Caller Unknown Chapter 1
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An overcast sky hung above Willow as she emerged from her office building's maintenance stairwell and stepped onto the roof. She didn't notice the grey, gloomy clouds, though. Even before she had reached the top, her full attention was on the cell phone having already turned it back on. It had just finished booting up, finding its signal by the time she shut the door behind her.
The main screen appeared: “Six missed calls. Caller Unknown.”
There was no way to call him back. She glared at the phone as if it was mocking her. “Damn it.”
As she paced around the rooftop she continued to alternately curse toward the screen and at herself.
Did she even want to call him back?
The decision was made for her when the phone suddenly began to ring in her hands. She hesitated, allowing herself three rings to gather her thoughts before answering. “Hello?”
“Hello,” the man said. He paused then added, “I’m relieved you answered. I admit… I wasn’t sure you would ever do so again.”
Willow nodded without saying anything, just listening intently to the sound of his voice.
He continued, “I made a mistake the last time we spoke.”
Looking up and towards the distance, she nodded again, noting the first hint of honest remorse in the man’s voice. It was just a slight crack in his cool, confident veneer, practically a sliver, but she stabbed at it quickly. “You know my name.”
Another pause, then he said, “It's a lovely name..."
"I don't care what you think about my name," she snapped, surprising herself.
He seemed taken aback, as well, hesitating before explaining, "I overheard your colleague say it when you left the line open. I apologize for eavesdropping.”
Restlessly shifting on her feet, her eyes searched aside recalling the other day. Yes, that would make sense. A mild sense of relief washed through her, though she still considered that he could be lying.
“I swear,” he continued as if reading her mind, “all I know is your first name. All I know of you is from our conversations. I’ll never lie to you about that. I’ll never lie to you about anything.”
Drips of earnestness seeped into his speech. It sounded so strange for her to hear but she lapped at them like the dry ground welcomes rain, giving her life.
“You said my name. I thought names weren’t important,” she said.
Once more, there was a prolonged pause. He was being careful. When he spoke, a tone of appreciation and understanding tempered his voice further, “You’re right. I did say that.”
Willow firmed her lower lip, remaining silent. She wanted more.
“I… was admittedly, just so caught up by your voice, your words that night,” he continued. “You were so… insistent and assured. Your thoughts and feelings just swept over me. It was more than I had ever expected from you.”
She frowned, wondering if he had any expectations of a woman like her.
He continued, “I could see what you were seeing. Feel what you were feeling. It was vivid and intimate. Just… amazing. I became greedy and suddenly was overcome with wanting everything you had to offer… and I said your name.”
She closed her eyes, the sound of him uttering her name still resoundingly clear in her head.
“I took more than you were willing to give that night. More than I had a right to,” he said. “I apologize.”
Willow stood on the rooftop suddenly aware that she had been holding her breath. She glanced around aimlessly as she exhaled a steady stream of air from her rounded lips, then swayed as she resumed breathing unsteadily.
“I have no right to expect you to continue with this,” he said, “but if we were to do so, the mistake won’t happen again.”
Still breathing deeply, Willow washed her tongue along the inside of her cheek as she gathered her thoughts. As she swept her hand back through her hair, it was only then she realized it had begun to rain, a light shower. A hard stare suddenly gripped her, fixing her eyes straight ahead. Finally, firming her jaw, she said, “I want to be able to call you.”
The man paused.
“Did you hear me?” she prodded.
“Yes,” he answered swiftly. “I can do something about that.”
Willow blinked as flecks of rain splashed on her cheeks and speckled her glasses. “Good. Then the next time we talk, it’s only when I call you. You don’t call me any more till then. If you do, I won't answer. I promise you that.”
“I... understand.”
Willow hung up abruptly. Her hands were shaking while her heart felt as if it would rupture through her chest. She had trouble remembering where she was. She had trouble remembering who she was.
Huffing one last breath, she looked up towards the sky as the cool rain fell upon her.
Later, she attempted to dry herself off in the washroom, but was too antsy and distracted to bother anymore after a few minutes.
“Whatever,” she muttered.
The moment she strode into the office, she was already prepared to offer some lame excuse as to why she was wet. It turned out that no one noticed as all eyes were focused on a more pressing concern.
