disclaimer
back story fic
telephone
Ring ring ring;
And Beat loses himself to a collect call. The drums of his ears are beating and slamming, and driving him insane. But he picks up his cell phone anyways, morbid curiosity commands his hand to answer.
"H-hello?" Hello-hello, hell-O! You're, you are, going to die. Die. D I Al. TO COLLECT CALL.
"Rhyme?" (he HAS to ask if it is his sister)
N-o, no, We're sorry, the nu-mb-er Who caLLed is- is not. In serVICe. PleaSe try again. In the U-U-U-U-G.
(Right then and there, he realizes a name from heaven)
"Joshua?"
Just a W-A-R-N-I-N-g. A WWWWWWWarNing. A Freindlllllly. Re-min-der.
You're, you are, going to die. Die. D I Al. TO COLLECT CALL.
(Beat remembers throwing up, but that's not important)
A Freindlllllly. Re-min-der. JU st Re mem ber.
YoU' LL die. I n SE7ven Days or seVen months or SevEn years.
WE'RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU DIALED IS NOT IN SERVICE
And Beat remembers waking up in a cold sweat, covered in his own vomit.
The past few days have been hard on Beat, almost everyone notes. His façade is pale-faced, and his hands quiver when ever a telephone rings.
The Station Underpass, that's today's safe haven. Yesterday it was the ramen shop, were Beat was paranoid and wouldn't even touch his chop sticks. Rhyme notes how weird it is that Beat lost his insatiable appetite.
She's over there with him, talking to him, trying to pry problems out of him. But Beat only shakes his head and asks a question.
"Do you know a Joshua?" His lips are trembling; the name brings back horrible memories of his nightmares. Rhyme can only shake her head; golden hair bobbing left to right. Beat moves calloused hands to cover his face; blood shot eyes and unkempt hair under a black beanie.
"I keep hearing names coming from telephones," He's trying real hard not to sob, but it isn't really working, "Names I don't know, and yet they are so... so fucking familiar."
He's full-blown crying now, and Rhyme doesn't know how to comfort him. She's on the verge of tears herself, but she can't show him how weak she is; that'll just make him feel even worse.
Their chokes of sobs are blurred out by the traffic over their heads.
Twelve O' clock is blasting in red numbers through the darkness, and Beat is asking his body to stay awake a moment longer.
His eyes are twitching, being held down by the hands of the Sandman.
His body fulfills his request; he loses consciousness around one.
The phone rings, and only in his dreams is he forced to answer.
"H-hello?" Hello-hello, hell-O! You're, you are, going to die. Die. D I Al. TO COLLECT CALL.
"Who are you?" (he HAS to ask)
Who? Who? Who?
I'm. SHiKi? SHIki. SHIKI. Shiki.
She died. You know you know you know you know. Yesterday.
(He feels himself grow warm, then cold)
Pushed O.u.T tHe. WinDow of pOrk city. By HER, ow n FR iend.
She'll, she will, Wake up. IN hEr friend's Own clothes.
Hello-hello, hell-O! You still, THEre.
A Freindlllllly. Re-min-der. JU st Re mem ber.
YoU' LL die. I n SE7ven Days or seVen months or SevEn years.
A Freindlllllly. Re-min-der.
WE'RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU DIALED IS NOT IN SERVICE
He wakes up around two, takes a shower, and tells nobody what happened.
His parents have been questioning him, they are wondering if he's doing drugs.
That's okay, they whisper with the gentle voice of a phone operator, just tell us the truth.
He's scared and cranky know, he hasn't been to sleep for the past few days. He can thank coffee for that, and thank God they made daytime medicine.
He yells something obscene at them, and stomps off. Rhyme follows him, and manages to persuade him to go get some ramen with her.
She knows he's been living on nothing but coffee and cough syrup.
They're at Don's Ramen, trying to have a pleasant conversation. The smells of spices linger through the air as Beat asks Rhyme if she knows a Shiki. Rhyme can only do an encore of nodding her golden locks in a no.
Beat looks up at the ceiling, while their bowl of curry steams through the air. His eyes are feeling so heavy; it seems like sand is clawing at them now.
He tells her that he's been keeping an eye out for a Shiki on the news. So far nothing's coming up.
No deaths. No Pork City. Nothing.
Rhyme's looking down at her own bowl, trying to decide what to say. She's worried about Beat, but what can she say?
Beat's cell phone rings, and suddenly he's shaking and the world grows cold and heavy. His eyes are red, as he moves his cell from the inside of his pockets, to the top of the table.
Rhyme eyes him, as does everyone else in the shop.
She tips her head to the side, using her eyes to ask him if he's going to answer.
He fingers the phone, and suddenly regrets he brought it along.
"H-hello?" Hello-hello, hell-O! You're, you are, going to die. Die. D I Al. TO COLLECT CALL.
(The world suddenly becomes black.)
S-h-I-k-I is dead. Dead. Dead.
Today you die- die. Die. D I Al. TO COLLECT CALL.
AND TommoRRRRoWWW. NEKu will die.
"Who are you?" ("Beat?")
Today's a S-p-e-c-I-a-l day. For you.
A Freindlllllly. Pi ece of A dVice. JU st Re mem ber.
Bring A FRIEND. Preferably ("Beat!") YUR SiS.
A Freindlllllly. Re-min-der. JU st Re mem ber.
YoU' LL die. I n SE7ven seconds or seVen minutes or SevEn hours.
(TODAY'S YOUR("BEAT!") LUCKY DAY!)
WE'RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU DIALED IS NOT IN SERVICE
(He shrieks, and wakes up in the ramen shop.)
All eyes are on him, and Rhyme is next to him. She's trying to desperately wake him, while sobbing her little eyes out.
He shrieks again, people in the shop gasping and peeling away at him with their eyes. Suddenly the scent in the air is nauseating, making him want to vomit and lose track of his bowel system at the same time. He only does one, and he's so suddenly embarssed.
Beat flips over the table, bowls fly through the air, and he has to get out of the horrible smells before people notice the stains on his crotch.
Rhyme can only watch through her red eyes as Beat runs out of the shop. A hesitation, and she follows.
He's on his way to the station underpass, when his phone stops him in the middle of the street. Cars are honking, drivers are yelling as they maneuver their way around him.
"Stop calling me!" He shrieks because he's had enough. But he's surprised when the familiar voice of a youth answers.
"Look behind you," Before he can do so, he suddenly forgets the nightmares he's been having.
"Beat!" he turns around, and there's Rhyme ignoring traffic. She's running, pretty eyes dyed red, brow sweating. Hair unkempt.
She's running in front of a Red Toyota.
Beat is frozen on the spot for a moment, cell phone still stuck to his ear, before he fleetfoots over to save his little sister.
Fire engines and ambulances rush to the scene. There's blood everywhere.
Phones are sending messages. Parents asking their kids if they are alright.
Wondering if the mess of bodies just happen to be their own flesh and blood.
A phone is left ringing somewhere on the street.
WE'RE SORRY, THE NUMBER YOU DIALED IS NOT IN SERVICE
Written because i have a bad lady gaga fetish. I promise this is the last time i'll base a story around one of her songs.
...
Concrit greatly appreciated