Private Number

I couldn't stop my eyes crimping shut while I waited for the pain to be over.

“Derek?” Gabby paused in pouring a blue liquid into a glass just long enough to shoot me a concerned glance.

“You okay? I told you you wouldn't like it.”

The burn in my throat eased enough for me to answer around a cough, “You were right.”

As soon as I got the words out, I took several gulps from the bottle of Dos Equis she was kind enough to slide my way before I'd finished my experiment.

She handed the cocktail to a customer on the other side of the bar with her ever-charming smile.

Maybe if I hadn't wasted my time on that bitch, Denise, I might've had a chance with her. Maybe. Or maybe we were better off as friends -- friends who only ever saw each other at the bar she worked at.

A sour taste sat on my tongue. I must've been grimacing because Gabby appeared in front of me with her eyebrows furrowed.

“No more shots.”

I didn't say anything, but put the bottle to my lips obediently and waved her off.

I watched her walk away, enjoying the way her infallible curls bounced and her uniform shorts hugged her hips, and I was reminded why she was too good for me. Thinking about that made me down the rest of my beer.

Whatever.

It wasn't long before I was a zombie, my blank stare fixed on the nearest mounted TV. And it wasn't long after that someone grabbed the stool beside me. I didn't bother to get a good look, but even from my peripheral I could tell my new bar mate was attractive, if not a bit stiff. She ordered a margarita and jabbed at her phone when she typed.

The Siren's Cove filled up fast on Karaoke Night. It seemed that was one of many reasons Denise never wanted to come here. “Classy bars don't have Karaoke Nights,” she'd mentioned.

But I didn't come here for classy. I came here because the drinks didn't devour my paycheck and the place was within walking distance from my apartment. And Gabby, of course.

The warm haze that’d been sitting at the edge creeps over me like a vertigo-inducing blanket and I can’t help but enjoy it. I didn’t realize I was such a lightweight. Or maybe it’s just a whiskey thing.

That’s when I realize how starving I am. I pull my phone out of my coat for the umpteenth time and click it on. 10:47 PM. It’s still early. I could probably grab something to eat, and hopefully the cold will sober me up enough so I at least don’t look intoxicated.

When Gabby returns, I close my tab and see her scribble something in the little black book I always saw her carrying.

The attractive, margarita-ordering stranger is long gone. But when I turn to head out, I see what I think is a napkin where she'd been sitting. I don't give it much thought, at first, but something about it was off. I squint at it, sure it was just the beer goggles kicking in before I realize the napkin was in fact an envelope.

I pick it up and turn it over. No name, no address, no stamp, just an unsealed envelope and -- expecting it to be empty as well, I look inside – a check. In the dim lighting I'm sure I'm reading it wrong, but it looks like it's for twenty-thousand dollars made out to...well, no one. The line that would normally specify the recipient just said “Cash”. I scanned the rest to see who could've written this. The payor was printed as, “M. Booker” and the address a P.O. Box in Arizona.

A poor impression of Beyonce being belted from behind me, I remembered where I was, and stuffed the check back in the envelope. I look around to see if I can recognize the woman who’d been sitting next to me, but I hadn’t gotten a good enough look to pick her out from anyone else here.

I think about letting Gabby deal with this – it was her customer after all. But I can't find her, or any of the other staff for that matter. I shoot her a quick text but get nothing back. I finally noticed I've been biting my lip; an old nervous habit. I can't just go around the bar asking people if they dropped a check for twenty grand. Do I just...hold onto it?

My phone buzzes and I pull it out to see it's from a private number. Naturally, I ignore it and stuff it back in my coat, just as my stomach starts growling.

I really am starving. And Gabby's shift doesn't end for a few more hours. I can get something to eat and come back.

I make a beeline to the door and my phone buzzes again. Gabby! I'm relieved that I can get this mysterious check out of my hands, only to find the call is from yet another unknown caller. With a groan, I punch off the buzzer, and shove it in my pocket once again.

As soon as I open the door to the outside, I’m assaulted by the cold air, but I brace myself and keep moving. At least it’s not raining. I need to go somewhere I can sober up and figure out what to do about this check.

I ask myself if a diner would be too on the nose, but it's the closest thing still open.

-

I get seated at a booth near an awkward couple – lots of giggling and hair-twirling. I try not to stare, but they just scream “second date and both hoping to get laid”. It’s cute. Sort of. And kind of revolting at the same time. Maybe that’s just the booze in my empty stomach.

A deadpan server with a soul-patch asks me if I’d like anything to drink. I touch the menu as if to open it, but I just blurt out the first thing I can think of – a strawberry milkshake – and he leaves. I don’t know if I even like milkshakes, but I just want him to go away so I can think.

