When a Stranger Calls

by Violetta Alaiyan

“Hello? Hello? Is anyone there? Hello?” Joe Lano hung up the phone and strutted to the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator and pulled out a red pepper, a tomato, and a cucumber. He cut them up into perfect single inch pieces, and neatly tossed them into a shiny, white bowl. Joe brought out the salt and olive oil and made a little salad. Just something simple for dinner.

Just as he was finishing up, the phone rang again. “Who the rats keeps calling me at this hour?” Joe yelled, springing up from his chair and stealing a glance at the stove clock. 9:05. “Hello?” Joe said. “Hello! Whoever this is, please stop calling me. You’ve got the wrong number.”

***

Joe woke up the next morning relieved that it was Sunday. He lay in bed for precisely thirty seconds, as usual, and then threw his slender legs out to the side of his bed. His feet found his slippers, just left of the bed-side table. He put on his glasses and hearing aids, and walked to the bathroom to get ready for the day. At exactly 10:10, he walked outside. The smell of freshly cut grass filled the air. When Joe got to the bus stop it was 10:13. The bus arrived at its scheduled time of 10:20. Joe could tell it was going to be a good day.

“Joe, how you doin’ man?” Mark, the bus driver, asked him. Joe gave Mark a nod.

“I’m all right,” Joe replied. “Surviving.” He took a seat in the front of the bus, and opened the day’s newspaper.

Ten minutes later Joe got off the bus. He crossed the street and opened the graveyard gate. He made his way up the familiar path, to her tombstone.

“Mary Lano
Beloved Wife
1932-2005”

***

Back home, Joe emptied the grocery bags he had bought from Louie’s Market down the street. He put the vegetables in the fridge and the bread in the freezer. He was just beginning to empty the contents of the canned soup into a pot, when the phone began to ring.

“I’m coming, coming!” Joe said as he swiftly walked to the phone. “Hello!? Hello? Stop calling this number or I will call the police on you. Do you hear me?” Joe struggled hard to hear anything from the other line. Nothing, just silence. Joe was just about to hang up when he heard a whistling sound, growing louder and louder. And then beep, beep. Disconnected.

Joe put the phone down and frowned. What the hell is going on?

Suddenly, the phone began to ring again. “WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT?!” Joe screamed into the phone.

“Hello sir. Is everything alright? This is Officer Bendez.”

“Oh, yes, everything’s fine. I thought you were someone else. Please excuse my hostility.”

“No problem, Mr. Lano. I would like to speak with you for a few minutes though. It’s rather urgent.”

“Yes, what is it?” Joe asked.

“We think we have finally tracked down Mary’s murderer. But, now we think he is in town.

Shivers began to crawl down Joe’s spine. “What makes you think that?” Joe asked Officer Bendez.

“Well we’ve had a detective tracking his whereabouts. He’s been traveling by car, and it looks like he’s made his way here.

Joe took the phone in his other hand; his palm had begun to sweat heavily.

“Look,” Officer Bendez continued, “we’re not trying to scare you; we just wanted to give you the heads up. We’re going to keep a close watch on your house. We know you’ve dealt with a lot these past couple years, Joe. And I’m sorry. Call us up if you need anything at all.”

Joe hung up the phone. He was shaking; he had to sit down. As he walked to the couch, he thought he heard a sound from his bedroom. Oh, I’m just being paranoid. He sat for a few moments, listening to the silence. It sounded different– different than it had before. Eerie.

VRRRRRING VRRRRRING. The unexpected noise made Joe jump.

“Hello?” Joe said. “Who is this?”
“Hello, Mr. Joseph Mario Lano. I think you know who this is.” Goosebumps began to arise on Joe’s arms.

“Please, I think you’re mistaken. Who are you?” Joe begged.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

Joe swore he could hear his heartbeat. In what seemed like slow motion, he turned around, his eyes wide open, gripped with fear. The man was standing, at most, two feet away. As soon as Joe recognized him he let out a piercing scream, but the man quickly covered Joe’s mouth with a gloved hand.

“There’s no saving you now, Mr. Lano. Not this time.”

It was too real, too vivid. It was horrendous to relive that moment, that moment he saw so many times in his dreams. Too many times. As soon as Joe saw him, he knew why he was so familiar.

