Free A Life Transparent by Todd Keisling

his quivering jaw did not make it easy. The tears were already streaming down his face.
    “H-Hello?”
    A hiss of electronic noise filled his ears, and the drone took shape as a man’s voice.
    “Hello, Mr. Candle.”
    He recognized the soft-spoken voice. Realization spread through him in the form of a chill. The hairs on his arms and neck stood at attention. He shook so badly that he almost dropped the phone.
How?
he wondered.
How could that man get my number?
He had to hang up and call the police. He didn’t have time for this, he had to—
    “Are you with me, Mr. Candle?”
    Donovan dry-swallowed. “I’m here.”
    “Good.” The nameless man chuckled. “How is
this
for interesting, Mr. Candle?”
    For an instant, the man’s reference was lost on him, but it all came racing back to Donovan in a heated reverie:
I guess if something interesting doesn’t happen to me soon, I may disappear for good.
    Everything clicked. An icy feeling settled in the bottom of his gut.
    More electronic noise filled the line. When it subsided, the man was chuckling again. It made Donovan’s heart stop.
    The unknown caller’s voice changed, imbued with the white noise of the line.
    “Is this interesting enough for you?”

•   5   •
PUPPETS
     
    Donovan gaped into the phone. Words failed him.
    “Well, Mr. Candle?”
    The stark, electronic buzz rose up again, accenting the man’s words. Donovan gripped the phone while thoughts raced laps around his head.
    “Who the hell are you?” he rasped.
    “There will be time for introductions later, Mr. Candle. Please answer my question.”
    Donna
, he thought.
Oh God, Donna, what has he done to you?
A thick cloud of heat surrounded his face. Donovan’s knees buckled, and he sank into his office chair.
    “Mr. Candle.”
    “What question? Look, I—”
    “Is this interesting enough for you?”
    He swallowed air. The lump tightened in his throat. “Yes.”
    “Good.” The soft-spoken man seemed pleased. His tone lightened, now almost jovial. “Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Aleister Dullington.”
    Donovan closed his eyes. “Mr. Dullington, did you take my wife? Did you hurt her?”
    “Do not despair, Mr. Candle. I assure you that your wife is quite safe—for now.”
    For now
. The bottom dropped out of Donovan’s gut.
Keep it together, hoss.
    “Where is she?”
    “In due time.”
    Donovan shot out of his seat. The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.
    “You tell me where she is, you son of a bitch. You tell me
now
.”
    “Now, now, Mr. Candle. It is not wise to curse the one who determines whether your precious Donna lives or dies.”
    The sudden rush of adrenaline left him. He felt weak, feeble. He sank back into his chair and closed his eyes.
Whether your precious Donna lives or dies.
The words tumbled and spun in his head, bouncing off images of the kitchen and dead cat.
He’s hurt her, oh God, he’s hurt her or he’s
going
to hurt her, or—
    “Calm yourself, Mr. Candle. What I have to tell you will be most displeasing.”
    Sweat dotted his forehead. The air in the room was suddenly very suffocating. Donovan took it all in with one prolonged breath. He held it in his chest, letting it burn through his lungs, before slowly exhaling. His heart calmed.
    “I’m listening.”
    “You are a boring man, Mr. Candle.”
    “Boring?” he snorted. His wife was missing, and this guy on the line had the gall to
criticize
him? “Where is Donna? I want to talk to her right
now
—”
    “I ask for your patience, Mr. Candle.” Aleister Dullington remained calm, his voice reflecting no emotion. He spoke in measured syllables, with a flat intensity which ran beneath every vowel and consonant. “Do not push me.
Or else.
”
    Donovan shut his mouth. He tried to ignore the thoughts racing through his head, and took another deep breath. He held it inside longer than the last one.
    “You are boring. You have spent the last nine years of your life in