The Wave
Chapter One
"... naked, naked ... I don't have any clothes ... so so cold ..."
"Who is this?" I asked.
"So cold," the voice said again.
"Who is this?"
"... cold and naked. Sleeping in the trees."
He hung up then. It was the fourth evening in a week that he'd
called. The first night he only grunted and moaned. Two days later,
he spoke in single words. Those words were cold and naked. The voice
was definitely masculine but strained and frightened. The next night
he used the same two words, but he doubled up on them from time to
time, saying, naked, cold, cold, naked. He was pleading, but I
didn't know what he wanted. He didn't seem threatening, just
desperate and crazed.
When I told Nella about it, she said that I should call the police.
"There's no telling what psychotic notions he might have in his
head," the buttercream-colored, dreadlock-wearing ceramicist warned.
"He might be working up to coming in there and slaughtering you and
everybody in your whole house."
"He doesn't even know my name," I said.
"He knows your number," the lovely young Jamaican ... read full excerpt from: The Wave ebook
