The Calling. Kim O'Neill

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СКАЧАТЬ or my toiletries. Of course, common sense told me that I’d have to go back to my apartment. I was thankful that Sam worked the day shift so that I wouldn’t have to face him that evening. But what about the following day? I wondered what time he arrived in the morning. Maybe I could leave extra early so I wouldn’t have to face him. Had he really told everyone in the building about what happened? And how would all of my neighbors treat me now that they knew I spoke with spirits?

      Trying to put off the inevitable, I remained at work until after eight. Feeling sick and edgy, I reluctantly drove home, parked my car, and walked quickly and quietly with my head down. I was hoping to avoid contact with anyone in the building. I reached the bank of elevators undetected and then was startled by someone who abruptly shouted my name.

      “KIM! WAIT!” I jumped ten feet. I turned and saw Sam, the doorman, quickly approaching. I flinched, fully expecting an angry tirade. Instead, he threw his arms around me in a warm hug. I stood motionless.

      “Finally! I’ve been waiting for you all day. I thought you’d never get home. Guess what?” He pulled away, breathless with excitement. He looked at me expectantly, waiting for a response. I had none to give, so I just blankly stared at him. He waited for just a second before continuing, eager to share his big news.

      “Remember this morning?”

      I nodded mutely. Did he think I could have forgotten?

      “At first, I thought you were nuts. A kook. You really scared the shit out of me. But then I got to thinking. I was already having this feeling that I needed to call Karen. I just didn’t know why. So I thought what the hell—why not? What could it hurt?” He stopped to catch his breath. “It was really weird! Karen is always at work during the day and I don’t have that number—so I called her at home and was going to leave a message—but she picked up the phone. She’d just come from the doctor’s office. When she heard my voice, she started to cry. She said that the doctor wants to remove a lump from her breast, but she was too scared to let him do it. I told her I’d plan a visit whenever she decided to have it done. She promised to call the doctor and schedule the surgery.”

      I was mute with disbelief.

      “And there’s more. She told me that her husband just left her and ran off with the eighteen-year-old babysitter! Can you believe that sorry SOB? When I fly down there, me and my brother-in-law are gonna have a little talk. Karen said she never would have called me because she knows how busy I am—and she didn’t want to bother me!”

      I was in shock. All I could muster in response to what he was sharing was a wide-eyed, confused gaze.

      “If it wasn’t for you, I probably wouldn’t have called her. And if she didn’t have the operation, who knows what would have happened?” He grabbed me again, eyes filling with tears. “You might have saved her life. Thank you!”

      “I’m so glad,” I muttered.

      “Listen,” Sam said, leaning toward me and whispering confidentially. “No offense, but I thought you were bullshitting me. Did you really get the information from an angel?”

      “Well, I . . . ”

      Without stopping to listen, he quickly looked around to make sure no one could hear him. Then he leaned in even closer. “Does the angel have any more stuff to say? I mean, the information was right on target. If you ever hear anything else about me, or my family, would you tell me?”

      “Okay,” I answered hesitantly, clearly remembering that I had given the angel in question his walking papers.

      Sam repeated his enthusiastic thanks, pushed the elevator button for me, and wished me a good evening. I stood there staring after him as he walked away. He turned the corner and began to whistle as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

      I had just received the proof I had been asking for—in spades. As the mirrored doors opened and I stepped inside, I suddenly had a mental flashback of the mother and her young son getting into the same elevator that morning.

      “MOM! Did you see that guy disappear in thin air? That was AWESOME!”

      The little boy had seen John! Why hadn’t I picked up on that this morning? Even more proof. Maybe I’m not crazy after all!

      At that moment, I was overcome with the now-familiar goose bumps sensation. I heard a masculine, disembodied voice say, “Oh, ye of little faith.” John Reid materialized by my side in the elevator. “PMS is right,” he said with his usual handsome grin. “I keep telling them I need hazardous duty compensation.”

      “John! I got my proof! Just like you said!”

      “Maybe next time you’ll believe me before you jump to conclusions and make false assumptions.”

      “I’m sorry,” I replied humbly. “I should have had more faith in you.” Then I had a pivotal realization. “So, I guess—at times—psychic information is not going to resonate inside of us right away—but that’s okay—because it doesn’t mean that it’s wrong . . . right?”

      “I’m not quite certain about what you just said, but I think you’re getting the picture,” he replied. “You’ve had a big day today. What you’re going through isn’t easy, is it?”

      “No, it isn’t. And everything is happening so fast. But, John, I’m so relieved. Do you know what I realize now? I’m not a crazy person! There’s nothing wrong with me. Even though I talk to you.”

      “I am impervious to flattery, I warn you,” he responded dryly. I smiled at him and he smiled back at me.

      “And I’m sorry that I interrupted your story. What were you saying earlier about Oscar Meyer?”

      “Oscar Wilde,” he corrected me, in a mock lecturing tone.

      “Sorry!”

      “As I was saying,” he began with hesitation, in the same lecturing tone, as if convinced that the story might be wasted on me. “My friend Oscar and I used to frequent this small theater in London’s West End. Did you know that a very handsome young lady who used to perform there inspired him to write The Importance of Being Ernest?”

      “I loved that movie!” I chimed.

      John hung his head and looked resigned.

      “What’s the matter?” I asked.

      “Nothing,” he replied. “Shall I continue?”

      “Yes, please!”

      “Well, originally, he was going to call it End Over End, but I convinced him otherwise; I didn’t think such a title would appeal to the carriage trade. He was already in quite a bit of trouble over some unfortunate incidents that occurred at a little soiree he had given at his country home—”

      “Really?” I asked eagerly. “Like what?”

      “Your sensibilities are far too delicate to hear the details,” John chuckled at some distant yet vivid memory. “I’ve never known anyone before or since who could throw a party like Oscar.”

      The elevator doors opened and we exited, John still holding court as we walked СКАЧАТЬ