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SPNFF: End of Message
This is something of a stylistic experiment. And the aquatic muse creating angst in the shower.
Title: End of Message
Word Count: 930-ish
Summary: Even telling people he's unavailable does not keep them from calling.
Sam really hadn’t expected that turning his phone off for one night would result in a maelstrom of messages. Eleven. Eleven messages. Eleven people who, for whatever reason—even though he’d told everyone he knew and left the information on his outgoing message—felt the need to talk to him specifically.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori. I know you said you’d have your cell phone off for, like, twelve hours or something. But I just wanted to tell you that I couldn’t find the book you wanted. So, like, if you happen to listen to this message before whenever, could you give me a call? ‘Cause you asked for this book specifically, and I’m not finding it. ‘Kay? Thanks. Bye.”
End of message. To review this message, press 1. To save this message, press 2. To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori again. Hey, I found the book. They didn’t have it filed in the section I thought it would be, but I found it. So, like, I just wanted to let you know. I’ll drop it by your place tomorrow morning. But not too early, ya know? ‘Cause I don’t want to, you know, if you and Jess are . . . I mean . . . Right. So I’ll drop it by late tomorrow morning. Like, after breakfast, or whatever. Okay, ’bye.”
End of message. To review this message, press 1. To save this message, press 2. To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? Hey, it’s Lori. Again. I’m sorry to keep bugging you like this, but I found another book you might be interested in. About Salmon Portland Chase, I thought maybe you could use. I don’t know. Does it sound like something you could use? Give me a call if you listen to this. If not . . . well . . . um . . . whatever. Talk to you later. ‘Kay, bye.”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . breathy sigh . . . “Is this Sam Winchester? The tall, handsome, brilliant attorney I’ve heard so much about?” . . . a giggle . . . “I’d like to schedule an appointment. I’ve got some burning issues that need the immediate attention of a brilliant mind and a” . . . breathy sigh . . . “. . . hot body. Can you carry out a seizure? I’ll keep you abreast of the matter. Oooo, I can’t wait to debrief you as soon as you get home.” . . . a sultry whisper . . . “Oh, and I’ll be wearing my birthday present . . .”
. . . To save this message, press 2 . . .
. . . unknown number . . .
. . .
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
“Yo, buddy! Where are ya? You’re missing one kick-ass helluva party, dude. You thought our undergrad days were wild? You ain’t seen nothin’. And they’ve got a really sweet game room. I’m telling you, your skills with a pool cue, you could clean. Up. tonight. And the women. Man! ‘Course you got Jess, but still. Just ‘cause you’re out of circulation doesn’t mean you’re dead, right? Heyheyhey. Gotta run. Catcha later!”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . unknown number . . .
. . .
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori again. Hey, I went ahead and got that book, all right? I thought you might want it, and I know you said you were incommunicado tonight, but you didn’t call, and I figured better safe than sorry, right? So I’ll drop it off with the other book tomorrow morning. Late. Late tomorrow morning, so you and Jess can sleep in, or . . . whatever. Okay, bye.”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . unknown number . . .
“Sam, don’t erase this. Please.”
A wheezing breath.
“Hey, dude. I just . . . hope you’re doin’ okay. Puttin’ that geek-boy brain of yours to work. Keepin’ the ladies happy. Or at least one lady, right?”
A gasp.
“She better treat you right, bro. They all better know they’ve got the best . . . whatever it is you’re studyin’ . . . doctor. Let’s say doctor. Hey, how about a gyne—a gyne—”
A hacking, fluid-sounding cough.
“A female doctor. Yeah. Tell all those women they’ve got the best doctor on the West Coast, right?”
A forced laugh.
A pain-filled groan.
“I always—”
gasp
“—always tried to do right by you, Sammy. You know that, right?”
cough
wheezing breath
“I just . . . just wanted to tell you, little brother. Ya know? Take care of yourself. I lo—”
End of message. To save this message, press—
Sam stares at the phone in his hand, then pages back to check the time the message was left.
Half an hour ago.
Sam hits the callback button, gripping the phone tightly to his ear. He hasn’t heard from his brother since . . .
He swallows nervously as the phone rings once, twice, three times.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Dean—”
“You’ve reached the voice mail of Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, call Bobby Singer at 605-555-1379. He can help.”
Sam closes the phone and slides down the wall he didn’t realize was holding him up.
He quits graduate school the next day, gets hold of an old Crown Vic, and disappears off the radar.
He never erases the message.
