Because he's dead." The answer came.

You couldn’t believe what he had just listened.

"W – who are y – you?" I mumbled.

"The man who killed Dormer and the little bastard in the river."

"Why are you calling me then? I haven't seen you and I am not interested in finding out who you are. You've called from the phone booth so there is no chance I can find you by your number. And for Dormer, I don’t care. I've seen many people die in front of my eyes. If someone dies behind my back then I wouldn’t be so much bothered."

"Old man with heart having no place for the dead." Caller giggled, "It is shame you don’t care about the kid who saved you. Shame you don’t care about your friend who made an agreement with you and it shameful your heart still beats for your wife whose heart had stopped four decades ago."

"Fuck out. I want no problems here." I cussed at the murderer. I wanted no part in any sort of trouble.

"You have no interest on it I killed the kid who gave you your life back. And your feet. You still are interested in the woman who died around half a century ago and hasn’t given anything but miseries to you till this date."

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"I had put myself in misery. Now I don’t want to put myself in trouble back again. I'm hanging the call."

"Don’t you want to know what your friend had whispered in ear of death? Don’t you want to listen what the toddler and Dormer had whispered in death's ear? And don’t you have any concern on what you wife had whispered in death's ears? And what death had whispered her back."

"Dead is dead even if she's my wife." I accepted the harsh reality and took a long breath, "I'm not interested in knowing what their last words were. It won't bring them back."

"Do you think it will stop you from me to reach for you?" caller asked.

"What do you want?"

"Some people…." Then he hung the call by himself.

It was the time when I was relieved because the conversation hadn’t turned out to be something which could become a threat to me. But I knew well the threat wasn’t danger, but the man who had killed Dormer was.

I went inside other room, collected some sleeping pills and found the strongest one among them. Then I took it and went on his bed. For a while I forgot the once mute man was no more alive. The poor creature hadn’t even experienced how it felt to live with mouth from where words came.

I slept with sweat all over his body. Even if it was sweaty, he wanted to sleep. And I didn't fear dreams anymore…