The Pharmacy (UNEDITED)

Chapter Six

        My index hovered over the various numbered circles on the wheel of the telephone. Up to that point, it hadn't dawned on me that I didn't actually know the Neumann family number, let alone Fabian's personal one. Asking my Godparents for it was definitely out of the question, no way I'm tormenting myself like that.

   Considering we practically live in a pharmacy, I presumed that we had a leaflet of our customers' phone numbers lying around somewhere. Of course, there's no way I was going to go through the trouble of looking around by myself, so I walked over to the dining room, where I found Aunt and Uncle clearing the table.

   "Auntie?" I walked in, "Do we have the customers' phone numbers anywhere?"

   She cocked a brow, "Why?"

   "Um," I attempted to think up an excuse, "Someone came in last Tuesday, and I had promised to bring them news on some medicine they were waiting for." The lie flew right off my tongue. I'm not sure if I liked that very much, but that's of no matter at the moment. She quickly bought it, looking at Uncle in surprise before giving me a glowing, proud face.

   "Well, that's quite thoughtful of you, dear!" she praised me for my 'good deed', "We have a small notebook in the drawer of the telephone table. Just return it when you're finished."

   That was much easier than expected. "Thank you!"

   I fluttered over to my position on the couch, and returned to my endeavors of calling Fabian. I opened the drawer, eagerly pulled out the aforementioned booklet, and searched for the number I needed. I don't think I've ever been so excited to speak to anyone before.

   There it was.

   I pulled each number with slight hesitance. I wasn't in the mood to mess up in front of someone who genuinely enjoys my presence. Taking in a deep breath, I put in every number, and soon, I spun up the last digit, and waited for an answer.

   It rang about three times, which made me fidget with the telephone wire in anxiousness, but eventually, the satisfying click of the recipient picking up finally came upon my ears.

   "Hello?" the delicate voice of a woman was on the line.

   "Hello, this is Monica, I came to the residence as a nurse just a week ago," I introduced, wanting to get past the formalities.

   "Oh, yes, is there something you need, ma'am?" She asked, seemingly worried.

   "No, no," I reassured, "I only wish to speak with Fabian."

   She took a moment to get back on the line, and I could hear a voice in the background. A man's voice. She was speaking to him, obviously attempting to cover the microphone, but I could still listen in on her muffled voice:

   "Sir, it's for you!"

   "That's not funny, Lise."

   "It's not a joke, Fabian, don't be so ill-minded!"

   And with that sentence, I knew I no longer had to wait to speak with him.

   "Hello?" Came his voice into the telephone, ill, but retaining an old charm that had lingered from times preceding his fate.

   "Fabian, is that you?" I wanted to make sure I was for sure speaking to the right person before blurbing something that would embarass me. Those moments haunt me for longer than I can ever endure.