Title: Santa Monica
Author: C
Pairing: ?+?, ?+?
Warning/s: Angst, LOTS OF ANGST
Note/s: I wrote this in DC in Motel 6. It's another one of those where you just make up the pairing, I guess. Anything really applies with this one. And the title comes from Savage Garden's song, Santa Monica. Lyrics are posted that inspired it.
/.../ = phone

{ But on the telephone line I am anyone
I am anything I want to be
I could be a super model or Norman Mailer
And you wouldn't know the difference
On the telephone line, I am any height
I am any age I want to be
I could be a caped crusader, or space invader
And you wouldn't know the difference
Or would you?
--Santa Monica, Savage Garden }


The phone rang.

It was expected, even though the alarm clock clearly and correctly stated 2:12 AM as the time. Always at this time, the phone rang. The sleeping couple woke. No matter how man times they changed their number, the phone always rang. "Answer it," came the woman's soft, sleepy voice. She nudged her husband as she always did and said as she always said, "Answer it." Her husband grunted and leaned over to pick up the phone. "Hello," he greeted with surprising alertness. It never helped to get angry. It never helped at all.

/"I love you."/

Always the same, with every call.

"Who is this?" the man asked uslessly.

/"I love you,"/ repeated the same low voice. Always a whisper, never loud enough to identify.

"Why do you always call?" the man asked, like he did every call.

/"Why did you leave me?"/

"Please tell me who you are."

The phone calls were never harmful. They never interfered with their daily lives. All the calls had a sort of desperation from the other end. The couple wondered often who the caller was. The calls started a few days after they moved into the house. The phone calls were almost scripted now. The same words spoken with every call.

/"Please come back."/

"Who are you?"

/"I love you."/

"What's your name?"

/"I love you..."/


The man winced as the dial tone burst into his ear. He lowered the
phone onto its cradle and let the sleepiness return. "Who was that dear?" his wife asked, kissing his cheek and snuggling closer. She knew.

His fingers played with her blonde hair for a few seconds before he dutifully replied, "No one; no one at all."



2:12 AM. This time the man was wide awake, blue eyes focused on the celing. He was waiting.

And the phone rang.

After the first ring, he answered. "Please," he begged, "who are you?"

/"I love you."/

"Who do you love Who is it that you keep calling?" He'd broken the script, said the wrong lines. He sat on the edge of the bed, pressing the phone to his ear.

/"I love you..."/

For an instant, the man feared the caller would hang up too early. "Please tell me. I want to help you."

/"Why did you leave me?"/ A choking sound followed the question.

The man held his breath.

/"Please... come back. I love you. Didn't you know?"/

"Tell me," the man said.

/"Why did you leave me?"/ Another choke. /"Why? Why did you die? Why didn't I tell you?"/ The chokings became quiet little sobs. /"I still love you..."/ was the gasp.

The man didn't know what to say. So he stayed quiet.

/"I love you,"/ the caller sighed. /"Good-bye..."/

The man lowered the phone and slowly climbed under the blankets with his wife. "Who was that, dear?" she murmured.

For the first time, he didn't respond.



2:12 AM. Th man stared at the phone.

It didn't ring.

The clock changed to 2:13.

And the phone didn't ring.

The man turned to his wife and hugged her close. He kissed her forehead and whispered.

"I love you."


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