Calling Collect

Posted on Mon Oct 6th, 2025 @ 8:26 by Mhairi McIntyre & Cameron Johnston

Chapter: Besieged
Location: Graeme's Garage, New Cresthill
2154 words - 4.3 OF Standard Post Measure

The garage felt too quiet, even with the distant hum of the local radio station struggling against the weight of the silence that had come over the garage ever since that morning three days ago when two Avalon teachers had darkened the doorstep with their presence. The clang of Mhairi’s spanner against the engine block was too sharp, too harsh, like a needle jabbed into skin. It barely registered. The cold crept through the open doors, the discomfort felt familiar. She had no intention of keeping it out. The damp settling into her bones adding onto the exhaustion she couldn't shake no matter how early she had gone to bed the past few days.

She'd never admit it to anyone who'd come in and ask, least of all her father, but it was clear to anyone who bothered to look that she wasn't doing well. She was more dishevelled than normal. The grease lining her fingers was definitely not fresh, the oil smudged onto her sleeve was not new either. During the day she kept her hands busy—fixing something, anything—because the moment she stopped, the weight of not knowing would crush her. This car really didn't need another realigning of the front wheels, but she had restarted the process because she hadn't been happy with the result of her previous attempt. She had to keep going until her body couldn't go anymore, that was the only way she'd still catch some sleep.

Then, the shrill ring of the phone cut through the air, sharp and demanding. She let it ring once, twice. A collect call. Her stomach twisted. Hands shaking just enough to be noticed, she reached for the receiver. It took a moment to connect, when a woman on the other and cheerily said hi and asked her if she would be willing to accept a collect call from a man named John Deere.

"Ye know what. Fuck it. Aye, put them through." She said, knowing for sure this was some sort of prank call from bored teens of the local school. She'd been looking for a good target of her rage.

It was difficult to place the background noise after the delayed connection's initial static gave way to what sounded like a persistent buzz interlaced with the distortion of traffic, as if the technology was straining to convey the slosh of tyres against saturated asphalt. Though not quite evenly spaced, there was a rhythm to the traffic flow that translated clearly enough to be enigmatic, if only because it shouldn't have been possible to pick up such crystal clarity through a receiver pressed presumably against another's ear. Jarringly, a muted thud suggested a knock against something solid, and the muffled murmur of a young voice was quiet enough that the words themselves were entirely lost. Something shook the receiver again, and this time, though the hint of a passing stereo turned up all the way dominated for a few seconds, there was the unmistakable clipping of someone breathing heavily.

"So, I'm paying to hear a heavy breather. Class." Mhairi felt the anger bubble up inside of her, the anger of being left behind. It hadn't been the first time, and she had been very clear to Cameron that she could deal with the risk. More and more it seemed like she really couldn't. Not instantly at least. "Put yer tiny pecker away before it shrivels even more. Or better yet, tell me where you are, I'll bring a magnifying glass and punch you in the cock!"

The silence stretched, taut with expectation that didn't eventuate. Like a breath held, a moment frozen before the faintest snuff of air barely distinguishable against the intrusion of background interference. A wild imagination could have concocted a multitude of images from the implication, especially given current deduction, but just as it seemed there would be no actual effort to respond, the sound shifted in volume just enough to be identifiable.

Someone was laughing, or at least a feeble approximation of.

"Deal."

Limitations of the electronics involved didn't help with clarifying the voice, which lacked the vitality to make a stance against the overwhelming competition from a passing truck. Hope was a fickle beast, it stirred at times without a tangible explanation beyond the uncanny instinct of intimacy. It took the second attempt to up the ante, though it took its sweet time in eventuating between the huff and puff of apparent exertion. That in itself seemed a point against positive identification of the suspect and yet, the words themselves sought to eradicate doubt.

"Mhair...it's me."

The next rant immediately stuck in her throat like a badly chewed apple as Mhairi finally heard a voice on the other end. A familiar voice. It sent a shiver down her spine. A voice who she thought she'd never hear again. She started shaking and felt herself starting to lose control, "Get tae fuck." Tears streamed down her face. "Are ye fuckin' kiddin me?! Where the fuck are ye?" She was able to exclaim in between sobs.

"Long story."

He sounded, if anyone could imagine it of the normally optimistic mechanic, utterly defeated. Bone-tired to the point of being devoid of his usual glib mischief, let alone equipped to deal with the gut-wrenching reality of the trauma he'd already caused. The staggered breathing hitched, an effort to control his own grief, and Cameron audibly exhaled before answering the question.

"Outskirts of Glasgow, we've been travelling a bit. Things are pretty messed up." It was quite the admission from one who rarely confessed to his own struggles. "I can't call work though," he continued, though the phrasing was awkward, as if there had been an attempt to remain vague intentionally. "It might take a couple more days to figure out what we're doing."

Mhairi's mind was racing. Cam was definitely being obtuse on purpose. He was away with the fairies at times, but this was different. Calculated. Of course. They were definitely listening in to her phone calls. At least, if they had figured out she was over at Avalon more than was warranted for just a local mecchanic. She breathed in a ragged breath, "I'm sorry. I'm just so glad you called after all these years." She swallowed down a sob. She tried to push down the overwhelming sense relief and fear and anger. What if they figured out who she was calling with? "You know, I've never gotten around to visiting the Necropolis." She could go around on the tour there, it would give Cam an opportunity to flush out any tail she'd have.

