CELL

/ THIRTY ONE /

The phone was vibrating in Ryan's hand with each sounding of its tone. Rather than the typical songs or musical tunes that adorned so many mobile phones, this was the basic, old fashioned 'ring ring' two tone alert.

He stared at it blankly.

"Who is it?" Pedra asked.

Rather than say the name, he held his hand up for her to see.

Ring ring.

Dad.

"Shit."

Ryan offered the device to Pedra, but she held up her hand and shook her head.

"No fucking way. You took it, you deal."

Ring ring.

Shit.

He pressed to answer, then hit the speaker icon, turning the volume down immediately to allow them both to hear while limiting it to their close quarters.

"Ryan, isn't it?"

Shit.

So, that didn't last long, did it? Any thoughts of having a head start were gone. Any thoughts of not being discovered at all were the stupid hopes of a naïve mind. He looked at Pedra and she shrugged.

Who did you expect? Santa? The Tooth Fairy? Answer him!

Thanks for the help, eh?

"Yeah. So?"

"How are you?"

"Who are you?"

"Hmmm... Good response. I like your spirit."

"No answers, as usual."

"But Ryan, you can't avoid my questions and not expect me to do the same. Let's start again. How are you?"

"Who are you?"

Dad sighed.

"Fine, I see how it is. I suppose I can't blame you. We haven't been very forthcoming, have we?"

"Forthcoming? Do you even know what that means?"

"You'd be surprised what I know. It's my job to, in fact. And I know all about you."

"Yeah, but I don't. I don't want to either. I'm happy with who I am, and that's not your plaything any longer."

Pedra was shaking her head frantically and making a repeated slicing gesture at her throat.

"NO!" she mouthed.

Maybe this guy wasn't the sort to be spoken to like that. With disrespect. To do so came with consequences and, in this place, they could be fatal. If Bradley was bad, her father would probably be worse.

So?

Well, Ryan thought, my dad always told me respect had to be earned, and this dad wasn't his and had done no such thing.

Suddenly, he could see his father saying those exact words. The man was tall and had a permanently fierce expression. His mum – shit, his mum! - would say her husband didn't have a 'resting bitch face' as it was never at rest. He staggered slightly and put his hand on the protruding keypad for support. The memories were as clear as it they'd happened only that morning. Shouldn't they be vaguer, dulled by the passage of time? How could they be so vivid? His parents! He could remember his fucking parents!

Pedra's looked concerned and moved to help him, but he waved her off. The memory, though it had shaken him, had also energised him. Whatever they'd done to him was wearing off. Perhaps his memories weren't erased. Maybe they were only veiled. Covered with a mental blanket that was slowly slipping off and taking with it Time's layer of dust.