She had arrived just in time to see Lyssa carrying her belongings in a box while being escorted from her desk by two security guards. Dana and the managers stood grimly by the conference room door watching her leave.
While Willow stood in stunned silence like everyone else as Lyssa walked down the aisle towards her and the exit, Randall sidled up to her and whispered, “They called Shemar at home to tell him, poor guy.”
Willow continued to watch the woman carefully but nodded.
He continued with a sly grin, “You know, I heard it was because Lyssa just kept pushing the envelope that they eventually got caught. Gotta give props to a lady who just goes for it.”
As Lyssa approached them, Willow stared intently at her. There was one question she felt compelled to ask her but chose to remain silent.
Just as the fired staff member passed her and turned towards the exit, she caught the defiant gleam in Lyssa’s narrowed eyes and the unremorseful edge on her red lips.
“By the way, Willy,” Randall asked, leaning close to her ear, “did you know you’re all wet?”
--0--
In the evening, Willow entered her bedroom after having taken a shower, wearing her robe. As she stood towelling down her hair, she flipped through the pages of her sketchbook as it lay on her bed. She was feeling uneasy about the progression of the images, the way they were evolving in her mind.
Just then, an unfamiliar, soft 'Ding' turned her ear. She frowned. Firstly checking her cell phone and finding no notifications, she looked at the crimson phone.
To her surprise, instead of seeing just an empty screen, a small blue phone icon had appeared: “Contacts”. She dropped her towel aside and gnawed at her lower lip for a second before tapping the icon with her finger. There was only one listing and it just appeared as a line of hashtags: “########”.
Again she hesitated but finally tapped the phone again.
After two rings, the man answered. “Hello.”
“Hi.”
“I see that you found the small gift you had requested.”
“Yes. I did.” She stopped short of thanking him.
“Good. I’m glad it worked, and I’m glad you called.”
Willow tamped down on any feelings of satisfaction with the small gesture, simply nodding. She squeezed the phone a little tighter as she held it. Resolved to remain focused and mindful, she concentrated on steadying her breaths.
Filling the audible void, he asked, “Since you called, is there anything else that you want at this time?”
Willow ran through a mental list of questions and comments. Before she flustered herself, she said, “If I were to ask you for a picture of yourself, would you send one to me?”
“You mean of my face?” he said with a sly chuckle.
She gathered what he was implying and rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “Yes, your face.”
“Yes,” he said without further hesitation. “Is that what you want? I can do so right now...”
“No. Don't,” she interrupted. No, that's not what she wanted. Not now.
“Something else, then?” he asked, prodding her gently during another extended pause.
“You said everything you know about me has been from our conversations,” she said.
“I did. Yes, it's true,” he answered.
“Tell me what you know of me.”
A soft chuckle filtered through the line.
“I know you're not seeking affirmation or assurance. I can certainly go on describing how desirable you are. How beguiling and enthralling you are. How beautiful and sexy you are,” he said, sounding as if he spoke through stern, curled lips. “But you're not looking to be flattered or fluffed. You would think it hollow and it would leave a sour taste in your mouth. You would resent every word I spoke.”
Willow squeezed the phone tight and sucked in her lips as he picked her apart.
He concluded, “I'd be committing a grave mistake if I did that.”
She nodded to herself. He was right. It would have ended with her blowing him off and hanging up.
“That's not what you want, either,” he said.
“No,” she said, “it's not.”
His tone softened. “So, please, tell me what is, at this moment, that you want?”
Willow took a moment to sift through her thoughts and feelings carefully. Carried by the growing pressure of her beating heart, she asked, “Are you in your bedroom?”
“I am.”
“Take off your clothes,” she said, the conviction in her tone much more evident than the other evening.
While he said nothing in reply, she knew he was doing as she asked, hearing him set down his phone and the soft rustling of garments being removed. While she waited, she undid the sash of her robe. It parted down the middle exposing a path of white flesh from her neck down between her breasts and past her belly to the compactly trimmed tuft of curly auburn hairs at her crotch.
“What would you have me do next?” he asked.
“Get on the bed. Lie down.”
