Page 18 of Brutal for It
The day starts like any other.
Sun through the blinds. Coffee in the travel mug Tommy left ready on the counter. I head to work and embrace the day. The smell of sawdust and fresh paint hit me as soon as I walk into the new build house.
I’ve been doing this long enough that my body moves on autopilot. Gloves on, broom in hand, bagging up drywall scraps, broken tile, and any other remnants of construction left behind. I hum along to the radio one of the crew has blasting from the scaffolding, some old country song about heartbreak that used to make me cry and now just makes me roll my eyes.
Normal. Steady. Safe.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
Unfamiliar number.
I frown, swipe, hold it to my ear. “Hello?”
Silence.
Not static, not a butt dial. Silence.
“Wrong number,” I mutter, hanging up.
Back to sweeping.
Five minutes later, it buzzes again. Same number.
I sigh, answer sharper. “Hello?”
Nothing. Just breathing.
The hair on my arms stands on end. “Listen, if you don’t say something, I’m blocking you.”
Click.
I shake it off. Probably kids, or some telemarketer messing around. I’ve had worse. Hell, I’ve survived worse.
But something about the way the breath slid down the line sticks to me like grease. I should have listened to my instincts but I’ve never been good at that.
By lunch, I’ve forgotten about it. Sandwich in one hand, Coke in the other, I sit on an overturned bucket in the almost-finished kitchen and watch the crew argue over whether NASCAR still counts as a sport.
My phone buzzes again. Different number this time.
I answer, irritation flaring. “Hello?”
A voice. Low. Male. Familiar enough to twist my gut.
“Still got that little heart-shaped mole under your left breast?”
The sandwich slips from my fingers. My whole body goes cold.
“Who is this?” My voice cracks like a teenager’s.
He laughs, soft and mean. “Don’t pretend you don’t remember. I remember everything. The way you taste. The way you sound when you beg.”
I hang up so hard my thumb aches.
The crew doesn’t notice. The radio’s too loud. My heart’s louder.
I shove the phone deep in my pocket, but it feels like it’s burning through the fabric.
The calls keep coming. Different numbers. Always unable to give a result when I search them.
