Free Nightlines by John Lutz Page A

haven’t embarrassed me. Or if you have, I deserve it.” The hell with this pain of revelation. “I still think we should get together, lie to each other like other people. It might be refreshing not to suffer.”
    “Maybe someday,” she said. “I’m going to hang up now, Nudger. I’ve got to get some sleep so I’ll be able to get out of bed to go to work tomorrow.”
    “You told me you were off tomorrow.”
    “I’m only working in the morning. You probably have to go to work, too.”
    “Not me. I’ve got nothing to do but amble to my safety deposit box and clip coupons, then phone my broker. I usually start around noon. It’s a good life even if somewhat monotonous.”
    When she didn’t speak, Nudger thought she might have taken him seriously.
    “Actually,” he said, “I was lying. The only coupons I clip are the kind that save a dime at the supermarket, and my broker doesn’t return my calls.”
    “You weren’t lying, Nudger. You were just telling the truth in your own way. A kind of reverse English.”
    “Freud is dead,” he snapped at her, but she had hung up.
    He fitted the receiver in its cradle and, with his fingertips still resting on it, sat in the warm dimness trying to figure out the source of the sound he’d heard in Claudia’s phone.
    Not intermittent rushes of nearby traffic, not distant trains or planes or . . . ships.
    The sea! That was what the sound reminded him of more than anything else. The occasional rush of a wave onto the beach, a loud sigh of surf that reached a higher decibel range when the infrequent huge breaker roared in from the sea.
    He rubbed his hand over his face, as if to erase worry lines, and shook his head. The trouble with the surf theory was that the nightlines were strictly local, and the nearest ocean to St. Louis was almost a thousand miles away.
    Nudger decided not to think about Claudia or the eerie sound on the phone or anything else for a while. He was tired enough to have slumped in his chair without realizing it, and gravity was getting the better of his eyelids. Forcing himself to sit up straight, he considered drinking a cup of coffee.
    Then he decided that staying awake would be pointless. Whatever he might accomplish tonight—this morning— would be easier done after he’d slept. He was at the point where whatever drowsiness he endured now would simply add to his sluggishness after sunup. Rather than fight his weariness, he leaned over the desk, cradled his head in his arms, and dozed with the scent of old varnished wood inches below his nose. There was a memory jogger. Nap time in elementary school. “Heads on those desks, children.” Catching a stolen wink or two in high school or college. “Are we disturbing your slumber, young Mr. Nudger?”
    He ignored the teacher. He was on the beach, his cheek pressed into a rough, warm towel that gave with the soft sand beneath it. A hot sun made his bare back tingle pleasantly. He heard the ocean nearby, sighing deeply and evenly like something gigantic in hibernation in a dark cave of the mind. A gull screamed. A gull rang. A spindly-legged sandpiper hopped delicately across the hot beach to Nudger, extended a fingertipped wing, and, raising his sunglasses so it could see his eyes, said, “It’s for you. Rates are cheaper after nine. Reach out and—”
    Nudger was awake in the morning-bright office and the receiver was in his hand. He must have reached for it in his sleep. He brought it to his ear. Danny’s voice said, “Short notice, Nudge, but I thought you’d wanna know trouble’s coming your way.”
    Nudger was aware of footsteps, someone climbing the narrow stairs from the street door. He thanked Danny for the warning and hung up the phone, picturing the substantial Hugo Rumbo while trying to recall if he’d locked the office door. He had, he hadn’t, he had, he hadn’t. He hadn’t!
    A board on the landing creaked. A familiar sound. Whoever was out there was at the top of the stairs.