I woke that night to the shrill ring of a telephone, and the person on the other end asking for someone I didn't know.
"Ray?" The voice had asked, "I need you now more than I ever have before, please." They had choked up on the last word, letting sobs wrack through their body. Although they only came through as muffled pleas. I knew they were sad, that much was very apparent, but they were also panicked beyond belief. I've never heard a voice that deep laced with so much emotion. "Dude, I screwed up, I screwed up real bad." They cried out between uneven breaths and strangled sobs.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled into the landline, tears were welling in my eyes from the plight of the poor stranger. "He's not here, I mean this isn't his number. Sir, you have the wrong number, I'm sorry." I stuttered out for lack of better judgement. Words and ideas are easier thought than executed especially at nearly two a.m, if I remember the time correctly.
He hadn't hung up, nor had he stopped crying. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I mumbled as I attempted to fill the space with empty apologies. There was a brief moment of silence before the oh-so-distinct sound of a gunshot tore through the wire.
The ever ticking clock seemed to stop as silence filled my ears. Slowly and with shaking hands I lowered the phone back to it's base. I didn't know what to do. What could I have done? They were already gone.
My mind was, and still is, swarmed with questions about that night that will never be answered. It's like when moths surround a light, blocking it out until it can no longer escape the wall of wings.
