I’m writing this letter as a warning. Parts of it you won’t believe, but it’s all true. It all goes back to when I was sitting in a bathroom stall, bored. People say you can’t die from boredom. I might just prove them wrong.
‘For a good time, call…’
‘If you want the greatest…’
‘Hey baby, you wanna…’
Why doesn’t anyone ever write Hemmingway on the bathroom walls? At least that would be worth reading while nature takes its course, especially since I always seem to have a problem with ‘downloading files’ when I don’t have something to read?
I was just about to give up when I noticed another number, written very small, in the seam of the concrete.
(555-4321) No name, no promises of a good time that would keep your local clinic in business, only a number.
I’m intrigued.
I typed the number into my phone. My thumb hovered over the send button.
Do I or don’t I?
Not being done with my business yet, I decided…What the hell…and pressed the button.
My phone flashed and then went dead.
Are you kidding me?
I pushed the button and it came back on. I listened and the line was ringing. After a series of clicks, I heard,
“Code in,” came a voice on the line.
“Excuse me?” I said.
“Invalid. Code in.”
I was about to hang up when the little devil on my shoulder said, ‘Go ahead, what do you have to lose?’
Like I fool, I listened.
“Alpha, Tango, Lima, one, one, seven,” I said. I think I remember that from some spy movie.
The line was silent for a long moment.
“Stand by,” the voice said.
After a few more clicks.
“Objective updated, proceed with caution,” then the line went dead.
“Objective? What objective?”
I stared at my phone as it lit up with a picture of a middle-aged balding man with a large beard and an even larger set of chins underneath it.
Who the hell is that?
As if responding to my thoughts, the picture was replaced by a detailed profile.
Johnathan Morseby, age 59, height 5’ 4”, weight 324#, divorced twice, no children…On and on it went, telling me the details of this person’s life. I started to get bored until I read the last word…Terminate.
I nearly dropped my phone.
Terminate? Are you freakin’ serious?
“Yes,” the display read. “You wanted to play spy, here’s your chance.”
You can read my thoughts?
“Yes.”
I suddenly had a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature. It was unnerving, but on the plus side, knowing someone was reading my thoughts helped me finish my business. After I washed my hands, I had a little conversation with my newly clairvoyant phone.
What are you going to do if I refuse your dastardly little deed?
My phone flashed to my personal bank account. The balance showed two hundred and seven dollars. Suddenly it flashed to zero, then to one million two hundred and seven dollars.
“Your choice.”
I went home to torture myself over the decision to take a man’s life or not.
***
I didn’t sleep well that night in my dingy little bed, in my dingy little apartment, so I got up for a glass of milk.
Dammit. It’s sour.
I slammed the refrigerator shut so hard the door fell off.
Are you kidding me?
“Shaddap up there!” yelled the jerk that lived downstairs.
I stomped on purpose.
How do you like that?
Just then the floor gave out under my foot and I sank up to my knee in floor.
“You’ll pay for that!” the jerk yelled up at the bottom of my foot.
I pried my foot loose and limped to the bedroom. I turned on my phone and thought,
I’ll do it.
Instantly a map popped up along with blueprints of a house. I got dressed and said goodbye to my crappy life.
What do I use?
Directions flashed up to a bus station, a locker, and a combination. I hopped in my beat-up old car and turned the key. The engine struggled and coughed like a lifelong smoker before sputtering to life. I fought between desperation, greed, and fear as my mind came to grips with the path I had set myself on.
Before I knew it, I found myself opening the locker. Inside it was a small automatic pistol. My eyes darted around to see if anyone had noticed my deadly acquisition. Satisfied that the few denizens of the bus station had better things to do, like holding down the benches with their drunken bodies, I held up the gun inside the locker and stared at it. The only other object in the locker was a set of keys.
“The van is parked out back, license 12345.”
Can I really do this?
Then my phone showed me a very graphic video of the man sexually abusing a small child.
Son of a…
Directions to the house showed again.
I found the van exactly where it was supposed to be. The keys unlocked it and fit in the ignition. I started it up and paused. This was real. This wasn’t some prank someone was pulling on me, I was on my way to kill a man I didn’t even know.
I’m amazed I wasn’t pulled over for speeding.
I arrived at the address, it was a mansion.
It figures. I thought. Piece of trash chester livin’ the high life.
“Not for long,” the phone said.
I pulled up to an iron gate with a digital voice recognition box.
“Hold me up to the box,” the phone said.
I did and a voice came out.
“Johnathan Morseby,” it said.
For a long moment, nothing happened, then the gate swung slowly open.
Unbelievable.
“Pull the van around back like you’re making a delivery.”
The back door had a security scanner.
“Hold me up to it.”
The door lock clicked open. I hesitated.
Shouldn’t I be wearing gloves or something? What about fingerprints?
“Hold on,” the phone said. “I am erasing your fingerprints from the police database. You may proceed.”
