217 Babel Street | Apartment 15
Was that the telephone? Julietta hurried through from the bathroom, dripping water onto the carpet. The ringing noise fell silent just as her hand touched the receiver. She tried 1471, only to find that the caller did not wish to be recognized. That was so typical of Tom, she thought, this incessant need for secrecy. Of course, it might not have been him; it could've been anybody. After all, not that many people rang her.
The living room seemed smaller tonight, somehow. Why was that?
Julietta went back into the bathroom to finish getting ready. This done, she poured herself a drink and settled down in front of the television. She tried to concentrate on the programme but the reception was bad, the screen covered in lines of static. A man's face was scrambled, his voice cutting in and out. He seemed to be talking about the colour and shape of the moon and how it had changed over the last few years, but how could she be sure?
The telephone rang again. It was him. It was Tom. He said, "I'll be there in thirty minutes. Do you have what I asked for?" She told him that she had. The phone went dead without another word. Nerves jumped in her skin.