She listened to the man inhale a satisfying, deep breath as he settled into his bed. “Will you be joining me?”
“Don't,” she interrupted. “Don't talk.”
She climbed onto her bed, pushing aside her open sketchbook. Kneeling on the blankets facing the headboard, she spread her knees. It only took a moment for her imagination to come alight, picturing him beneath her, looking up at her with hungry eyes.
“Tell me you feel me straddling you,” she asked.
“I do,” he breathed.
“Touch me.”
She could feel his hands massaging upward along her thighs. Disrobing, she swept back her hair, draping it around her shoulders and down her back, the cool, damp strands sticking to her warm skin. She curled her palms around her breasts, pushing them together and sighed.
Sensing the man's anticipation for her next instruction, she pinched the edge of her lower lip with her teeth and said, “I want to feel your face between my legs. I want you to lick and suck on my pussy lips.”
There was an audible drawing of breath through clenched teeth on the other end of the line. “My pleasure,” he said.
For the next few minutes, as she listened to his lascivious breaths and hums of satisfaction, Willow imagined his hands on her, gripping her ass, pulling her crotch into his face as he prodded and pasted her with his tongue. She reached for a pillow and pressed it between her thighs as she rolled her hips.
“Like that,” she coached. “More.”
She felt his lips sucking on her quivering, hardening nub, his tongue bullying its way deeper between her folds with each bold lick. All the while, her eyes remained open wide as if watching the moment unfold right in front of her.
“Fuck me,” she groaned, her voice almost unrecognizable to her ears.
Willow could see him holding his engorged cock, choking it as he pumped it with a stern fist. She leaned forward, her free hand grabbing the top of the headboard for support as she ploughed her hips back and forth, crushing the pillow into the mattress. She gasped and moaned through her teeth, feeling the strain in her neck and belly as her entire upper body glowed pink and red.
On the other end, there came raspy growls through heavy, relentless breathing. “Yes,” he said with a husky gasp. “Beautiful. So beautiful.”
The words echoed through her brain as her head listed aside. As she gasped heavily, her eyes set upon her sketchbook, reaching for the images she had drawn and for the memories dredged up by them.
During their passionate, vocal throes, he refrained from uttering her name. Willow resisted the urge to call him by another, the name strangled in her throat.
Willow felt his cock thrusting within her, throbbing, expanding in her tight, wet hole. Her stomach tightened as the roll of her hips intensified, each long, undulating stroke ending with a crisp snap of her pelvis.
She heard the man sucking for air through what she pictured as a satisfied sneer curling his lips. His eyes were wide, ensnared in the vision of her over him, fucking him, taking his cock for her pleasure.
“Uhh!” he shuddered and announcing his climax with a deep, extended, rattling groan followed instantly.
The knuckles of Willow’s hand gripping the headboard were white. Overcome, she pulled her eyes away from her sketchbook and they finally fell shut, the lids pinching out tears. As she dipped her chin down to her chest, she held her breath. Her whole body trembled as she grasped the delicious anticipation for two seconds longer, before slamming the phone down into the bed, throwing her head back with a guttural groan and soaking the thrashed pillow between her legs with her rushing orgasm.
“Unn!” she gasped and gulped her chest heaving. “Oh, God. Oh, my God.”
She opened her eyes, her nose still pointed upward towards where the wall met the ceiling, swaying unsteadily on the bed. Finally, she released the headboard and crumpled forward, exhausted and spent, curling down over her pillows before rolling onto her side. Her damp hair clung to her skin while her face which was coated with a sheen of perspiration. She blinked, the side of her head sinking into the soft sheets as she recovered. Eventually, she weakly reached out and retrieved the phone.
“That was wonderful,” the man said with a resounding sigh.
She needed to moisten her parched lips before replying, “I’ll call again.”
She hung up.
Still with the damp pillow clutched between her legs, she dragged her hands wearily down her face. She glanced over to the sketchbook, then shoved it off the bed before eventually falling asleep.
--0--
Over the following week, Willow called the man three times. That included one call from her office rooftop where she wedged herself into a hidden corner behind some ventilation units while she stuffed her prying fingers beneath the waist of her skirt.
