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Kyle stares forward at the wall. “Who is this? How did you get this number?”
“This is Dahlia, of course, like I said. I take it I’m speaking to the Kyle? The Kyle … who defies physics and everything we know about life and biology itself, from the video? Oh, it is an absolute pleasure to speak with you. I am here to extend the most prestigious honor of being a guest on my latest broadcast. My 39 million followers and I are dying to hear your story.”
Kyle shakes his head. “Sorry, you’ve got the wrong, uh—”
“Don’t you want to share your story with the whole world? I’ll only take half an hour of your time, tops. Well, an hour including makeup, setup and lighting, all that. Maybe two. I can fly you out to Vegas or my team and I can come straight to you, won’t be a bother at all, nope, not at all. How’s tomorrow for you, Mr. Kyle? I could even come out today.”
Kyle’s heart drums in his throat. “No, I think I’ll—I think you have the wrong idea. Sorry.”
“Kyle—”
Kyle hangs up and tosses the phone at the couch like it just caught fire, staring at it.
Fourteen seconds later, it rings again.
Kyle gets up from the couch and paces the room as it rings. Once it stops, he stops too, staring at it from across the room.
Then it rings again.
He picks up the phone and looks at the caller. It’s her, this Dahlia person, this reporter or blogger or whatever she is. Kyle stares at his phone until it stops ringing. A mere ten seconds later, it rings again.
Only now it’s someone else, a different number.
He answers a touch less politely. “Hello?”
“Kyle, it’s Dahlia, I think we were disconnected. Listen, I’d hate for you to miss out on this chance. Perhaps I didn’t explain the full scope of what my interview will entail, or my true purpose in reaching out to you. Shocking stories pass through my feeds each day, and of all of them, I have personally selected yours to feature. Do you know how special you are? Half of Hollywood tries to get themselves into my stories, but it’s not them I’m interested in. It’s you. Hiding away in a desert town in northern Arizona, away from everything and everyone … you, who has the most incredible, the most magical little life. I want the world to see you.”
The woman knows so much about him already.
Even where he’s located.
“There’s nothing to see,” says Kyle. “The video was staged. It’s fake. I’m not who you think. Please stop calling.”
To Kyle’s surprise, she comes back with, “I don’t care if it’s fake, it makes no difference. Do you see the traction your video has gotten? The reach alone is astounding. Do you have social media? Are you gaining followers? People would kill for this kind of exposure. I just want to make you famous. Say yes,” she pleads. “Just say yes. Let’s change the world.”
Kyle frowns, sickened. “No.” He hangs up.
Less than a minute later, the phone rings again.
Two minutes later, again.
And again.
Kyle lies on the couch and closes his eyes, overwhelmed. With the ringer turned off, the phone is left buzzing on the floor, forgotten. Kyle turns away to try going back to sleep, his face buried in the back cushions.
An hour of restless sleep goes by as his phone buzzes over and over. Every time it does, he’s reminded of pawnshops and questions and blood. When he grabs his phone off the floor to check it, he finds no less than seventeen different callers, none of them known, as well as thirty-eight text messages.
They aren’t all Dahlia.
> Hello. It’s Drew from West Coast Wild & Weird. Please call.
> This is Julie with NVPP. We would love to feature your story. Front page. $$$ in advance. Call me back or text me at this number at your earliest.
> THE POWER OF CHRIST COMPELS YOU, SATAN!
> Is this Kyle from the robbery video? I’m so wet for you. I want you to bite my pussy and lick me so good like you do in the video. Click here for pics, bb.
> Hello, I’m Paige from Angelfinger Press. I would love a moment of your time.
What does he do? Ignore them? Reply? Tell them all to fuck off like he did to Dahlia?
He considers shutting his phone off completely. But what if Elias tries to contact him, even still? What if these messages are legitimate? Not all of the callers left messages. Could one of them have secretly been Elias already? Or a news station? The CIA? The president? How would he even know? Kyle uses his phone so seldom, he can’t be sure whether he even has a proper voicemail set up.
He throws the phone into a kitchen drawer, shuts it, then returns to the couch to sleep. Somehow, he can’t bring himself to close his eyes. Minutes later, he hears buzzing again, as if it’s right next to his ear, thanks to his lovely extrasensory abilities.
