Flash Fiction Friday: Call From Beyond

I took a brief break. Here is this week's Flash Fiction story. Enjoy.

Call From Beyond

By,

Jennifer E. Miller

Tracy Cornwall's phone buzzed on the nightstand, waking her. Groggy, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. One look at the caller ID, and she felt the blood drain from her face.

The name on the screen read: Billy Cornwall. Tracy's brother passed away three months ago. His contact information was still programmed in her cell phone. She hadn't thought to remove it, but his phone was deactivated and the contract terminated. Had the cell phone company already reissued Billy's number to someone else? She hit the green “accept call” circle on the screen, expecting to advise of a wrong number.

"Hello?"

Static squawked through the speaker.

"Helloooo?" she repeated.

The static pulsed a few times followed by a voice.

"Tracy?"

She felt nauseous, unable to speak.

"Tracy. It's me. Tracy?"

She swallowed. "I'm here."

"Hi, sis."

His voice sounded as though it was in a tin can. Like there were miles and miles separating them. 

"Billy?”

"Yeah,” he said.

"But you're... you're..." she struggled to finish her sentence.

"Dead?"

Choking back tears, she answered, "Yeah."

"I'm here, sis. I never left."

"Where's here?"

"Here. I don't know how to describe it. But I'm safe. Don't worry about me."

Even though the coroner confirmed his death, his remains cremated, and a funeral service, Tracy felt his presence at times. She heard his footsteps behind her along the sidewalk. His favorite song frequently sprung up on the radio. Most haunting was seeing his name everywhere. Billy Bob's Diner. Willy-Nilly-Billy Bean coffee stand. The police department's new K-9 was even named Billy.

The static pulsed again. Billy said something but his voice cut out.

"What?"

"Save yourself," he said.

Tracy's heart quickened. His tone, the seriousness, was exactly how she remembered when he tried to prevent her from harm. He had an uncanny ability to sense approaching danger.

"Save myself from what?"

"I left...”

Billy was cutting in and out again.

"Someone...try...hurt you...”

“I don’t understand, who will hurt me?”

Billy wasn't making any sense. Tracy wasn't dating anyone.

The static squawked again. “…ove…you…sis…ake…care.”

Tracy realized Billy was leaving her. “Billy! Don’t hang up!”

“…otta…go...careful…”

Static screeched evenly, like a heart monitor's flat line.

“Love you, too,” she whispered.

Then the line went cold. No noise, no dial tone. Just emptiness.

With a sigh, Tracy touched the end call button, replaced the phone on the nightstand, and began sobbing. She missed her brother terribly, even though Billy lived in another city. The car accident took him swiftly, with no suffering, according to the medical examiner.

A multitude of disillusionment rushed through her tired brain. Should she take Billy’s caution seriously? Was it even Billy that called or his ghost? She thought herself going crazy. Deceased persons cannot possibly make phone calls, or can they? She didn’t consider herself superstitious, bet she remembered a paranormal television program where they discussed communication with the dead, sometimes by phone calls. She thought it was made up for the show. Now she wished she’d paid more attention.

After her sobs subsided, Tracy decided the only option was to keep Billy’s warning in the back of her mind. She switched off the lamp and returned to sleep.

* * *

One week passed and Tracy’s life resumed as normal, but she didn’t tell anyone about the phone call.

As she logged off her work computer for a lunch break, her office phone beeped.

“Tracy?” It was the receptionist.

“Yes?”

“There’s a Finnigan McChord here to see you.”

“Who?” She didn’t know anyone by that name.

“Finnigan McChord. From Lockton Insurance Group.”

Confused, she responded, “I’ll be right up.”

She grabbed her purse and locked her office door behind her.

A few moments later she arrived in the reception area. A man not much older than Tracy stood waiting.

“You must be Mr. McChord?” Tracy said, approaching him with and extended hand.

“Yes. But call me Finn. You must be Tracy,” he replied, as he smiled and squeezed a handshake.

His accent was Irish or Scottish, Tracy couldn’t distinguish which.

“This won’t take long, but I need to discuss some documents with you.”

“You caught me at a good time. I’m on lunch; can we talk in the park?”

“Of course.”

They exited the office building, walked down the block to the park, where Tracy found an empty bench for the two of them.

Finn opened his briefcase, shuffled some papers around, and produced a small stack of legal-sized papers and a pen.

“Your brother had a life insurance policy with us. We got word he passed away. Our condolences.”

Tracy felt emotion boil up her throat. She wasn’t expecting abrupt business regarding Billy from Finn. She thought he was simply an insurance salesman she would blow off.

“I need you to sign.”

“For what?”

Finn looked up at her in surprise. “Didn’t you know? Billy listed you as the sole beneficiary.”

“No.”

“Well, he did indeed. You’re to inherit two million dollars.”

Tracy blinked.

Finn chuckled. “Sometimes these things come as a surprise. It’s a lot of money, people don’t know how to react. I just need to verify your identity and sign a few documents. We’ll release the funds within sixty days.”

The two dove into a business discussion about the intricacies of the policy and how payout works.

She signed the papers and Finn handed over her copies, along with his business card. Tracy flipped through the documents again and noticed that Billy’s legal name, William, was on the form.

“Did you know Billy well?” she asked.

“No. I’m just the insurance representative Lockton sent out to call on you. He initially called our 1-800 number to purchase the policy.”

How did he know to call him Billy? Tracy wondered. She suddenly felt on high alert.

Finn snapped his briefcase together and smiled.

“You have my business card there. Give me a call if you’d like to get together. You seem like a lovely woman…”

Copyright 2018 Jennifer E. Miller