"It's worth a look."

This time, the vagueness in tone was more the fault of fatigue than intentional deception and it wasn't easy to determine whether Cameron had latched onto the attempt at coded instructions or if he was just making idle conversation with the lovely voice in his ear.

"Bit spooky this time of night, I bet."

"Only adds to the experience." It was clear that Mhairi wasn't intending to wait any longer than absolutely necessary to jump into the truck and make her way over. "Maybe we can have a drink after?" The drive to Glasgow was something shy of three hours. She could definitely make the trip there before closing but as Cameron had indicated as well it would be late. Then again the adrenalin alone meant she could probably drive to London without nodding off even once.

The lengthy pause that followed was predictable if you knew the man well enough. It spoke something of his desperation that Cameron had called at all given his previous dedication to not implicating Mhairi in anything that might connect the pair of them. What he grappled with now, presumably, was the complication of permitting her physical presence when it was just as likely he had only called to make sure she didn't scour the countryside looking for him. A peripheral voice, barely audible, seemed to fill the silence for a few seconds, and whatever was said, it produced a long sigh. The accompanying grimace was implied.

"I guess we can pay old Knox a visit."

It was an impressive display of historical knowledge from a man who probably couldn't claim it as his own.

"Just...drive safe, yeah?"

"You know me..." Mhairi only now noticed how tightly she had been gripping the phone. "See you soon." She put the receiver back on the base and with a staggering step fell back into her chair. Emotions that had been held back found their way out. Her body shaking as she sobbed, loudly. The cries echoing through the garage. She tried to ground herself, breathe through the tightness in her chest. All it did was make the tears stream more freely. Mixing with snot and saliva and pooling on the floor. She leaned down with her elbows on her knees. Her stomach felt like it wanted to eject what little she had for breakfast and lunch today.

---

It took several attempts to return the receiver to its cradle. In the end, frustrated by the tremors, Cameron reached across to grip his forearm with his opposite hand and forced it to remain steady enough to complete the task. He lingered, huddled into the cramped space as if deciding whether or not to leave, and then shuffled slowly to step out into the bitter night air.

"She's on her way."

A pair of solemn eyes watched him before turning back towards the street they'd been watching. Unlike Cameron, who hadn't been as successful with his own wardrobe when forced to pick from limited options, the young girl was swaddled in a jacket several sizes too big and hid most of her face beneath the tartan scarf wrapped several times. Her hands were bare, however, the locals being less inclined to launder gloves, and the rainboots on her feet sported the shiny gloss of not having been worn long enough to have accumulated any amount of muck. They were bright red, which was incidentally the same colour as her nose.

She nodded her understanding.

Hunching his shoulders, Cameron pulled the ineffectual denim jacket with its too-short sleeves as closed as it would allow and took his own time making note of their surroundings. "We'd better walk, I think." He shook his head at the sharp glance that earnt him. "No sense stirring up a hornet's nest, people are less likely to look sideways at a pair of jakies." After brief hesitation to coordinate the effort, Cam laid a hand on her head and smiled before using the gesture to coax her to turn and start walking. "Even short ones."

At least it had stopped raining. The slosh of tyres might have been an irritant had the constant reflection of light from wet surfaces not taken the honours. It was an effort, fighting the constant need for vigilance to prevent the kind of excessive caution that would eventually attract too much attention. Cameron, for all his antics, didn't fancy himself as much of a method actor. The shuffled gait wasn't much effort, and the occasional stagger only needed slight exaggeration, but it was hard to deny that, on many levels, he resembled a weirdo who'd somehow fallen into the company of a young teen.

Even he wasn't entirely sure of the details on that bit.

"When she gets here, you'll need to go with her." It was a conversation they'd already started. "You can trust her, we'll explain."

Cameron glanced across.

"Have you thought of a name yet?"

"No."

"No love for Pipsqueak then?"

"That isn't a real name."

"Short-stuff?"

"That sounds like a dessert."

For a brief moment, Cameron looked impressed. With a dip of his head, he conceded the point. The improvement in communication was taking some getting used to. "Maybe something more classic then. Gertrude maybe?"

A fleeting glimpse of roguish mischief prompted a wink at the look that one earned him. Perhaps his performance skills were improving after all. Silence returned and, more in keeping with his current energy levels, Cameron didn't seek to interrupt it. Eventually, a proper response was forthcoming.

"Changing my name won't work." It was a strain to hear the quiet voice, still heavy with accent, over the passing of a late-night delivery truck. "Not for very long, I think."

"It's just a precaution in case we meet some nosey parkers." Cameron could hear the confusion beneath the furrowed brow. "People asking too many questions. If we get stopped, you call me Dad, and I'll call you..."

"Angela."

"Angela?"

Not what he'd expected. Mouth open, Cameron considered for a moment and then, once again, bobbed his head in acceptance.

"Angie it is."

Once more, the dark eyes sought him out. "Yes, Father."

Cameron's face scrunched in distaste.

"Okay, maybe Uncle John."