R.S.V.P.

         The desert sun stung his eyes as it shone down harshly on the phone booth. The man in the big denim jacket made no move to turn away. He just closed his eyes, and lifted his head to directly face the sun. He found the blood red glare reassuring.

         In his left hand, he clutched a small rag doll. He pressed her tightly against his chest, over his heart. She had yellow hair and blue eyes. She smelled like cinnamon and old sweat. She had been living in the big denim jacket for several days.

         The man’s right hand held the phone’s receiver, index finger extended to dial. His hand shook as he slowly pressed the eleventh digit, and he became acutely aware that he needed a fix. His teeth began to chatter at the sound of the first ring, so he clenched his jaw tight, and waited.

         He counted the rings as if they were significant, like the chiming of a clock. One, she loves me. Two, she loves me not. Three, blind mice. Four, voice mail? Five, guess not. Six, pick up sticks. Seven, she loves me not. Eight, she loves me not. Nine, she loves me not.

         "Hello?" she answered, tentative.

         Her voice startled him. He had almost forgotten what he was doing, who he was calling. A chill ran down his spine, and his whole body shook. He blinked, but could see nothing in the glare. He closed his eyes again, faced the sun, and wished the shaking would stop.

         He took a long breath and blew it all the way out, and blew the shaking away with it. “Laura," he said. In his mind's eye he could almost see her. She looked older than he remembered. She hasn't been getting enough sleep, he mused. But she's still beautiful. He wanted to reach out and hold her again. Just once more.

         He imagined her in the war room, surrounded by computers and technicians who were now scurrying to complete the trace. He sighed. "It's Bender," he said.

         He waited. Dead silence. She's holding her breath, he realized. She’s holding her breath, waiting for me to say something. "I ... I just wanted to let you know ..." he paused again, letting the moment wash over him, "... I wanted to let you know, I'm coming home."

         Dead silence, again. He waited, trying to see her face, but his mind’s eye was blank now. He heard her take a small breath, and imagined a technician mouthing the words "We got him." He waited for her to say something. Anything. Please, say something.

         She hung up.

         Bender stood still, face to the sun, phone to his ear. Like a statue, breathing. He tried to open his eyes to the sun, but it was too bright. "I love you, too," he said, as if someone was listening. He tried to hang up, and fumbled, leaving the receiver to swing back and forth at the end of its metal cord. A pendulum, steadily ticking down the seconds until oblivion.

         Blindly, he pushed his way out of the phone booth, the red haze in his eyes slowly giving way to the image of the desiccated ghost town around him. “One way or another,” he said, “the Bitch is going to die.”

         The town said nothing back.

         He shuffled away, wondering where he could get a drink. And some sunglasses.