I pick up the call after retrieving the phone under a pile of clothes in the basement. It felt odd, yet I somewhat felt obliged I had to do it, not because I was annoyed by the Hotel California ringtone, no, it's... more like a duty, a responsibility.
It came from the other end of the line.
"What do you want?"
The voice was of a girl. It was trembling, weeping, a voice of suffering, a voice of
loss.
I breathe in, and speak. "Well see, you're family's dead, and I. Need. You. Now now, we both know you know..."
"...what I want, right?"