the first place had the caller identified
herself. I just wanted to see if I could track down the Good Samaritan. When I
ran the prints and verified them, that’s when I came to your office to tell
you personally.”
“Nathan,” sighed Jon, “If you keep leaving me in
suspense every time we talk I’m going to start wondering what you're hiding.”
“Maybe you should sit down.”
“Damn it, Nathan, just tell me!”
“Catherine Rooney,” Nathan said with resignation.
“The prints match those taken from her autopsy records. I double checked, and
they match perfectly.”
“Oh my God,” Jon said as he sank into the chair
that was thankfully near. “Cat’s prints? Are you sure? I don’t understand;
she died over 45 years ago. Nathan, please tell me how its possible that my baby
sister's prints are on my dead friend's phone.”
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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