20
THE TELEPHONE WOKE Beth out of a deep sleep, and she sat up in bed confused, her heart pounding, unable to identify the source of the ringing until the last remnants of her dream evaporated from her mind. Then she fumbled for the phone, wanting to silence it before it woke Bobby. There was something fearful about a late-night telephone call. Never good news.
After saying hello she waited. There was only silence at the other end. She could tell that the line was open, but that’s all. Then a man’s voice said, “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
“Peter?” she asked, but when there was no immediate answer, she hung up. Peter didn’t have a phone. It hadn’t sounded like Peter’s voice.
She sat for a moment, waiting for the phone to ring again. She was certain she had locked both doors. The wind blew outside, shaking the wooden screens on the windows and rustling through the eucalyptus trees that grew at the edge of the driveway. Moonlight shone through the wooden blinds, dimly illuminating the room. Probably the call meant nothing, a sick prank.
Wide awake now, she climbed out of bed and crossed the room. When the phone rang again she was almost to the door. She ran back to the nightstand and snatched up the receiver, not saying anything, but listening again to the airy silence of an open line. Then the same voice said, “I’m close by.” The sound was muffled, like someone talking through a bundle of cloth. She could hear a metallic scraping—the sound of a steel telephone cord against the metal wall of a phone booth. “I was wondering …” but she slammed down the receiver, holding it against the phone as if it would jump off by itself.
She picked it up again and after listening for a dial tone, set the receiver on the nightstand, waiting out the thirty seconds it took for the recording to come on advising her to hang up. She muffled the receiver while it pulsed, then put it back down.
She walked out into the living room and checked the dead bolt, which was locked, just as she remembered. There was no sound from Bobby’s room; he was still asleep. She went into the kitchen and looked out at her neighbor’s house. It was dark, but she could see that their Jaguar was parked in the driveway, blocking the closed garage door. No doubt they were home. She found their number in the phone book and wrote it out on a piece of paper that she brought back into the bedroom with her, laying it next to the phone.
Completely awake now, she roamed through the house again, looking in on Bobby, who was sleeping among a heap of stuffed animals. After pulling his comforter over him, she went back into the living room and moved the blinds aside, looking out at the moonlit street. The wind had diminished a little, and the night was quieter than it had been.
Why had he said he was “close,” unless he was? And why disguise his voice, unless he knew her?
Nothing more than to frighten her, probably. Well, it had worked. She dropped the blinds and went back to bed, where she lay with the light on, aware of the uncradled receiver on the nightstand, picking out and identifying stray sounds beyond the window. After a moment she opened a book and tried to read.