Episode 56 - The Call That Shouldn’t Connect

It was late.

The station had entered one of its gentler phases. The lights dimmed themselves. The air turned still and lavender-scented. Even the monitors were mostly static and sleep.

Olivia was finishing a tea inventory when the phone rang.

Just once.

She picked it up.

“OtherWorlds TV. This is Olivia.”

A pause.

Then: “Hey. It’s me.”

She knew the voice immediately.

Jack.

She didn’t speak. Didn’t breathe.

He filled the silence anyway.

“I… I know you probably don’t wanna hear from me. But I’m in Adelaide. I think? And I don’t remember getting here.”

Another pause.

“Last thing I really remember, I was walking out of your station. Next thing, I’m waking up on a bench with a souvenir spoon in my pocket and a receipt for squid jerky.”

He laughed nervously.

“I don’t even eat squid.”

The phone line crackled. Not static. Not distortion. Just… unease. Like the line itself knew it was stretching too far.

“You ever get that feeling like a hallway’s still following you?” Jack asked. “Like you left a building, but it didn’t let go?”

Olivia pressed the mute button.

Gently.

Then quickly wrote a note.

Jack. On the line. Doesn’t remember leaving. Still doesn’t understand. Should I hang up?

She passed it to Bernard, who had been watching from the hallway, half-submerged in shadow.

He looked at it.

Then wrote:

Let him finish. This is part of it.

She unmuted.

“I’m here,” she said.

Jack exhaled. “Good. I thought maybe—well. I just wanted to say I dreamed about you. Or... someone like you.”

He paused.

“You were wearing the same ears. Same tail. But it wasn’t a costume. It wasn’t a costume.”

She waited.

“I think... you looked happy,” he said, softly.

And then: “I don’t know if I ever saw you happy before.”

The silence stretched.

Olivia didn’t answer.

Jack didn’t press.

The phone crackled again.

And the line disconnected.

She sat there for a long time. The dial tone humming softly. Her hand still on the receiver. Tail wrapped around her boot again.

Behind her, Bernard emerged from the shadow by the stairwell.

He didn’t float all the way forward. Didn’t crowd. Just hovered in the quiet.

And in that gentle, unassuming voice that always carried more weight than it should, he said:

“Goodbye isn’t always clean.”

Olivia didn’t turn around.

She didn’t need to.

She just whispered, “I know.”

And reached for her tea.

Still warm.

Still hers.