Title: End of Message
Word Count: 930-ish
Summary: Even telling people he's unavailable does not keep them from calling.
Sam really hadn’t expected that turning his phone off for one night would result in a maelstrom of messages. Eleven. Eleven messages. Eleven people who, for whatever reason—even though he’d told everyone he knew and left the information on his outgoing message—felt the need to talk to him specifically.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori. I know you said you’d have your cell phone off for, like, twelve hours or something. But I just wanted to tell you that I couldn’t find the book you wanted. So, like, if you happen to listen to this message before whenever, could you give me a call? ‘Cause you asked for this book specifically, and I’m not finding it. ‘Kay? Thanks. Bye.”
End of message. To review this message, press 1. To save this message, press 2. To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori again. Hey, I found the book. They didn’t have it filed in the section I thought it would be, but I found it. So, like, I just wanted to let you know. I’ll drop it by your place tomorrow morning. But not too early, ya know? ‘Cause I don’t want to, you know, if you and Jess are . . . I mean . . . Right. So I’ll drop it by late tomorrow morning. Like, after breakfast, or whatever. Okay, ’bye.”
End of message. To review this message, press 1. To save this message, press 2. To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? Hey, it’s Lori. Again. I’m sorry to keep bugging you like this, but I found another book you might be interested in. About Salmon Portland Chase, I thought maybe you could use. I don’t know. Does it sound like something you could use? Give me a call if you listen to this. If not . . . well . . . um . . . whatever. Talk to you later. ‘Kay, bye.”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . breathy sigh . . . “Is this Sam Winchester? The tall, handsome, brilliant attorney I’ve heard so much about?” . . . a giggle . . . “I’d like to schedule an appointment. I’ve got some burning issues that need the immediate attention of a brilliant mind and a” . . . breathy sigh . . . “. . . hot body. Can you carry out a seizure? I’ll keep you abreast of the matter. Oooo, I can’t wait to debrief you as soon as you get home.” . . . a sultry whisper . . . “Oh, and I’ll be wearing my birthday present . . .”
. . . To save this message, press 2 . . .
. . . unknown number . . .
. . .
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
“Yo, buddy! Where are ya? You’re missing one kick-ass helluva party, dude. You thought our undergrad days were wild? You ain’t seen nothin’. And they’ve got a really sweet game room. I’m telling you, your skills with a pool cue, you could clean. Up. tonight. And the women. Man! ‘Course you got Jess, but still. Just ‘cause you’re out of circulation doesn’t mean you’re dead, right? Heyheyhey. Gotta run. Catcha later!”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . unknown number . . .
. . .
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
“Hey, Sam? It’s Lori again. Hey, I went ahead and got that book, all right? I thought you might want it, and I know you said you were incommunicado tonight, but you didn’t call, and I figured better safe than sorry, right? So I’ll drop it off with the other book tomorrow morning. Late. Late tomorrow morning, so you and Jess can sleep in, or . . . whatever. Okay, bye.”
. . . To delete this message, press 3.
. . . unknown number . . .
“Sam, don’t erase this. Please.”
A wheezing breath.
“Hey, dude. I just . . . hope you’re doin’ okay. Puttin’ that geek-boy brain of yours to work. Keepin’ the ladies happy. Or at least one lady, right?”
A gasp.
“She better treat you right, bro. They all better know they’ve got the best . . . whatever it is you’re studyin’ . . . doctor. Let’s say doctor. Hey, how about a gyne—a gyne—”
A hacking, fluid-sounding cough.
“A female doctor. Yeah. Tell all those women they’ve got the best doctor on the West Coast, right?”
A forced laugh.
A pain-filled groan.
“I always—”
gasp
“—always tried to do right by you, Sammy. You know that, right?”
cough
wheezing breath
“I just . . . just wanted to tell you, little brother. Ya know? Take care of yourself. I lo—”
End of message. To save this message, press—
Sam stares at the phone in his hand, then pages back to check the time the message was left.
Half an hour ago.
Sam hits the callback button, gripping the phone tightly to his ear. He hasn’t heard from his brother since . . .
He swallows nervously as the phone rings once, twice, three times.
“Hey.”
“Hey, Dean—”
“You’ve reached the voice mail of Dean Winchester. If this is an emergency, call Bobby Singer at 605-555-1379. He can help.”
Sam closes the phone and slides down the wall he didn’t realize was holding him up.
He quits graduate school the next day, gets hold of an old Crown Vic, and disappears off the radar.
He never erases the message.