Night had fallen, the city silent.
Fred dropped his art kit on the kitchen table before collapsing into the chair’s beckoning embrace with a content sigh. He ran a hair through his hair, the colorful flowers that were woven into the long braid pulled free. Untying the end, he combed his fingers through the thick braid as he propped his feet up on the table.
He wondered if the others got home alright. After Barney’s little incident, none of them were all that sure what to do. Fred hadn’t expected to see the flamboyant youth fleeing from someone he was previously stocking. He also wasn’t expecting to get a call from Sam, nor was he expecting her to tell him she was in jail because she wrecked her car into an empty grave half-past-nine that very night.
Sometimes he wondered if his friends were a tad insane or just plain stupid.
He tipped the chair onto its back legs, eyes half-closed as he relaxed. The day was over and it was almost time to settle in for sleep. He wasn’t expecting his landline to start ringing. Fred let his chair land on all four, the resounding bang echoing through the house as he stared at the unplugged phone ringing in its cradle.
Fred stood and made his way across the room. He eyed the still-ringing phone, hair standing on end. He lifted the phone from its cradle, hand trembling.
Then he slammed it back in the cradle. “Nope, not fucking falling for that shit. Not any fucking way.”
He turned away and started for the table. The phone rang again. Fred paused.
He slowly turned, eyes narrowing on the phone. It wasn’t even plugged into the wall, for crying out loud. How could it be ringing if there wasn’t any power going to it? Yet it was doing just that – ringing. Fred stared at it for a moment before repeating his first action.
The phone started ringing the moment he cut the connection.
His answer was to toss it out the window.
Fred took his time, after that. He’d meant to get rid of the phone, anyway. Now it flew right out the window, quite literally. He showered, dressed in a pair of loose pants, drank a can of beer, and made his way to his bedroom. There, sitting on the bed, busted up but not falling apart, was a phone.
He stared at it for a long moment, grip loosening.
The phone started to ring, shrill and demanding. The beer hit the floor.