Death of a Nightingale

CHAPTER 4: A REGULAR PHONE CALL

Sunshine. The sort of thing that sometimes slips my mind when I'm really focused on something. You see, it also doesn't kill me. But like so many other things, it's incredibly inconvenient. I sort of disappear and then reappear in the same spot when the sun goes down. I don't know why. I have no control over it. When my father gave me this affliction, to save me by the way, he didn't have time to explain the rules. So for centuries, I've had joyous moments of discovery. This particular one really surprised me.

But today I am lucky. About an hour ago, my nightingale came out just as I reappeared in the shadows across the street. She looked beautiful. Hair twisted together loosely. Strands thriving for freedom here and there. To no one's surprise, I have been following her. Back to the trains, back to a different part of town. The infamous Peachtree Street. Oh, isn't it the most southern Georgia name you've ever heard?

I watched her go inside a building, all others had already left and she's now in some sort of office. Details took very little snooping. They were listed on the mailbox by floor. I found out that my nightingale works at a place called 'Lifeline', a suicide hotline. I'm still chuckling to myself, here on the roof across from her. Out of all the places, she works at one dealing with the chronically depressed. We fit so well together. A veritable match made in heaven, or the subway. Potato-potato if you ask me. But we've already established that you probably shouldn't.

Now, with the stolen phone from my early night's snack, I'm sitting here debating my options. Should I do the very human thing and call her? And what? Ask her out at her place of work? That just seems a tad unprofessional. Don't you think? I shake my head at myself. I'm an immortal and I still end up in the same predicaments most humans do. So I pick up the severed index finger from the phone's um...doner and unlock it to dial the 'Lifeline'. 

Ring. Well, the phone works. Great. Another ring. Another. My eyebrow rises. Just the right one. For a suicide hotline, they sure make callers feel a bit rejected. I'll make a mental note to suggest changing that and save more lives. Then it clicks. I hold my breath. 

"Suicide prevention hotline, Hello?" There is that bright voice. I smile. I could listen to it forever. "I didn't think anyone was gonna pick up." I hear myself saying, probably sounding flatly idiotic. With that warmth, she replies: "It's what we're here for. Before we start, can I ask you whether you're currently in a safe place?"

I'm startled and actually look around me. Um, no. I'm on a roof eight stories up, looking into your window, while one of my legs dangles over the edge on a windy night. But of course, it's not what I tell my nightingale. "Sure." I reply, trying my best to sound convincing. I didn't actually think about this. Well, what's the worst that can happen? She'll track this stolen phone and I'll be long gone. 

"Are you comfortable enough to talk?" Her voice has a velvety quality. It's beautiful. Without answering her question, I continue. "What's your name?". That way I might be able to name my bird of wonder. She's startled. Shit. I should have answered her silly question first. This girl has more of a plan for this conversation than I do. 

"Vanessa, Ness for short." Ness. I like the sound of the 's'. 

"Well Vanessa, Ness for short, I'm calling because I don't quite know what else to do." I hear the words come out of my mouth, still no plan where to go with this. But Ness is a professional. She tells me: 

"We get a lot of callers who feel like they have no way out, other than to end their own life - " I interrupt her with some actual frustration. 

"See, but that's just the problem for me. I'm immortal." Pause. The pause continues. What am I doing? 

"You're immortal?" She asks gingerly, probably thinking I'm a complete nut-job. I nod. 

"I'm afraid so." Another pause. Has she pressed the 'call police and or asylum' button yet?