Post by account_disabled on Dec 24, 2023 5:51:24 GMT
Oliver said goodbye to his wife and daughter for the last time that morning. He needed time. He set off without a specific destination, driving where instinct took him, thinking about his future. He chose a hotel to spend the night, eight hundred miles from his house, and in his telephone booth he tried to call his wife to reassure her. A recorded voice replied that the dialed number did not exist. He tried for a whole hour, but in vain. So he called the telephone company. The young lady replied that in fact that number did not exist. The address given by Oliver also did not appear in the subscriber list nor had she ever heard of it before.
Was he really sure that that number and that address were right? Oliver hung up without answering. It was strange, was it possible that he didn't remember his Special Data number or where he lived? He decided to go to sleep and try again the next day. But the next morning the same situation repeated itself. Oliver spent a week of hell, struggling between the will to detach himself to find himself and give meaning to his life and the desire to return, to discover that mystery. He was tired, destroyed in his soul. He was now wandering around the hotel like a ghost.
The clerk looked at him badly, disapproving of that neglected aspect of him. Oliver didn't even seem to notice and went into the phone booth to try again. But that number, Oliver's home number, was non-existent. The man, almost beside himself with anger, called the clerk. Maybe it was a problem with the device, he tried to say. “Our phones are all in perfect working order, sir,” he replied smugly. «And then you should shave, sir...» he finally addressed him. Oliver felt like a finished, lost, distant man. The next day they found the clerk in the telephone booth, his neck red and swollen, his mouth open. He had been strangled with wire. But Oliver was never found.
Was he really sure that that number and that address were right? Oliver hung up without answering. It was strange, was it possible that he didn't remember his Special Data number or where he lived? He decided to go to sleep and try again the next day. But the next morning the same situation repeated itself. Oliver spent a week of hell, struggling between the will to detach himself to find himself and give meaning to his life and the desire to return, to discover that mystery. He was tired, destroyed in his soul. He was now wandering around the hotel like a ghost.
The clerk looked at him badly, disapproving of that neglected aspect of him. Oliver didn't even seem to notice and went into the phone booth to try again. But that number, Oliver's home number, was non-existent. The man, almost beside himself with anger, called the clerk. Maybe it was a problem with the device, he tried to say. “Our phones are all in perfect working order, sir,” he replied smugly. «And then you should shave, sir...» he finally addressed him. Oliver felt like a finished, lost, distant man. The next day they found the clerk in the telephone booth, his neck red and swollen, his mouth open. He had been strangled with wire. But Oliver was never found.