The phone woke him out of a dead sleep.
He started awake at the shrill ring — old phone, black melamine, tough as nails — and dragged the earpiece off the receiver and into bed as the rest of the phone went crashing to the floor.
Far from the first time, and wouldn’t be the last.
“Joe.” Billy. Voice husky. Sounds of… yelling, screaming, small crashing sounds.
“Yeah.” He struggled to open his eyes, wake up. It was Billy. Never mind the ludes from a couple hours earlier. He groped with his other hand for the clock, brought it to his face.
Plastic, slight hum, glow in the dark tips on the long and short hands. About quarter to four AM. Dark, cold fucking quarter to four.
“I need a ride.”
“You gotta be fuckin’ kiddin’ me,” Joe yawned. “I just went to bed like an hour ago.”
Another crash; shrill female screaming close to the phone. Close to Billy. Too close to Billy.
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