Poltergeist
Chapter One. 483 Words.
In a dingy apartment, a cell phone rang on top of a weathered, wooden bedside table. A fully clothed man laying on the bed stopped snoring and scowled at the obnoxious noise. “Oh fuck, I spilled another one,” he cursed, knocking aside a big glass bottle from a puddle on his bed as he reached for the phone. “Who is it?” He answered.
“Mike? You sound tired.” The voice on the other end said.
“What do you want, Paul?” The man, Mike, asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Why so hostile towards an old friend?” Paul said, chuckling.
“Don’t you fucking laugh at me, you ain’t no friend of mine.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Mike.”
“No you’re not. If you were you wouldn’t have sold me out like ya did.”
“I did it for your own good, you were destroying yourself. You were tearing the force apart.”
“Not to mention I was the only one standing in the way between you and a nice, juicy promotion to my job. Don’t play me, Paul, I might be crazy and old, but I ain’t a crazy, old fool.”
“Mike, you were my friend, I couldn’t let you do it.”
“Do what? Serve justice? Instead of pushing up daisies like he oughta be, that sick fuck is still slithering around in prison. Now, tell me what you want or this conversation is over.”
“… Okay. I’m sure you’ve heard about the recent string of suicides this past month.”
“Nope,” Mike lied, standing up and walking towards the bathroom.
“Well, in the last month, 16 people died, Mike. The press says that it’s just suicide, but we think we’re on to something. We think we have a serial killer on our hands.” Paul explained.
A drizzling sound followed as Mike took a piss, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “Ahhh… And?” He asked, zipping up.
“Well, that’s all we’ve got, and it ain’t much.” Paul said. “So I thought I’d call you, y’know, the best detective this city ever saw. It must be boring being a rent-a-cop, how would you like to get a taste of the good old days?”
“Fuck you, Paul.” Mike said, looking in the mirror. His face was greasy and unwashed, a pair of glasses adorning his nose. He rubbed the rough, salt and pepper goatee around his mouth before scratching his curly, long, black hair and leaning over the sink. A small stream of vomit suddenly shot from his mouth and the phone fell to the floor as he threw up.
“Mike? Mike? You okay?” The small voice asked from the dirty floor. Mike spit out the last traces of puke and picked the phone up.
“Fine, Paul. Just fuckin peachy.” He said bitterly.
“Please, man. Just clean yourself up and come down to the station. We miss you.” Paul said quietly and a clicking noise confirmed that he had hung up.
“Mike? You sound tired.” The voice on the other end said.
“What do you want, Paul?” The man, Mike, asked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes.
“Why so hostile towards an old friend?” Paul said, chuckling.
“Don’t you fucking laugh at me, you ain’t no friend of mine.”
“I’m sorry to hear you say that, Mike.”
“No you’re not. If you were you wouldn’t have sold me out like ya did.”
“I did it for your own good, you were destroying yourself. You were tearing the force apart.”
“Not to mention I was the only one standing in the way between you and a nice, juicy promotion to my job. Don’t play me, Paul, I might be crazy and old, but I ain’t a crazy, old fool.”
“Mike, you were my friend, I couldn’t let you do it.”
“Do what? Serve justice? Instead of pushing up daisies like he oughta be, that sick fuck is still slithering around in prison. Now, tell me what you want or this conversation is over.”
“… Okay. I’m sure you’ve heard about the recent string of suicides this past month.”
“Nope,” Mike lied, standing up and walking towards the bathroom.
“Well, in the last month, 16 people died, Mike. The press says that it’s just suicide, but we think we’re on to something. We think we have a serial killer on our hands.” Paul explained.
A drizzling sound followed as Mike took a piss, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder. “Ahhh… And?” He asked, zipping up.
“Well, that’s all we’ve got, and it ain’t much.” Paul said. “So I thought I’d call you, y’know, the best detective this city ever saw. It must be boring being a rent-a-cop, how would you like to get a taste of the good old days?”
“Fuck you, Paul.” Mike said, looking in the mirror. His face was greasy and unwashed, a pair of glasses adorning his nose. He rubbed the rough, salt and pepper goatee around his mouth before scratching his curly, long, black hair and leaning over the sink. A small stream of vomit suddenly shot from his mouth and the phone fell to the floor as he threw up.
“Mike? Mike? You okay?” The small voice asked from the dirty floor. Mike spit out the last traces of puke and picked the phone up.
“Fine, Paul. Just fuckin peachy.” He said bitterly.
“Please, man. Just clean yourself up and come down to the station. We miss you.” Paul said quietly and a clicking noise confirmed that he had hung up.