Weekly Drabble #306: A Friend in Need (Patreon)

This week's prompt comes from Sam C with 'collect call', a form of communication that many people might not use these days... unless they're out of other options.

Enjoy!

~

A Friend in Need:

“Hello,” the canned female recording began. “You have a collect call from ‘Jim-its-me-Brandon-for-the-love-of-God-pick-up’. Do you wish to accept the charges?”

Jim blinked, multiple thoughts running through his head at once. A collect call? Who even does that any more? Brandon? Why is Brandon calling me collect? Where’s his phone? What’s going on?“Yeah, accept.”

“Jim? Jim, Thank God!”

“Brandon, what’s going on?”

“I’m in trouble, Jim.”

“What do you mean? Last we talked you were going out the Washborn place with Samira and-”

“I need your help. I need you to come get me.”

“Come get you? Where are you?”

“I’m in Mayberry.”

“Mayberry? Brandon, that’s like a five hour drive from here. It’s almost midnight.”

“Jim. Please. I’m in real trouble here. You don’t- you don’t know what’s going on. Bad shit is going down and I need some help.”

“Talk to me, Bran.”

“I don’t- I don’t have time for this Jim! I need you to come get me. Are you going to do it or not?”

“I can’t just drop everything in the middle of the night! You’re calling me collect, you won’t tell me what’s going on and you need me to drive five hours... Give me something here, Bran. What happened to your phone?”

“I don’t have it. She took it. We went to the place and... and some real shit went down. Dave and Reese are gone.”

“Gone?”

“Gone, man! Just... just gone. Hector, too. I don’t know about Bill. I think... I think she got him, too. I don’t know about the others. I think I’m the last one and she’s after me. I got away, but I don’t know for how long.”

“Who’s she? You mean Samira?”

“Of course I fucking mean Samira, Jim! Who the fuck else would I mean?!”

“I don’t know, man. What you’re telling me sounds pretty crazy.” Samira was a tiny goth girl who probably weighed ninety pounds if you wrapped her in wool and then dunked her in a pool. Brandon had been chasing her for a month and had jumped at the chance to spend some time with her, even if she’d invited several other guys along. Jim had called him a simp.

“I know how it fucking sounds! I was there and I still don’t believe it. We went to the house to check it out and then... then shit started to get real. Real bad, man. Real fucking bad. We should have left, but Samira... we should have left. I got away, but she... I think she’s still after me. No one here will help me. I was banging on doors, but they wouldn’t open up. One of them took a shot at me. Please man. Please. I need your help.”

Jim wasn’t sure about any of this. “Bran... dude, tell me... have you been smoking?”

“I had a couple tokes a little earlier for the nerves, but... aw, shit, man. You don’t believe me.”

“Dude, you remember the cat thing.” Brandon had called him for help once before when he’d been high. It had been a big ball of nothing. The serial killer he’d been convinced was trying to break into his house had been his cat scratching at the door and crying to be let in after he’d gotten forgotten about her.

“This isn’t like this, I swear! Shit’s been happening since we got here. I haven’t been high for all fucking three days! I just needed a little something after Dave and Reese. Then Hector happened and... come on, man. This is real. I swear. Please. Please.”

Jim took a breath. “All right,” he said. “I gotta gas up first, but I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks man. Thanks. I’ll meet you around the diner, yeah? The one with the big cowboy hat on its sign.”

“All right. I’m going to head out. But if this is some kind of shit like with the cat-”

“I promise. It’s fucking real. Too real, bro. I gotta go. I think... I think I hear something. Oh. Oh fuck. I think I see her. She hasn’t seen me yet, but I gotta go. Five hours bro, promise.”

“Five hours. Promise.”

The line went dead. Jim hung up. He looked down at his phone and then towards the front door where his car keys were. Brandon always got paranoid when he toked up. That’s all it probably was.

“God damn it,” Jim grunted as he grabbed his coat and phone charger. “You better pay me for gas andmileage this time,” he said as he closed and locked the house behind him and slid behind the wheel. He pulled out of the driveway, about to waste ten hours seeing what bullshit Brandon had gotten up to even as the fear in Brandon’s voice echoed in his head, leaving him to hope that bullshit was all it was.