Mini-Mystery 6: Danger on the Line

“Blessed are those who can give without remembering and take without forgetting.”

Author Elizabeth Bibesco

I hit the “play” button on my answering machine and the voice I was dreading slithered into the room once again: “ I know you work in the bank and I watch when you leave. I ‘ve been following you.” It was the third such call in two days. I hollered for my roommate to come and listen.

Doreen sauntered into the room, listened to the message and said, “Gee, I guess someone really is watching you.” Then she turned and walked away.

Doreen and I didn’t like each other. She’d answered my “Apartment to share” ad six months earlier, and I knew from the day she moved in that I’d made a mistake. But I needed the rent and hated the idea of running another ad. I was squeamish about strangers coming to the door.

Our differences had finally exploded the previous week. “This time you’ve gone too far,” I said that day, staring at a red blob on my beige rug. I snatched the nail polish from Doreen’s hand and flung it in the garbage. “That’s it! You’re out of here. I’m not taking it anymore.”

“ You’re not taking it anymore?” she scowled. “What do you think I’ve been taking? You and your rules. No guys visiting, no loud music. This isn’t a home, it’s a monastery. I don’t want to live with you any more than you want to live with me.” She muttered that I should be the one to move out. But it was my apartment; she’d have to go.

Then the frightening calls started coming. They were always on my machine, left while I was at work. The voice was husky, strange. It had an ominous quality to it, sometimes sounding forced. But the words were unmistakingly clear: “Say, babe, I’m working on getting a key to 3E, that’s E for erotic. And when you come home, I’ll be in your bedroom and we’ll play some games.”

I called the police but they said, “Nothing we can do. But these guys don’t usually follow through.” The telephone company suggested a new, unlisted number. After the number was changed, I had three days of silence, giving me the courage to remind Doreen she had to leave.

She made a big show of looking at the Sunday paper’s real estate section, but I didn’t see any sign of follow-through. When I asked, she sighed and said, “Oh, the ones I called were could I find a swell place like this?”

Three days later the calls began again. “Ha! You thought changing the number would change my plans? You don’t know me very well, lady, but maybe you do. Think about that.”

I did think about it. I changed the number on a Friday and had a peaceful weekend. Then the calls began again after I gave the bank my new number. Could it be someone I knew at work? I looked at every employee suspiciously: Dave, the floor manager, Tommy, the teller. I listened to everybody’s voice, to the tone, the inflections.

When Doreen came home from work that night, I played the latest, most disgusting message for her.

“What do you think?” I asked, trying not to listen again. But I couldn’t help it. I was mesmerized and appalled, as he said what he’d like to do to me. “All over that slim, trim body. I like girls who work out. They’re so－um－flexible.”

“Gee,” Doreen said, “whoever it is , he sure knows a lot about you. He must be watching you all the time.”

“ I’m so scared, Doreen. And I’m afraid to be alone. Maybe you better not plan to move just now, okay?”

“ Yeah, sure,” she said. But now that she knew I needed her, Doreen started taking advantage of me. She started bringing a guy home and into her bedroom. I wanted to yell at her, but I was trapped.

So Doreen ran my life. Her stuff strewn all over the living room made me cringe and her dirty dishes in the sink infuriated me. But I kept quit.

Then Doreen suggested I move out. Her advice came the day after another call; I had slammed down the phone when the man called me by my full name.

“Listen, Linda,” she said, “he’s getting bolder. You better get away from this creep. He knows where you live.”

I nodded as she talked about Johnny’s wanting to move in with her.

The next morning, as I stood looking at myself in the mirror in a red dress, I saw Doreen’s reflection, watching me. As soon as she caught my eye, she waved and walked out. I looked a myself in the mirror again and didn’t like what I saw. My face had become old; my eyes, tired.

That night I heard the message that would end my torture. “I’m not waiting any longer to make my move. You look ravishing today. Red is definitely your color. Of course, it’s also the color of blood.” Eerie laughter.

I was ready for Doreen when she returned from work that night. I knew she expected me to be totally defeated. Instead, I greeted her cheerfully, waving a slip of paper. “You’re moving out tonight,” I said,” or I’m calling the police.”

“What are you talking about?” she snarled.

“ I’m talking about the obscene calls you’ve been making to me.” I opened my hand and showed her the piece of paper I was holding.

She started at it. “Where did you get that? I mean, what is it?”

“You know what it is . As soon as I heard that last call, I knew it was you.”

Doreen looked startled. “Now you look a bit frightened,” I said. “you see, right after you left this morning, I took another look in the mirror. I was having a ‘fat day,’ so I changed into this black skirt and boxy blouse.

“You’re the only one who saw me in red this morning. So I searched your drawers. I didn’t know what I was looking for, but I found an ad for a voice altering gadget you place over a phone’s mouthpiece. So callers wouldn’t know a woman lived alone, the ad said,” I added.

Doreen cursed.

“You can curse all you want,” I said,” as long as you do it while you’re packing. You know, you were smart enough not to make calls on the new number until I filed it at the bank. But you sure were dumb today. And if you’re not out of here in one hour, I will call the police.”

I pushed her toward her room and said, “ I’m clocking you. You’d better get started.” And she did.