Burn, Baby, Burn by Michael Seale (Chapter 4)

Chapter 4

Dreaming of Lisa

Brrriiinnngggg… Brrrriiinnnggg…

The telephone sang out, cutting the silence of the room. It felt as if twenty jack hammers were crashing into the pavement that was my skull.

Brrrriiinnngggg… Brrrriiinnnggg… 

Eight fuckin’ thirty in the morning, the sun lit the room through my thread bare curtains; I blinked back the pins that threatened to skewer my eye sockets. I haven’t woken up this early in I don’t know how long. Who the fuck is calling me? I reached over for my plastic cordless phone that lay on the table next to my bed.  

Brrriiinnnnggg… Brrrriiinnnnggg…

"Yeah," I grumbled, coughing out a half dead voice and putting my head in my hands. The room was still spinning, I had to put my feet on the floor. 

The phone gave no answer, nothing, silence. Whoever had must have decided that they no longer needed to speak to me after forcing me awake. 

“Hello...” I repeated over and over until I slammed the phone down. The cordless isn’t satisfying to slam down; pushing a button angrily just doesn’t satisfy the rage of waking me up when I’m hungover. My head flopped back to my pillow, my eyes closed and sweet blissful sleep was taking me again. But the silence didn’t last.

Brrriiinnnggg… Brrriiinnnggg… 

"Hello?" my annoyance palatable. Again the phone refused to respond. There was nothing but silence, not a sound. 

"What the fuck? Stop fucking calling me if you don't want to talk, asshole." Yelled into the phone. I was about to angrily push the button, then I heard something, something far off in the call's distance. Jamming the phone harder to my jack hammered head. 

Laughing, the most hideous of laughs, not just any kind of laughing but some sort of deranged bat shit crazy kind of laugh. It was like the listening to the Jack Nicholson play the Joker as he went insane again. I pressed the button. 

My bed beckoned me again, I rolled onto my back and rubbed my temples. Who prank calls someone in the morning? 

My eyes closed and one foot on the floor, I reached over for the Lisa Loeb looking bartender, Allie, Callie, Alicia, what was her name. The space next to me was empty, unused. She must have left, I thought, smiling. Those were always the best ones. No awkward morning, no walk of shame, no I’ll call you. Most of the time I don’t even know what their name was or exactly what happened. 

The phone sang once again. This time I just picked it and put it straight back down on its waiting base. I sat up too fast. The room spun, and the jack hammers danced behind my eyes. What was her name? I thought. Allie? Callie? I can't remember. 

The bedroom reeked of wood smoke. The phone rang again. I needed to piss, but the morning wood was standing at attention, making my little effort difficult to hit the bowl. The smell of smoke intensified. It was like burnt rubber, plastic, a choking smoke of burnt meat and hair. I coughed and pissed on my foot. 

"Ahh, fuck." I said. I wiped my wet foot on the back of my calf.

The cordless was still ringing. I finally answered it. 

"What?" I yelled. 

This time they answered me with the worst sound I have ever heard. The most heart wrenching, blood-curdling scream. One drenched in pain and suffering. I could feel the pain in her voice over the chorus of jack hammers. Then the laugh started again, that disgusting, hideous laugh. They intertwined, mixing into some sort of chaotic opera of pain; I couldn't see straight; the hammers beat into my eyes, threatening to explode them. My ears rang in hopes to drown out the hysteria that I was hearing. My room moved, slanting downwards. The scream, the laugh in its embrace choked my very life. A stench of burnt hair and meat raped my soul. As I crumpled to the floor, my head hit the table, and I was out.  

The brick wall cut into the back of my arm where I woke leaning against it.  I was back sitting against the dirty urine stained alley behind Cat. The alley was dark; it seemed the street lamps were perpetually broken. It smelled of piss, sour beer and trash. Graffiti littered the walls and dumpsters. A man and woman kissed next to one dumpster; his hands slid up her skirt and pulled her closer to him. An old man shuffled further down the alley, intently watching the couple. 

My body wouldn’t respond. Words that formed in my brain never left my throat, I couldn't talk, and I tried and failed to call out. She pushed him away, playfully; he pulled her closer again. 

The wind blew an old plastic back into the cold air. My body shivered, goosebumps chasing down my arms. I am only a witness to the scene that plays before me. The woman shoved him away again with force. She called my name, shouting out for help. My throat constricted as I tried to yell for him to leave her alone, but nothing came forth. He forced himself against her again. She fought him off of her with another shove again and turned to walk the other direction. The man grabbed her by the hair and pulled her back. Her scream echoed off the alley walls. I fought with my body, trying to force myself to get up, but it was as if some unnatural force held me down. She screamed once and tried to fight him off. Her hands flew to his face, scratching his cheek. 

The wind rushed down the alley again, the plastic sack flew around me as a light flittered on and off lighting a bit of her face, it was the Lisa Loeb wannabe at from the bar. Alicia or Allie. Her name was Callie, now I remember. Callie, I tried to call to her, her named lodged in my throat. 

The man bounced her head off the graffiti sprayed wall like a basketball, over and over. Callie's glasses smashed into her face, a piece of the glass embedded itself just below her left eye. Blood and hair stained the wall. Red pebbles from the brick littered her cheek. She made no more sounds, no more screams. The man let her drop to the floor. He laughed at the mess he had made of Callie's face. It was the laugh that haunted my phone, which brought me here. Her hands twitched. He looked at me and smiled. My body wouldn't move, I couldn't scream. He grabbed her by the hair and dragged her down the alley. Laughing, that insane laugh. 

I woke up on the floor of my room; the cordless phone was lying next to me. The sun still lit the curtains and my head thundered a chorus of jack hammers. A smell of burnt hair and wood filled my nostrils. My hands shook.