I take out both the half crumpled envelope and my phone when I see a notification pop up. I'd gotten another call and three text messages since I left.

Not bothering to check the missed calls, I go straight to my text app. They were all from, of course, a private number.

“Don't make me call you 20 times,” the first message read.

“Ignoring me isn’t going to change anything.”

“Seriously, I know.”

They know? They know what? Then it dawned on me whoever was trying to get a hold of me so bad probably thought I was someone else. A simple wrong number. That or some kind of prank.

I weigh my options. I could simply block and ignore them, tell them they have the wrong number, or I could play along. But since I couldn't gauge one way or another what they even wanted, I chose to play coy.

“Know what?” I text back.

I wait a little over a minute thinking about that check. Twenty-thousand dollars to be cashed by some unnamed recipient. It did occur to me to cash it myself; I was behind on a bill or two and I could use a new car, but I could only imagine the kind of trouble that would get me into. It wasn't like finding a twenty dollar bill on the ground. People don't forget money like this. Someone would come looking for it, and that someone wouldn't be the type I'd be smart to mess with.

I start checking my social media when I’m interrupted by a soft ping.

“Don’t do that. Where are you?”

Soul-patch comes back with my milkshake and asks if I’m ready to order anything else. Actually, a burger sounds pretty good right now. I order and he takes my menu. The awkward/cute couple are still flirting with each other a few tables away from me, trying and failing to keep their voices low while they work up the courage to ask the other to go back to their place.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes.

I still don't know who is texting me or why, but I decide not to give that away just yet.

“Out.”

A completely neutral, but true statement.

I sip on my milkshake that’s not half-bad and see my battery is down to 11%. I forgot to charge it before I left the apartment, but I’m not expecting any calls anyway. If this goes on my much longer, maybe I can borrow a charger from Gabby when I get back to the bar.

Another ping.

“Fine. Have it your way.”

I fiddle with my straw. Does that mean they give up?

Well… that’s boring… though to be expected, I guess. I reread their messages a few times over. I don’t want the conversation to end with that, but what else can I really say to them?

On impulse, I check my Instagram feed, but instead of finding the usual endless stream of selfies and pictures of food, I get…black. Photos of what look like nothing at all.

Is this a glitch?

I scroll down and I just get more of the same. I click on one, thinking maybe the pictures just aren’t loading.

Still black. I put the screen close to my face, trying to make out anything. I check my own profile and the images are just as empty.

I lean back in my booth and absently swipe from picture to picture, as though that might make a difference.

I hear the phone go off again in my hand and I look down. Another message. And to my surprise, it's a photo of something other than black emptiness.

It’s a close-up image of… an eye? No context. No face. No eyelids or eyelashes. Just an open, human-looking eye surrounded by more darkness.

I realize I’m making a face when my server comes back with my burger. I hide the phone from him without thinking.

“Anything else I can get you?”

“No, I’m good,” I manage, “Thanks.”

He nods at me with an empty smile and goes to check on the couple.

Ignoring what I just saw, I take a bite of my food and go back to the message.

“Derek, I know it’s you.”

I almost choke, but close my throat in time to force myself to swallow.

Okay... so it's not a wrong number? Or maybe it still is -- Derek’s a common name. They could've been looking for another Derek's number and found mine instead. It could still be a prank, I supposed, though if it was, I didn't care anymore.

I should fess up.

Before I can finish typing a single word, however, I’m plunged into pitch-black night. There’s a scream, accompanied with some startled cursing, but a voice says it’s just a power outage and that the backup generator should be kicking in soon. Beams of light appear from the kitchen – employees wielding flashlights and apologizing profusely about the inconvenience. There’s chatter and grumbling from the few other patrons and employees.

I turn back to my cell phone with a sigh of relief and I'm clutching the envelope to my chest as if that would somehow keep my heart from pounding.

I try to finish typing my confession, but the screen turned off and is replaced by a brief reflection of my face silhouetted only by the moving beams of light. I try to turn it back on, afraid the battery has already died and I see a glimpse of another face… no…a mask behind me. I nearly jump out of my seat when something like leather covers my mouth and nose. I try to yell out, but a sharp pinch in my neck sucks the scream right out of me. I tell my legs and arms to kick and flail, but I can’t move. Every muscle in my body has gone numb.

My eyes struggle to adjust to the dark. Then I feel hot breath and a voice like a spider crawling into my ear:

“You shouldn’t have answered.”

The last thing I see is my name crossed out on the open page of little black book.