Randall agreed to run interference while she was up there as long as she told him everything. Though he still expressed real concern, the look of disbelief and even a hint of jealousy on his usually impish face when she told him she had fucked a pillow while having imaginary sex with the man over the phone made it a bargain for her. Still, she had only told him she was going to the rooftop to make a call, not to finger herself while speaking to her unknown caller.
Each call devolved into shorter and shorter conversations, the focus increasingly placed on relaying sexual commands and taunts. The more involved Willow became --rubbing herself ragged with her fingers-- the more explicit and vivid the images of the man became in her head.
Every call ended with her hanging up abruptly after reaching an orgasmic climax, her mind and body on fire. The third time, she fell asleep sprawled on her bed, naked, her thighs red, her tender mound and tingling, red fingers all soaking wet.
With all the lights still on in her apartment, she had no idea what time it was when she was rudely awakened by another phone call. For half a second, she thought it was the man, but it was the wrong ringtone, and he had agreed that he would do as she told him and not call her. No, it was her phone.
Dragging herself from the bed, she put on her robe as she walked to her kitchen to retrieve it from the counter. She was able to note the time from her microwave oven: “3:15 a.m.”
“Hello?” she answered, frowning.
“Willow! Where’s your sister?!” a woman on the other end screamed.
“Wh-what? Mom? I have no idea where-”
“What is she thinking?!”
“What do you mean?”
“How could she?!” her mother shouted.
“How could she what? For God’s sake, mom, what is it? What are you yelling about?”
“Her father is going to murder her!”
“Wh-...”
Her cell phone suddenly began to vibrate in her hand. Another caller. It was Faith.
“Mom, hold on for a sec, okay? Just calm down.”
She didn’t know if she heard her, but with her mother still wailing, Willow switched to the incoming call. “Faith? What the…?”
“Hi, Willow.” Her sister sounded drained. “Can I stay at your place for a while? I think Mitchell and I are separating.”
“What?”
“I…” Faith hesitated then sighed and said, “I’ve been meeting another man.”
“Oh.” For some reason, Willow couldn’t muster any more shock than that. She sighed, “Oh, Faith…”
“Yeah. I… I don’t know what to say…”
Neither did Willow. Her phone beeped reminding her that there was still another call waiting. She winced and said, “I think... mom and dad know.”
“Fuck.”
“Yep.”
--0--
St.Augustine’s...
As Willow slowly climbed the stairs to the top floor of St.Augustine’s, she continued to tell herself that this was the right thing to do. She needed to talk to Mr Valcourt, alone, in person. It’d been two weeks since what happened between them when they were alone in the art studio. Since then, everything had been strangely normal.
She still attended his regular classes, and he neither showed that he held any personal grudge against her or even suggested bringing it up in any way at any time. He appeared ready to just let it go and move on.
Willow wasn’t ready, though. Despite still not sure what she was going to accomplish by meeting him after school hours once more, and not knowing what putting herself in a secluded position with the art teacher would lead to, she just felt a real need to try to talk to him.
Then there was a very tiny part of her, deep down inside, that also thought maybe, just maybe, she was ready to take what they started to the end. That tiny spark flared with each step she took as she approached the studio.
She wanted to hear him say her name again, like when they were alone in the studio.
She pulled the door handle. It was locked. Frowning, she knocked softly and said, “Mr Valcourt? Justin? It’s Willow. Are you in there?”
There was no answer.
Guessing he had already left, she eventually turned to leave. Then she heard a sharp gasp. Then a long groan. Then a girl’s voice moaned, “Justin.”
Willow froze, her brows peaking as her eyes widened.
“Courtney...” another all too familiar voice tickled her ear.
She turned towards the door again.
For added privacy during the life drawing classes, the studio’s door window had a blind that could be drawn down. It was pulled now as well, but there was about a quarter of an inch of crack at the bottom, just wide enough for her to peek through as she leaned close to the glass.
It was enough for her to see everything going on in the room at the moment. That would be Justin sitting on the edge of the modelling platform, his pants and underwear at his ankles, with Courtney Sanders facing him, legs splayed over his lap, her kilt bunched at the hips. Topless, she locked her arms behind his neck as she leaned back and bounced over him, pulled down each time with his firm hands around her waist. He sported that intense, satisfied look on his face, that same one that bore down upon Willow just moments before they had been interrupted by the janitor.
