Conversation · Payphone

"Is that you?"

"Your voice makes me want to turn into dust."

"I want to live -- with you..."

"Hello."

"Mhm," she hums, her voice warm from sleep.

"Who is this?"

"Your voice is so beautiful."

"No-no..." She's waking up now. "It's you, isn't it? It's you..."

"I can't tell you who I am. I have a secret plan to win mankind three thousand years of peace on this planet. I have to be ominously vague..." (Proceed.)

"You're not ominous, Harry... You're drunk."

Long windows... how do I know that?

You just do. And you know it is going to hurt.

Hang it up.

That's right. You can. Whatever you're doing here, you can just stop it and go on with your life.

Hang up.

The headset lands in the cradle with a clank. There it sits -- still warm from your hand. You have no idea what just happened.

Who cares. Run. Go. Don't think about this. Do police work, it's all there is.

No. Let it call. I must.

You can't. Some strange force is keeping the headset glued to your hand, your ear listening to the ring in the speaker...

Pitiful and terrifying. You feel your pulse rise with each ring...

Stop!

41 -- 44 -- 47 -- it's too late now, the movement is almost mechanical.

Wait -- what did I just do?

You dialled 001. This is not the area code of Revachol. It is another destination -- on another isola. Some far-off nation state.

005 is Revachol ZoC -- 001 is Graad, on the Graadian isola, where the telephone was invented. The next two digits you dial are the area code for the city of Mirova...

Again you close your eyes -- and again your fingers move on the rotary dial. Ten metallic rings as the dial returns to zero after each number.

Calling...

Calling...

And calling -- for two minutes now. You're out of luck. No one's home there either. But the payphone still has your ten cents in there...

You close your eyes and feel your finger move on the rotary dial. You start with 005, as before...

The area code for Revachol Zone of Control.

Followed by seven digits at random. The last one makes the silence turn into a ring. It's calling...

Still calling...

Still...

Time keeps passing. In the distance, seagulls squawk -- no one is home at this number. But the coin... it's still in there... you find yourself thinking:

What were you trying to achieve by closing your eyes? Did you want your muscle memory to take over and call somewhere? Where?

Home?

He doesn't have a home. His home is under a boat.

His own heart.

It's really time to stop this now.

Yeah, bratan. We've had all the fun there was to have here. And it wasn't much.

He doesn't have a home. Not anymore.

Put 10 cents in and dial a random number: 005-51-17-912.

Calling...

Still calling...

Again? Seriously?

Someone with a masculine voice picks up:

"Hello, Girard speaking!"

Hello, Girard. Technically speaking, you're electricity.

No, what you are is a surprise, get his wife on the phone...

Hang up. [Leave.]

"Hey, Girard, get your wife for me, will you?"

"Wh-who is this?" The man does not understand.

"I'm sorry it was a stupid joke, I shouldn't have called, it's stupid -- I'm so sorry."

"You shouldn't mess with people like this..." His voice is very calm. "You go have a nice day now."

Phone hanging up.

Disconnect tone.

"It's Harry, put her on, I don't like waiting."

"Who the fuck do you think you are talking to me like that?" The voice on the phone is suddenly very agitated.

"Guillaume. Guillaume le Million."