I opened the door and entered the kitchen. The smells from a recently cooked meal sent my belly into full rumble mode.
Let’s see what’s in the fridge.
“No, this isn’t snack time, stay focused,” the phone said.
I set the phone down and pulled out a bottle of wine.
Even better.
The phone started buzzing, but I just ignored it.
I’ll get there, don’t get your transistors in a twist, I’m just having a little liquid courage.
The phone buzzed even louder then suddenly stopped. I turned to see a large bald man in a pair of green and white striped pajamas.
He looks like a giant watermelon.
I would’ve laughed but he was pointing a gun at me. My phone started buzzing again.
“Shoot him!” it said.
He glanced at the phone just long enough for me to pull my gun out and squeeze the trigger.
Nothing happened.
I squeezed the trigger over and over, but all it did was click.
Watermelon man was glaring at me with a Cheshire cat grin plastered on his face.
“The thing about guns is they need a firing pin to shoot,” he said.
I looked at the gun like it had betrayed me.
“Here, let me show you,” he said, then he fired his pistol and my right shoulder erupted in agony. I collapsed to the floor, writhing in pain. The wine bottle shattered beside me.
As I lay on the floor, blood pooling around me, I managed to croak out, “Why?”
His belly bounced he was laughing so hard. It would have been comical if I weren’t bleeding.
“It’s a little hobby of mine. I’m weeding out the stupid people of the world one at a time. Consider it ‘thinning the herd.’ I’ve written that number all over, in places I don’t even remember. I’ve been doing this for years. You would be amazed how many people I’ve ‘thinned’.”
“The police will catch you.”
That sent him into another fit of laughter.
“Thanks for reminding me.” he pulled a phone out of his pocket. “Hello, police?” he said in a shaky voice. “There’s a burglar in my house. Oh my God, he’s got a gun…”
He fired a shot and hung up the phone.
“Any other questions?”
“Yes,” I said through gritted teeth, “How did you read my mind with my phone?”
“Dear boy, I own a telecommunications company. It’s a feature we’ve been putting in phones for years. We have the technology to read brain waves, it’s only a matter of interpreting them. Of course, we’ve told no one that this exists, not even the government. You’d be amazed how many people barely question it. Not only have I gotten disgustingly rich reading thoughts of important people, but I’ve also gotten the rabble like you to do some of the most unconscionable things you could imagine. Only three people in the world know anything about it, and none of them are talking. But I’ve grown tired of this game and the police are on the way, so I need a kill shot.”
“There’s just one thing you didn’t think of,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Oh, do tell.”
“I’ve had my phone on voice recorder since I walked in the door.”
He glanced at the phone laying on the table.
“Most inconvenient. However, thank you for telling me.”
When he reached for the phone, I lunged with all my strength and slashed at him with a piece of the wine bottle. My wild swing imbedded the shard in his leg. He squealed in pain and dropped to the floor. On impact, the gun flew out of his hand. I clamored to get it, but he grabbed my leg, tripping me. I fell facedown and hit my head on the floor, hard.
I woke to the sound of policemen telling me not to move. They cuffed me, causing pain to shoot through my shoulder. As they hauled me out, I looked back at my attacker. He hadn’t moved and there was a large pool of blood under him. Another officer checked his pulse.
“He’s gone.”
Dammit, I didn’t get to gloat.
During the trial, I found out that I had hit his femoral artery. He bled out before the cops got there.
My testimony about the phone that could read thoughts landed me in a mental hospital. My attorney refused to defend me after that.
.My only visitor had been a representative from the telecommunications company.
“Astounding,” he said. “You say the phone could actually read your mind?”
“Yes, and it would respond to me.”
“Amazing. Of course, I’m only a low-level investigator, but you’ve given me something to search for.”
“Something like that in the wrong hands… “ I said.
“Oh, I understand the ramifications,” he said. “Every terrorist, low-level despot, and politician would sell their own mothers to get their hands on such technology.”
“Exactly.”
“I’m going to contact the FBI about this,” he said. “Even if it means losing my job. This is just too much of a risk to have this technology out there.”
He put his notepad in his jacket pocket and stood to leave.
“If you think of anything else you think I need to know, don’t hesitate to call.”
He held out a business card to me.
“And you’ll work on getting my case reviewed?”
“Don’t worry, as soon as I find some hard evidence I’m sure we’ll get you out of here.”
“Thank you so much,” I said looking down at the card.
I paused. It had no name on it, only a number, (555-4321)
I slowly looked into his eyes.
“You’re one of the three,” I said quietly.
He took a step closer to me.
“Two now, thanks to you,” he said with the same Cheshire cat grin as his predecessor.
“Are you going to kill me?”
He let out a small chuckle.
“What fun would that be?”
He turned and headed for the visitation room door. He whispered something to the large orderly and handed him some money. They both looked at me and grinned in a very unpleasant way.
So here I sit in my room desperately writing multiple copies of this letter and sending it to anyone who will listen.
Please…
Help…
me…