Storymania - The Witness by Thomas J Misuraca

The Witness
Thomas J Misuraca

THE WITNESS
by
THOMAS J. MISURACA

Women in skimpy bikinis chased Paul Teff along the seashore. They were gaining on him. Suddenly, more women were coming toward him. He was surrounded.
The ringing telephone pulled Paul from the sunlit beach back to his dark bedroom. The blue glow of the digital clock told him it was far too late for any sane person to be calling.
"Hi, this is Paul," his machine answered from the kitchen, "you called to talk to me, but I can't get to the phone right now, so you're stuck talking to a machine."
A short beep followed.
From his bedroom, Paul strained to hear what came through the speaker. There was only a click, followed by the annoying sound of a dial tone. The machine instantly disconnected.
Wrong number, Paul thought.
It rang again.
Paul feared the caller was trying to wake him because of an emergency. He took a chance and picked up the extension in his room.
"Hello," Paul spoke into the receiver, his voice dry from sleep.
"Paul Teff?" a deep, male voice asked. Paul did not recognize it.
"Yes... who is this?"
"You better keep quiet," the voice demanded.
Paul was perplexed by the tone, "Keep quiet about what?"
"Don't play dumb."
"I'm not playing," Paul grew aggravated, "And I don't like you calling my house in the middle of the night and threatening me for no reason!"
Before Paul finished, the caller had disconnected. The dial tone returned. Instantly, Paul hit *69. The call could not be traced.
A prank, Paul thought. Some kids probably got his name out of the phone book. He did it all the time when he was a kid, except he just asked if their refrigerator was running.
Still, Paul found it difficult to fall back to sleep.

At work the next day, Paul's eyes were too tired to focus on his computer screen, which was a problem since he input data for a medical center. Luckily he did not have to think much about the information, just type it into the computer.
The phone at his desk double rang, signaling an outside call.
"Data entry," Paul answered.
"Hi, honey," it was his girlfriend Shirley, her voice high and bouncy as usual. They had been dating for five years, and Paul knew she was the one he would marry. She had an energy that wouldn't quit and when she was around, Paul couldn't be anything but happy.
Except for this morning. "Hi," Paul greeted nonchalantly.
"Oh-oh...Somebody's crabby."
"I didn't have a very good night."
"Why not?"
"The phone woke me," Paul explained, "And I couldn't fall back asleep."
"Who was it?"
"They hung up. But the damage was done."
"I'm sorry," her words were sincere, "Will you still be able to make our dinner date tonight?"
"Of course," Paul perked up at the thought of spending time with her, "I'll take a quick nap when I get home."
They finalized their plans and the hung up after a mutual "I love you."
Paul returned to work.
The phone double rang again.
"Data entry," Paul answered.
"Good morning, Mr. Teff," it was the deep voice from the night before.
"You!" Paul was shocked, but thought about it for a moment. Few people had his work and home phone number. It had to be his best friend Walter playing a practical joke. Though Walter was usually subdued, he was game to start mischief if another put him up to it.
"This is your final warning," the man said, "Keep your nose out of our business."
"If I knew what business you were talking about," Paul said, "My nose, and the rest of my body, would avoid it like broiled liver."
"Don't be cute," the voice snapped, "That's my job. And no more dabbling, or it'll cost you your life."
Walter or not, a death threat was taking things a bit too far.
"Stop harassing me," Paul ordered, "Or I'll call the cops."
"Calling the cops will be the last thing you ever do."
The phone clicked. Paul stared into the dead receiver. He pressed the button for another outside line and quickly dialed Walter's work number. The receptionist took Paul's name.
"What's up, buddy?" Walter greeted.
"Did you just call me?" Paul asked.
"No. I've been in meetings all morning."
"Oh," Paul said and the two continued with small talk. Actually, Walter talked while Paul listened.
"Are you okay?" Walter asked.
"I'm fine," Paul lied.
He had never been more frightened.