***

It had been a Sunday night, much like this one. He had been in the living room, listening to the news, and Mary had been in the kitchen, cooking dinner. She had been making some elaborate lasagna. Ever since Joe had given her the 1000 page cookbook of exquisite meals, she had been cooking something new each night. She said it was on her list of “Things To Do Before I Die.” Mary said she thought she heard the front door slam shut, but Joe didn’t hear anything, so he told her it was all in her head. “It’s just old age, Mary. I’m not sure you’ll get through the whole cookbook.” Joe had loved to tease her.

“Oh my,” Mary gasped. Joe turned to look at her, but he couldn’t see her. A man stood in the hall. He wore long black pants and a black button down shirt. His hair was so dark it look dyed, and his shoes shined as if they had just been polished. But the most horrendous and unforgettable part of the man’s appearance was his face. It looked as though it had been twisted, deformed. He had a scar starting from the tip of his left eyebrow to his mouth, as if someone had slowly knifed a line down his face.

He grabbed Mary by her frail, delicate neck, so swiftly it happened it just a blink of an eye. Joe rose from the couch, and as fast as his old legs would carry him, he ran to her, screaming “LET HER GO!” But the man didn’t. Instead he took the vase from the dining room table and smashed it onto Joe’s head. Flowers and water spilled all around Joe as he fell to the ground. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the beautiful, innocent, white Petunia. Her favorite flower.

***

“There’s nothing you can take from me that you haven’t already,” Joe said. The man let out a little chuckle; Joe’s eyes were struck with fear and anguish. He was bluffing.

“You see, that’s where you’re wrong,” the dark man said, his eyes dancing as he walked over and tasted the soup Joe had so perfectly prepared. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“What the hell is this about? Why would you come back here?” Joe demanded, his voice quivering.

“You think you knew your goddamn wife? Well you don’t know shit. You think she was the innocent nurse you met in college? You’re goddamn wrong you stupid old man. She’s a killer.” Joe’s knees shook. The nausea was beginning to creep inside him, attacking him like a parasite.

“What the hell are you talking about?” Joe asked, although he didn’t really want to know. He hated this man. Hated him with all his might.

The dark man smiled as he paced up and down the kitchen. He could smell Joe’s fear, and he loved it. The control was unreal. He felt on top of the world. Indestructible.

“Her name was Cynthia. We named her that before she was even born. It was my momma’s name. Cynthia was my princess. She was my little baby. My creation. And your goddamn wife took her from me. Killed her.

“No, you’re mistaken. That’s impossible. Stop, you’ve got this all wrong. Please stop,” Joe begged.

“YOU THINK I’M WRONG DO YOU? YOU THINK I’M CRAZY? I’LL SHOW YOU CRAZY,” the man shouted, slamming the pistol on the brown marble table. “YOU DON’T KNOW ANYTHING! Your precious fucking wife injected the wrong medicine into my baby girl. She was dead in minutes. Your goddamn killer wife.”

Joe slid to the floor, his back again the peach-colored walls. They had been white, but Mary had wanted to color them. She said it made the house more alive. Had his whole marriage been a lie?

The man walked over and stood over Joe, casting a huge shadow over his old and frail body. “She squealed. When I killed her, I mean,” the man said slowly. “She squealed like a pig and she gasped for breath. When I finally let her go, when she had only words left, she spoke of you. She told me to leave you alive. She told me she loved you. WELL YOU KNOW WHAT? Your precious wife took out all the love I had of the world. She stole it from me. So you should be grateful, you son of a bitch. At least now you’re going to die with no love left.”

He picked up the gun and pointed it at Joe’s forehead. Just then, out of nowhere, a squad of men barged into the room.

“POLICE! Drop your weapon! Put it down, Sher!”

“No, no, no, no,” Sher said.

“Drop the gun, now!” One of the policeman shouted.

But instead, Sher slowly turned the gun on himself. He looked at Joe for a final time. And then he fired, and was gone.

***

Joe sat on his front steps, watching cars drive by. They all seemed to have somewhere to go, somewhere to be. Someone to be. They all seemed to have a destination. Joe didn’t know what time it was, he didn’t have a plan for the day. He just sat, and watched the cars drive by. He just sat and thought of his imperfect life, of which he now knew, he would never be in control of.