She’d never forget that look. She hadn’t even thought about him giving that same look to any other person but her.
“You're so beautiful, Courtney,” he groaned before wrapping his mouth around her round, pert breasts.
Willow clutched at her collar as she watched, remembering how his lips felt on her mouth, her body. She could still feel the provocative weight and length of his cock in her soft hand. Now Courtney Sanders was even more intimately familiar with it.
Each time he said Courtney's name, the way he said it, sounded the same way as he had said hers. It still had a stranglehold on her, pulling at her being like puppet strings.
As she backed slowly away from the door, Willow felt the tension in her face pull all her features askew. They were nowhere near the twisted mess her mind was in, though.
She turned and ran through the hallway and down the stairs, unable to escape neither the sounds nor images from the art studio.
--0--
“I still can’t believe Mitchell called Mom and Dad after I left,” Faith groused while she slumped on Willow’s sofa. “What kind of grown man would do that? It’s like being a snitch.”
It was three days later since the news broke and Faith was still repeating the same questions.
Willow sighed and sat down beside her, offering her a glass of wine. “Probably the type of guy who knows the best way to get back at his not-so-Catholic wife is to tell her very Catholic mom about her cheating before she has a chance to.”
That had been a pretty effective strategy. Since moving in with Willow, Faith had tried each day to speak to her parents over the phone. Every conversation lasted about three minutes before the ear-piercing screeching and condemnation of their mother had forced her to hang up.
Faith took a sip of her tea and stared ahead, still out of sorts. She couldn’t move in with the guy because, as it turned out, he was also married; a proverbial double-whammy. Their mother wasn’t even aware of that juicy detail, yet.
“Look,” Willow said, brushing her sister’s hair with her fingers, “you can stay as long as you want, of course, so don’t worry. Take your time to get things sorted out.”
Faith managed a half, close-lipped smile and regarded her like a miserable puppy. “I screwed up, ‘Low. Thanks for not burying me with questions or passing judgment. I appreciate that.”
“Sure. We’re sisters. I’ve got your back.” Willow nodded. She wasn’t certain she approved of what Faith had done, but she didn’t feel the need to dig deeper at this time.
Faith nudged her back. “See? You are the good one.”
Willow rolled her eyes and stood up to go back to the kitchen.
“I just had to do it,” Faith remarked, still seated on the sofa.
“Hmm?” Willow turned. “Do what?”
“What I did,” her sister said. She wasn’t looking at Willow, just staring at the blank screen of the television in front of her. “I think about it. I go back as far as I can, change every moment I can, and every time I end up the way it is here and now.”
It was as if she were having a conversation with a ghost. Willow remained silent by the kitchen counter.
Sipping her wine then nodding pensively, Faith concluded, “I really believe that.”
Willow stared at her, feeling a pit expand within her belly.
“Call it greedy or selfish…” she paused to finally look towards Willow, “... it’s what I wanted.”
Willow turned away. She closed her eyes and took a breath while leaning against the kitchen counter. She knew what the deep pang spiralling in her stomach was about.
It was hunger.
--0--
The next evening, Willow cleaned up after their dinner while Faith relaxed on the sofa. Her older sister was a little more herself having decided to give it a few days before trying to call their parents again.
Just as Willow started the dishwasher, Faith remarked, “This is definitely Mr Valcourt.”
“What?” Willow asked, looking up and blinking.
“These pictures you drew,” she said while looking through Willow’s sketchbook again, “this is our old art teacher at St. Augustine’s.”
Willow chewed her lower lip. She could feel herself already growing anxious, a light blush warming her cheeks and neck. She decided to roll with Faith a bit. “You think so?”
Faith nodded. “Yeah. A bit darker, complexion, I think. The hair, the eyes, though. That freaking smile of his. Who can forget those?”
Willow sat beside her and took a closer look at her drawings.
Shaking her head, Faith said, “God, the man was so hot. I can see why you always drew so many pictures of him.”
Willow’s brows pinched as she blinked and regarded Faith curiously. “You saw my other drawings of him… from school?”