Paul arrived home and found his answering machine light blinking. The first message was from his mother: "Paul, it's your mother. I'm calling you now to tell you I won't be able to call you this weekend. I know you're at work, but I'll be away this weekend. So I won't be home. Don't call me. Talk to you later. Bye, dear."
The second was a strange man: "Hi, this is to inform you the Fallen Out Shelter will be making a pick-up in your neighborhood this Friday. Any donations would be appreciated. Thank you."
The third caller was no longer a stranger: "Don't even think about going to the police. I know you're thinking about it. Now stop! That means the FBI or any private detective as well! Don't even tell your priest! Loose lips get fat lips! Got it? Don't say a word!"
Paul sat on his couch and cried.

"What's bothering you?" Shirley asked, looking up from her salad, "You haven't said a word all evening."
"It's the lack of sleep," Paul lied.
"I thought you were going to nap?"
"I couldn't."
"Why not?"
"I've got too much on my mind."
"It's me, isn't it?"
"No," Paul shook his head and was able to crack a grin, "It's not you at all."
"You can talk to me, you know."
"I know," Paul said, "Hopefully, it'll all blow over and I'll have no reason to talk to you."

"You've got an advertisement on your windshield," Shirley pointed out as Paul was letting her into his car.
Paul walked around and removed the white piece of paper from between the glass and the wiper. It was a note written with black crayon. The large, childish handwriting read: "Watch your step!"
Paul looked around frantically. The restaurant parking lot was empty except for a few cars. Was his stalker hiding in the darkness?
"What is it, Paul?" Shirley was surprised by her boyfriend's look of fear. "I'll explain on the way."

On the way back to Shirley's house (she still lived with her parents), Paul told her the entire story.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" she asked.
"I thought it was a prank."
"You have to go to the police."
"They'll kill me!"
"You don't even know who they are!"
"That's what scares me."
"And you don't have any idea what this is about?"
"I thought of everything," Paul said, "But I'm not privileged to any information that would make somebody so desperate. I don't even understand the stuff I input at work."
"Do you want to stay with me tonight?"
"No," Paul declined reluctantly, "If this person is going to attack me, I don't want you around."
"Be careful."
"I will."
They kissed goodnight.

Paul came home to find his apartment trashed. Shelves were knocked over, scattering his books and knick-knacks all over the apartment. Every drawer was pulled out, their contents spilled upon the floor. On the bathroom mirror the words "KEEP QUIET" were written in shaving cream. It was a real mess, but none of his major appliances or valuables were taken or damaged.
That was the final straw. Paul ran to the phone and dialed the police. He gave them the address and told them he'd been burgled.
When they arrived, Paul told Sergeant Gabriel about the threatening phone calls, letters and shaving cream.
"Well," the sergeant said, "It's a difficult situation. We can't do anything until they physically harm you. But we'll book the suspect for breaking and entering... even thought there were no signs of forced entry."
The only other people who had keys were Shirley and his apartment manager, a sixty-five year old woman. With no further leads, the police left Paul alone in his wrecked apartment.
The phone rang.
"Hello?" Paul answered cautiously.
"We told you no cops," the voice on the other end said.
"Well... they didn't do any good."
"Doesn't matter. You'll still pay!"
"What am I paying for?" Paul screamed.
The line went dead.
Paul didn't want to stay in that apartment any longer. He dialed Walter's number but only got an answering machine. Pulling together an overnight bag, he left the house and checked into a local motel under his mother's maiden name.

Men in business suits and sunglasses chased Paul Teff down a long hallway. They were gaining on him. Suddenly, more men were coming toward him. He was surrounded.
The phone rescued him. This time the ringing was louder and more like a bell. Paul remembered he was in a motel room, and this had to be his six o'clock wake up call.
He lifted the receiver and mumbled, "I'm awake, I'm awake, thank you."
"Don't think you can escape us," the all-too-familiar voice said.
"How--?"
"You'll soon learn there's no escape from us."
"I think I've already learned that."
"If you snitch..."
"I know, I know," Paul interrupted, "I'm dead. That's fine. Now if you could just take a moment and explain what it is I'm not supposed to tell anybody about--"
"Just watch your step."
"Don't hang up!" Paul commanded.
Click!
Paul groaned and slammed down the phone.
It rang again.
"Leave me alone!" Paul shouted into the receiver.
"I'm sorry, sir," a wimpy voice said on the other end, "But a six a.m. wake up call was requested for this room."
"Yes," Paul felt like an idiot, "Sorry... bad dream. Thank you."

