The Call

Light flickered in the dim room, shadows playing across the walls as he waited.
Ball in hand he threw it up once more. Rising, just barely stalling before the ceiling, and falling once more. Pretty close this time, probably a habit. Certainly if the smudge marks on the ceiling were anything to go by.
 
But the dim room, was filled with more than just the faded light. more than his idle motion. It was full of what should be life. What should be a home.
A long bench framed in the room, straight across from an old school plasma tv, set right in the wall. Probably some old off brand type, he had never bothered to check. Hardly had the power to waste on that most of the time. Most of that went to work or heating. Or food. The idle pleasure of the endless scroll was a thing of his youth.
A pair of wooden chairs, all but unused sat in the corner. Extra seats for the guests that never came. A little desk by the side, a little tub in the corner. And in the center? A kotatsu. An old fashioned low table with an electric heater in the bottom, and a quilt draped over the top. Simple, cheap, elegant way to keep someone warm while eating. Or working.
 
Or throwing a ball into the air.
 
Kyle lay out on the floor, half his body stuck under the quilt's lining, gently warming as he waited. Ball in hand, thrown up. Come to a stop. Then back down. Habit to pass the time. One hand on the ball.
 
"It's been two days." The other hand on a silver little tube. A hand recorder, audio only. Old, traditional, cheap... and low on the electric cost to recharge.
 
"I figured it would happen eventually. But I guess you never really expect it huh?" His voice rolled out, warm and gentle, melodic and calming as he spoke. Only that and the gentle hum of the electric heater to keep company in the little room.
 
"I finally was needed. Or, called I suppose. Told to make ready and move out." He caught the ball. Set it down. Felt at the edge of that quilted fabric. "So tonight is the last night here. Last night here. Last night anywhere, just me."
"Not sure whether I should feel more scared or excited. Heh, probably a better person would feel both!"
 
"Nah."
 
 
 
A brief laugh broke the quiet, his face pulled up into a grin. "Though, I tell ya, I won't soon forget the look on Old Tony's face. Forget two weeks notice, he got two days! Ha! Oh heavens was he pissed!"
"Nah! Heh, he swore me up one side and down the other. Grumbled how I was going to be losing him business and some customers. Why that I hadn't even taken his work, his effort, and the time he put into me to heart!"
"I just smiled and said he was just sad to have to get someone new for house calls! Heh!"
 
"He..."
 
"... Well... I probably should have apologized for that. Seeing that look on his face."
 
"But what can I tell him? Certainly not the truth."

"Should have lied. Not just left it at that."
 
 
 
The house lapsed into silence, the gentle whir of the electric heater, the soft ticking of a clock.
 
 
 
There was a shuffling. Movement of fabric as he turned around, looking back at that desk. Back to one of the few decorations on it. One of the only things he'd gotten from his contact.
A red telephone.
 
Maybe it was supposed to have been a joke. Maybe it was meant as a prank. But... it was just as he said.
It had been two days since that phone rang for the first time. The words played on repeat in his mind.
 
'Two days. Pack up.'
 
Four words. Fourty eight hours to pack up his life into a backpack. What would come, what would go, what he'd need, what he would miss... Didn't matter. Get what he had to. That's what was important.
Fourty eight hours to invent reasons to everyone that mattered why he was going away. To settle his affairs, pay his debts, clear out everything. Nothing to tie back to him where he was going. Nothing to lead home.
Everything he could get for cash he did. The rest would have to stay behind.
Eight years of life left behind in half as many words.
 
 
 
The ball rose. The ball fell.
 
 
 
"Two da-"
There was a knock at the door.
 
Kyle shivered and began to move. Thumb held down the button on the recorder for three seconds, the signal to delete the recording.
No space for regret where he's going.
 
Scales brushed beside that quilt, near three meters of them as that long fish tail unspooled as he rose up. Balancing more than standing as he slithered as much as swam across the ground, the thick carpet beneath carrying him along.
Deep, brilliant blue and fading green scales to coat that mass, a slow sway of that long crescent shaped tailfin, Kyle winding his way to the door.
 
He didn't bother checking. Just reached down for his bag, slung it over his shoulder and opened the door.
 
It was just a call he couldn't refuse.