Faith froze, her mouth rounded open. She turned toward Willow, blushing. “Oh… ‘Low. Sorry, yeah. It was way back when. I found and peeked at your sketchbook. You know, your drawings were amazing...”
Willow didn't care about that. “You saw… all the drawings?”
With a sheepish grin, Faith nodded. “I’m sorry. Yeah. I did see the pictures you drew of you and him… together.”
“Oh.” Another muted response from Willow as she couldn’t process how she felt about that.
“I’m so sorry. I know I should have told you, but that was over ten years ago, so I hope it’s not a big issue now.”
“No. No, it’s okay, I guess,” Willow replied. She wasn't okay with it, but her numbness overrode every other feeling.
Faith took her at face value and continued admiring the drawings. “These drawings capture him so well. It’s hard to forget a face like Justin’s but to really get him like you do... It's as if he's imprinted in your head."
Willow frowned, dragging her teeth together behind her sealed lips.
"That’s what’s so good about you, ‘Low. You were hot for him just like every other girl in school and those extracurricular classes of his gave you every chance to act on those impulses, but you didn’t give in. That’s will power.”
Faith wasn’t aware of how deep she was cutting, but Willow buried her agitation aside from noting sourly, “You mean I was the ‘good girl’.”
“Well, between you and me, definitely.”
Willow shut her eyes and shook her head. “Sorry. What does that mean?”
Faith cringed as if she was caught stealing from the cookie jar again. Reluctantly, she finally admitted, “Well, I… I had sex with Justin.”
“What?”
“One time after the life drawing class in my senior year.”
“You fucked Justin?”
“Oh, shit, Willow,” Faith exclaimed, startled by her sister’s aggressive response, “I know you really liked him, but you know, I’m so glad you didn’t also do it with him. I really am. The guy turned out to be a sleaze. I swear to God the only reason he came to that school was to get under the skirt of every girl...”
Willow wasn't listening. “How do you know I didn’t fuck him, too?”
Still not getting it, Faith leaned away nervously and said, “Because you’re better than that?”
Flustered beyond words, Willow sputtered for a moment feeling the pulse at her neck nearly bust a vein.
Faith's expression was skewered with anxiety and confusion. She stammered, “Oh. Oh, 'Low. Did... did you... did you and he have...?”
“Stop. Just stop, Faith,” Willow snapped, looking away to shut her out. She snatched the sketchbook from her hands, stood and strode away leaving her bewildered sister on the sofa. Then she went straight to her bedroom and shut the door.
“Hey, Willow! Willow?” Faith called from the other room. “I’m really sorry about… that.”
Willow cupped her face in her hands and shook her head. It was clear to her that Faith didn’t have any idea what she was apologizing about.
“Please? I’m sorry,” Faith begged. “I don’t know if I can deal with you being angry at me, too, right now.”
Looking toward the ceiling, Willow groaned. “Just… nevermind, Faith. I’m turning in early, okay? Can you sleep on the sofa tonight?”
“Okay. Sure. We’ll talk tomorrow. I’ll take you shopping or to the movies or something, and we'll talk.”
“Fine.”
No, she wasn't going to talk to Faith about it.
Willow sat down heavily on her bed and groaned in frustration again. She pressed her palms into her eyes then crossed her arms over her forehead as she gazed upward. The ceiling hung over her like a clean, blank slate. She squinted as her breathing intensified, etching shadowy images and figures upon it, taunting her, teasing her, calling to her. A face appeared, so vivid and real, it stung her eyes before she shut them and turned away.
“Shit,” she muttered, unable to shake a swelling sense of urgency seething within. She sat up, opened her bedside drawer and took out the crimson cell phone. As she held it, she realized she hadn’t called the man since Faith moved in.
Quickly, she tapped the screen and raised the phone to her ear.
He answered after one ring. “Hello.”
Willow sucked on her upper lip as she placed the sketchbook on her lap and flipped through the drawings.
They had long moved past the formalities of idle chit chat, so he simply asked, "What can I do for you?"
She raised her eyes and gazed through the window into the cleansing blackness of the evening sky.
“I want to meet.”
To be concluded...
Latisha
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