I'll keep this one up for fun, but a longer version will soon be rehomed in my short story
, 'The Breakup Album.’ Keep an eye out for more details and a cover release soon. Art credit to The Piper Clementine Knapp - CLK
Dr. Jim Hilliard shook a Camel loose from his pack, lipped one, lit it, and then chirped the doors on his shark blue Porsche. Pulling deep drags from his cigarette, he stared into the KLDT radio station neon sign while waiting for coworkers to clear the lot. After adjusting the fresh bandage on his chest, he entered into one of Houston’s oldest buildings.
“New shoes Doc?” Mark the producer said, pointing to Dr. Jim’s red and yellow Nikes.
“Rockets baby. Picked them up from the Galleria on my way in,” Dr. Jim leaned down and dusted the toe, “I laced them up as soon as I got back to my car. It’s like they spoke to me.”
“Well, they are super…”
“Shh… Can you two keep it down?” Melanie the morning host asked with a look on her face that could quiet a classroom.
“And you’re here because?” Mark asked in a hushed voice, “Aren’t you supposed to be in bed already?”
“We’re doing a vigil for Dana Tanner,” she whispered pointing back to the dozen workers around a framed picture of a college aged blonde. Melanie turned to Dr. Jim, not wasting her time with Mark, and said, “she’s been missing for three weeks, and today’s her f’ing birthday. You could at least act like you care. And maybe you didn’t know, but she interned on your nighty-night smut show too.”
“Love Calls,” Dr. Jim corrected. “We actually help people, and not with the traffic and weather.”
“Get over yourself,” Melanie said, flipping them off as she walked back to the group.
The two men took the long way around the hand-holding co-workers. Jeanine, the matriarch of the station, lit a candle below the frame as she recited the Lord’s Prayer. After the first ‘Our Father,’ the group chorused in. Before they entered the evening studio, Mark tapped his forehead and then touched his shoulders.
“I saw that cross that you did,” Dr. Jim said.
“So,” Mark said.
“I didn’t really take you as the religious type?
“Well, the chicks missing, it’s the least I can do.”
Dr. Jim slid his headphones on, and nodded for the engineer behind the glass wall to increase his volume. Mark did the same as he counted the blinking red lights on the studio’s call phone.
“I think she ran away,” Dr. Jim said. “How are the calls looking?”
A raspy voice chimed in their headphones, “thirty-seconds to live.”
“Maybe? But no call to the parents? Just disappeared. Damn shame. She’s so hot.” Mark said. “Lines are on fire tonight.”
“So hot? Meh,” Dr. Jim said. “And, let’s not do bulk tonight, find one good caller. I’d like to go a little deeper and showcase our skills.”
A split second after the engineer counted down from five, sensual lo-fi music filled the studio. A sponsor’s advertisement with a syndicated reach of a presidential speech rallied through the airwaves. And then a voice an octave lower tickled the ears of the lovesick listeners.
“Good evening lovers. It’s your favorite ‘Love Call’ host Dr. Jim Hilliard dishing out all the dirty-deets’ of your relationship woes. And with me, as always, my trusted, and single, co-host with perfect hair, Mark “the Mongoose” Michelson.
“Ladies, and gentle-ladies; the pleasure’s all mine,” Mark said.
Dr. Jim continued, “We’re going to do something a little different this evening. I’m going to take one lucky caller, and if the conversation prospers, we’ll spend the entirety of our time together dissecting our friend’s most intimate shortcomings. So, without ado, caller one, you’re on the air.”
A click of static and then a voice as soft as mother’s touch with a hint of belt-buckle and boot filled the listeners ears.
“Hi. Never been on the radio before. Oh, my goodness,” the woman said as echoes squelched in a deep feedback frenzy.
“Whoa, hey. Let’s turn down your radio there. We don’t want to tap into another dimension,” Dr. Jim said with a chuckle.
“Um, OK,” she said as silence struck in the background.
“Tell us about yourself. Your name? What’s your occupation? Are you dating? Single? Married?” Dr. Jim said.
“Name’s Elle, like the letter. I’m single. And my occupation is the issue. Well, I don’t really get paid, but that’s what keeps men away.” A sigh blisters through her voice. “That’s why I’m calling,” she said.
“Pleasure to meet you, Elle. And what is this charitable occupation you’re stuck with?” Dr. Jim said.
“I’m a psychic medium,” Elle said.
Dr. Jim shakes his head at Mark, and throws his hands up.
“That’s exciting. I’d date you,” Mark said. “Why do you think this turns guys off?”
“Because it’s like Tourettes. I get powerful voices in my head, and I have to talk aloud with them or they won’t leave me alone.”
Dr. Jim put his headphones down and muted his microphone. “Psychics are phonies,” he whispers. “Should we drop the call?”
“No way,” Mark said.
“Nice kicks. Red and yellow kill a fellow,” Elle said in a voice minus her accent. “Or an intern.”
“Wait. What did you say?” Mark said, “Did she say intern?”
“Told you so,” Dr. Jim insisted as he scratched at his bandages. “Cut her short.”
“Blood in the blue front trunk. She didn’t want kisses. She was gonna tell. Now Jim’s going to hell.”
Dr. Jim’s mouth fell open and a twitch trembled right eye.
“The Doctor’s hiding scratches. She gave it to him. And he gave her a big one,” Elle said.
“This is insane,” Dr. Jim said with dancing eyes.
Mark rubbed his hands through his hair and leaned back in his chair and said, “The car? Red and yellow? The shoes? Jim, I’m confused. How does she…”
“They’re coming for you,” Elle said.
Dr. Jim launched across the table and slammed the disconnect button. A spot of blood seeped from his chest.
“Gentleman, there’s a detective in the lobby,” the engineer said.
***
Copyright © 2024 Colby Lee Knapp
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