As he drove to work, Paul noticed a strange knocking coming from the rear of his car.
Just what I needed, he thought, car trouble!
When he arrived at work, he examined the vehicle. The knocking continued. It came from his trunk.
Paul popped it open to find Walter bound in a fetal position and gagged with a white handkerchief, stained red by the blood dripping from his nose.
Paul pulled his friend out and untied the restraints.
"My god, Pauley," Walter coughed and spit out a wad of blood, "What kind of trouble did you get yourself into?"
"I wish I knew," Paul said, "They keep telling me to keep quiet, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to keep quiet about."
"Then I'd keep quiet about everything," Walter suggested.
"What did they look like?"
"Never saw them," Walter explained, "Just remember leaving my apartment last night, next thing I knew I was tied up and blindfolded. They slapped me around a little and told me to tell you to keep your mouth shut. Then they threw me in your trunk. These guys mean business."
"We gotta go to the police."
"No police!" Walter exclaimed, "They made that clear. They'll kill all three of us!"
"They mentioned Shirley?" Paul's stomach fell to his knees.
"Not in so many words, but they know everything about you."
"We can't let them get away with this!"
"Yes we can," Walter said, "I wish to continue living. Don't you?"
"I guess...."
"Say," Walter asked, "Could you give me a ride to my apartment?"
Paul pointed to the medical building, "I'll be late for work."
"Oh," Walter said and wiped his nose with the bloody handkerchief, "Could you spot me bus fare?"
"Sure," Paul said and reached into his pocket.

Paul was relieved to find no phone messages waiting for him as he entered his office.
He turned on his computer and went to get coffee. When he returned, the screen saver was activated. Paul was horrified to discover the words "SILENCE IS GOLDEN" scrolling across the monitor.
One hit of the escape key and the message vanished.
Paul turned off the computer and picked up the phone.

"Two dates in one week," Shirley said as she walked into a local bar to meet Paul, "I'm a lucky girl."
She took the adjoining stool and found her usual drink waiting. "Awww... you are so sweet."
"Listen, Shirley," he began, "I really love you-"
"And I love you, too, pumpkin."
"Thank you," Paul smiled, "But because of recent events, I can never see you again."
Her eyes widened: "What?!!?!"
"It's for your own good."
"Who is she?" Shirley asked.
"I don't know who they are," Paul said, "But they're serious. They kidnapped Walter."
"Oh sure," Shirley said, "Those mysterious threats were just a ploy to break up with me."
"You don't understand--"
"Oh," Shirley said as she got up, "I understand perfectly!"
She stormed out of the bar.
Paul sat and drank her drink.

Paul didn't bother to read the note on his car, look at the words spray painted on his front door, or listen to his answering machine. Once home, he threw some clothes and a few personal items into a suitcase and left it by the door.
In the darkness, he sat on his couch and waited.
The phone rang.
"Good evening," Paul picked up the phone.
"So, Mr. Teff," the familiar voice greeted him, "Are we clear on this keeping quiet thing?"
"Too late," Paul said.
"What do you mean: 'too late'?"
"I told."
"You--" the voice was flabbergasted, "Who did you tell?"
"The cops, the newspapers," Paul said, "I even posted it on the Internet."
"But--- we warned you."
"Oh," Paul sounded surprised, "When?"
"All our letters, phone calls," the voice said, "We kidnapped your best friend."
"Oh, was that you?" Paul asked, "I thought it was somebody else."
"We'll kill you for this!"
"If the police don't get you first."
"That--- that wasn't very nice, Mr. Teff."
"Sorry," Paul said, "But I didn't see any reason not to tell."
"You've ruined everything," the voice sounded on the verge of tears.
"That's the way the cookie crumbles," Paul said, "Now, is there anything else I can do for you?"
"No," the voice said, "I guess you've done enough. Can I just ask what part of our persuasion didn't work?"
Without a response, Paul hung up the phone.
He picked up his suitcase and left the apartment.
The phone continued to ring into infinity.