One Phone Call Chapter 2: Part 2, a power rangers fanfic

"One Phone Call" – T – Part 2/3

"If you were going to die soon and had only one phone call you could make, who would you call and what would you say? And why are you waiting?"

Stephen Levine

Sunday, 1:58 AM
Harborside Apartments, Unit 506
Angel Grove, California

Tommy Oliver stared expressionlessly at the blinking display on his answering machine. Eighteen messages since the last time he checked the machine. Eighteen messages in the past thirty-six hours. Eighteen messages during what felt like the worst thirty-six hours of his interminably long life.

He sat despondently in the dark room, a lone man slumped into a battered armchair. The blinds had been drawn shut weeks ago and Tommy had no urge to open himself up to the world now. The light of the answering machine, the only bit of brightness in the room, shone a deep crimson, its glow flashing over his features like a bloody mask.

A voice inside him begged him to simply leave it be, to go to sleep and deal with the messages in the morning. He was injured, exhausted, and had spent far too long trying to rationalize what had happened while he struggled to find a way home. He didn't need to relive the trauma again. Sleep. Sleep was what he needed.

But every time he closed his eyes, he knew sleep would not come.

He was growing more certain that sleep would never come again.

He caught sight of his bruised and bloodied knuckles as his hand moved forward to press the Play button, a resigned groan erupting from the depths of his chest. He slumped further into his chair as he listened to the tape rewind, his eyes drifting to the small backpack at his feet. Inside that pack was the reason for all of this pain. The reason so many people had been hurt. The reason Dr. Anton Mercer would never...

Tommy bit back a strangled sob as his best friend's cheerful voice filled the dark room. "Hey bro, it's me. I know you won't be back on shore for a few days, but give me a call when you get this. I've got some news for you."

The next several messages were all similar, each spaced only a few hours from the previous one. A humorless chuckle filled the desolate room – his brother in all but blood sometimes took Tommy's "memory problem" a little out of hand. He mindlessly punched the Delete button after each message, taking vicious pleasure in stabbing it violently when a telemarketer's monotonous pitch began the next message. He hesitated when Rocky's bi-monthly "I'm drunk and you're not" message sprang to life, before electing to delete it as well.

It was the eighth message that nearly broke him. Jason's normally jovial voice was pitched low, strained with emotion. "Tommy? Please call me. There's something on the news... Please God, just call me, okay?"

Everything went downhill from there. Jason called again, pleading with him to be at home, to just be okay. Adam was next, asking if he could please call Jason, call anyone, that everyone was worried about him. Jason again, now frantic with worry. Tommy had never heard Jason panicked; even with the world teetering on the edge of a knife's blade, the original Red Ranger had always looked fate square in the eye with an almost unnatural confidence and resolute certainty. But now, the bewildered terror in Jason's voice only made him feel soiled, unworthy of such devotion. Katherine's lilting Australian accent, so filled with concern, started the tears that began rolling helplessly down his cheeks. Jason swearing that he was packing up and heading out there, that he was going to find him if it was the last thing he did. Rocky, now terribly sober, praying that he was okay, so distressed he hadn't even realized half his message had been in Spanish. Jason cursing about the authorities refusing to let him in, that Zack had somehow persuaded him not to morph and plow right through the barricade.

He paused suddenly, his finger hanging over the Delete button as a voice from the past filled the shadowy room. His eyes latched onto the blinking "15" as he froze, spellbound.

"Tommy? It's me. It's Kim. I know it's been a while, but... we're really worried about you. I'm really worried about you. Jason's losing his mind – Zack said he was considering taking out a barricade with his blade blaster, and he's already threatened to tear Andros in half for not returning his calls." Her attempt at levity fell short, failing to draw out even the hint of a smile. "Tommy, I saw the news. They said you're..." Her voice hitched with grief, but even so, her next words were laden with conviction. "You're not. I know you're not. You can't be. I know you're out there, somewhere." She sighed deeply, her breath trembling. "Please call me. 212-555-6011."

His throat was constricted so tightly, he wasn't sure he could still breathe. The sense of nostalgia, of remembered comfort was overwhelming, despite the fact that he hadn't heard Kimberly's voice since Muiranthias. Not a word had been spoken between them at Trini's funeral; they hadn't needed to. He had gone directly to the burial site after the church service with the hope of finding a moment alone to gather himself. Instead, he had found Kimberly standing at the edge of the empty grave, dry eyed and staring vacantly into the ragged hole torn into the earth. She had seemed so lost, set adrift in a sea of despair, that it broke his already aching heart. She must have heard his approaching footsteps in the soft grass, but she never flinched, not even when he wordlessly slipped her callused gymnast's fingers in between his own. They stood in silence for what seemed like an eternity, instinctively drawing solace from each other's presence as the others began to arrive. Jason stoically stepped up to take Kimberly's other hand, while Zack and Billy stood to his right. Feeling uncomfortably as though he were an unwelcome invader, Tommy had begun to loosen his grip to leave the childhood friends to mourn without intrusion, only to find the pink ranger clutching his hand with dreadful ferocity; the minister had arrived.

There stood Zordon's chosen, inexorably linked together through their shared love and grief. It wasn't until the casket, swathed in yellow roses, had begun to lower into the ground that Kimberly had finally turned her red rimmed eyes to him. She had looked to him imploringly, as if begging him to bring meaning to something that could never make any sense, and all he could do was gather her into his arms as if to shield her from any further sorrow. Only then did she finally break, her sobs harsh and gasping, instantly dampening his pressed black shirt. They stood together, entwined in each other's arms long after the rest of the mourners had departed, five rangers mourning their fallen sixth. They finally separated as dusk had settled, mutely exchanging embraces before returning to their vehicles.

Although the wall between them had cracked on that cheerless day, they behaved as no more than acquaintances in the years following. She had sent him an email on his 21st birthday and he had done the same, but apart from that, they had remained carefully at arms length. He had always regretted the loss of their friendship – in some ways, they had been closer than he and Jason ever could – yet had never found the courage to bridge the chasm between them.

To hear her again, now...

He pressed the skip button without consciously realizing it, moving to the next message in a kind of trance. But the sound of the terrified voices of his parents were too much for him to bear. He deleted the rest without listening, the overwhelming emotion nearly bringing him to his knees.

He stared at the bag lying limply on the ground through tear-filled eyes, anger suddenly coursing through him. It was all their fault. If he had never found them, never realized what they were... God, how could he ever live with himself now?

He was damned, branded once again with the deaths of innocents, and he didn't have the strength left to try to cleanse his battered and tarnished soul a second time.

He didn't know how much time had passed before he was able to pull himself together. Heedless of the hour, he reached for the phone and dialed one of the few numbers he knew by heart. If he was right, then they wouldn't be sleeping any more than he would.

"Tommy? Tommy, is that you?"

He heaved a tired sigh. "Hi, mom."