InsaneJournal

stop callin', stop callin'
Who: Matt and a mysterious caller.
What: Matt gets a rather unsavory task regarding another Pax resident.
Where: Matt's apartment.
When: Backdated to late August.

Matthew had another rough night of sleep. It happened every now and then; the world seemed too dark and the shadows of his mind would poke and prod him awake throughout the night. He’d toss or turn, have a night cap, drink water, wash his face, all the various tricks he had gathered over the years or learned from the various people he knew, and yet he couldn’t sleep. It wasn’t a constant thing, but every time it happened he’d remember the last time it did all too clearly.

Now in the early morning light, Matthew sat at his dining table with a cup of coffee clutched in his hand as he gazed bleary eyed out of the window to the ocean; dark blue with a purple-like hue on the horizon that grew pink the further it went. Gulls were already soaring through the air and the waves looked angry but this far up he didn’t hear the sound, which was good.

He felt that if he could hear the waves it would be too much for his tired state but apparently it wouldn’t have mattered, it took a number of rings of his cell phone, sitting off to the side on the table, for Matthew to wake from his blank stare and realize the sound was alerting him to a call. Reaching for it, he paused and his brow furrowed as he looked at the number. He recognized it, it was local, but he wasn’t quite sure who it was. And to be calling at this hour?

He thought of his father’s death and all the bad-news phone calls that would come at odd hours prior to it. Ever since, he found off-hour phone calls to be signs that he had to pick them up, so he did just that.

“Hello?” He asked, his voice cracking and going deeper after not being used for the night and being heavy with lack of sleep.

"Mr. Buchanan," a familiar voice drawled; it was the one that had extended the tentative job offer to Matt, while he was still trying to collect himself after being fired on the east coast. The same voice that he had not heard since then, having been instructed where to go and what to do by missives and other third party instruction. "I trust you remember me?"

Matthew sat up straight and pushed a hand through his messy bedhead. “Oh, yeah! Yes, I mean, hello! Yes, I remember you,” he stumbled over his words, feeling much more awake than before. This was his boss, wasn’t it? The entire situation of his job was so weird, so off and almost immediately he felt a twist of doubt and uncertainty take root in his stomach. “Um, how are you?” Matthew asked tentatively, uncertain how to handle the conversation.

"Well," the voice replied in a curt tone. "Unfortunately, this isn't a personal call. I need you to take care of something for me." A rustling of papers could be heard on the other line, the voice going silent for a moment. "Are you familiar with a man named Abel Parrish?"

“Uh…” Matthew blinked. “The name sounds familiar but I’m not sure I know who he is or anything…” He felt his stomach twist harder, a general feeling that whatever he was going to ask would be something he would not want to do.

"He's a lanky man living on the fifth floor." The voice sounded impatient, but willing to hold Matt by the hand as he led him through the necessary steps. "He's becoming a problem, and he needs to be stopped before he goes too far in the apartment complex. I'm going to need you to step in."

“Uh…” Matthew leaned back in his chair and pulled off his glasses to wipe at his eyes. “I know we haven’t spoken much but I’m not really great with people. Sort of why I hole myself away in labs. And I’m not… like… a great stopping point...for people.”

"Lucky for you," the voice cut in, "this won't require a warning. He's well past that. You're to remove him, quietly, in whatever manner you deem most applicable in this scenario, and bring him to the top of the apartment complex." He went quiet, soft breathing the only sign that there was still someone on the other side of the phone.

"Is that something you feel you can handle?"

Matthew was left blinking and stunned. Panic keeping him silent at first by the wrongness of it all. “This… this is illegal,” he managed to say despite that his entire form wanted to escape the situation, slam down the phone, pick up his shit and leave.

A dry laugh was his immediate answer. The man on the other side of the line was quiet for a moment, before the smarmy voice picked up again, dripping with annoyance.

"I think that's the least of your concerns right now, Mr. Buchanan," it said. "After all, didn't you just have a patient die on the operating table? Under, how should I put this, very strange circumstances? I doubt many people would look kindly on a doctor illegally testing on human beings."

Swallowing, and feeling a chill sweat on the back of his neck, Matthew didn’t allow this threat to sway him. “There are plenty of doctors who have done worse things and have come out of it just fine. Even if I lost my license in America, I could always practice somewhere else, or just turn my attentions fully to research.” And he was proud of himself, proud to stick up to this man, to fight for his morals, even while something in the back of his mind urged him to follow through and just do as the man bid.

A savage grin was almost audible through the man's next words. "I'm glad you don't think much of the opinions of others; it's an important trait in someone in your line of work. Although, it's easy enough to shrug off what strangers think of us. What about... Your mother is still alive, isn't she? Losing your father must have been a terrible blow. And then for terrible things to be said about her only child... How do you think she'd fare?"

The man caught Matthew’s attention with that and he found himself frowning at the phone. He could handle the destruction of his job but he couldn’t disappoint his mother. She had enough stress, enough heartache, caused by all that had happened. She still was recovering from his father’s death, even now.

Licking his lips, Matthew took in a deep breath. “When you say that this man is to be removed, what would that entail?” If he was being asked to kill the man, Matthew would risk disappointing his mother. He certainly didn’t have the expertise to kill someone...well, to plan to kill someone. He hadn’t meant to let the man die at work, he had tried to save him.

"Very good, Mr. Buchanan." The voice twisted the words like a leash being pulled taut around an obedient dog's neck. "I need you to incapacitate him and bring him up to the Tower floor."

“The Tower floor doesn’t have an access point,” Matthew responded readily, clearly displeased by his task and gaining enough bravery to state the facts.

"It does," the voice replied, clearly expecting this roadblock. "Bring Mr. Parrish to the Deluxe floor. There's a staircase to the Tower unit at the far end of the hall; the door is not immediately apparent, but I'm sure you'll be able to spot the outline. Press on it to open it. Once Mr. Parrish is inside, your duties will be completed.

"And I should think it goes without say, Mr. Buchanan," the voice added, "that you should remain unseen for the duration of this assignment. I can't imagine what your fellow tenants would think, nor how they would react to knowing what you've been involved in, regarding them."

Matthew bit at his lip and looked at his table. A pit was lodged in his stomach, angry and solid and filled with dread, but if Matthew was honest there was something else that seemed almost pleased at the idea of this venture. “You want me to incapacitate him, but how do you want me to do that? Does it matter?”

"No," the voice replied, patiently. "It only matters that he remain intact, and...well, unconscious. He should be as alive as he can be by the time you bring him to the Tower floor. If you require specific materials to make this happen, you know how to contact in order to receive them." The sound on the other side of the phone went quiet, and in the midst of it the gentle roar of electronics could be heard.

"Any other questions?"

Matthew shook his head then paused, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, before verbally responding. “No, no other questions. I’ll… I’ll get this done.” He frowned, slumping into his seat but only for a moment before leaning forward. “Wait, one last question. When do you need this done by?”

"As soon as possible. In fact, even before that. As I said before, Mr. Buchanan, this is damage control. I'd like to prevent Mr. Parrish from doing more than he's already done."

The line clicked off, the voice apparently considering the conversation over with. Matthew worked at his jaw and finally lowered the phone from his ear, dropping it onto his table as if it disgust him. He stared at it for a moment, feeling the weight in his stomach over the call. As soon as possible the man had said and a voice in Matthew’s mind agreed, Yes, as soon as possible.