The Call
Carol Brennan
Friday, April 6th, 7:26 pm
Ocean Pearl Road, Corova Beach
North Carolina
Seven Years Ago
Carol Brennan’s phone rang in the middle of Final Jeopardy.
Anyone who knew Carol, and there weren’t many, knew not to bother him during Jeopardy. Irritated, he glanced at the screen.
Ian Shaw.
He almost choked on his coffee and sent the call to voicemail with an angry stab of his finger. His sister’s husband could shove it, as far as Carol was concerned. The man was a drunk. A scheming low life who destroyed Carol’s world and took from him the only person he loved.
Ian may not have driven the car that killed Carol’s sister, Elena, and her young daughter, Abigail, but he was responsible for their deaths. Of this fact, Carol was certain.
No, he wouldn’t be interrupted during Final Jeopardy for Ian.
“Fuck you, Ian Shaw,” he muttered, glaring at the screen.
Fury like a volcano erupted inside Carol’s chest, and he hurled his phone across the small cottage. He stormed outside to the empty beach beyond, his yellow Lab, Gillie, at his heels.
Cold wind ripped through skin and bone as the two walked the desolate sands of Carova on the North Carolina shore. The sea air had a calming effect on Carol, which is why he chose to live in this isolated beach community. As they walked, his breathing slowed and his mind regained focus. He replayed the last conversation he had with Ian, several days ago, wondering what prompted him to call again so soon.
It was not unusual for his brother-in-law to call every few months for over a decade now, since Elena and Abigail died. Always drunk. Often combative. He’d been worse lately, though. Something about legal troubles. It didn’t surprise Carol. Ian led a fast life Carol wanted no part of.
He only tolerated the calls because they were a connection to Elena’s world, sad as it was. And to David, she and Ian’s only remaining child. The boy was almost grown. He knew nothing of Carol, Ian had seen to that.
But occasionally on those calls, Ian would slip and reveal a fragment of his son’s life. And there was the internet. Carol kept a virtual eye on the boy, who was as stunning as his mother had been with those dark curls and piercing blue eyes.
He long ago resigned to remain in the background, uninvolved in his nephew’s life. It was the only way to shield David from the truth about his mother and preserve Elena’s memory. He had to protect her secret. It was all he had left.
Carol returned to the cabin, weary from thought. He fed Gillie and switched off the television. Grabbing his phone from the corner where he had thrown it, he was surprised to see Ian left a message, something he rarely did.
A long message—four minutes and fifty-four seconds. A cold shiver ran down Carol’s spine and apprehension swelled in his chest, almost compelling him to listen. But he had wasted enough time on Ian this week. Five minutes of recorded ranting was more than he could take.
So, Carol shut off the phone and headed to bed vowing to delete the message the next day. He wouldn’t even listen.
Only, he woke to calm seas and unseasonably warm weather. He spent the days following Ian’s call on the beach, fishing, didn’t check his phone or turn on the television all weekend. In fact, it wasn’t until Monday he learned of Ian’s death. Of the fire that consumed the man’s home on the very same night he called Carol.
An odd coincidence, surely.
Or was it more?