How A Late-night Call At The Call Center Changed My Life Forever

One night at the call center

We’ve all been there before. Working till late at night at work and coming in early the next day. I hate those days. Well, at least the staying late part. This night was no different; at least in the beginning.

You see, I’m an insurance agent. The most glorious job in the world said no one ever. The office closes at 10 pm and because my life totally sucks; I get a phone call right at 9:58 pm. I pray this phone call is a quick one. You know the kind, answer the questions, provide a nice tone, and off the line they go; none the wiser that they were just rushed off. I was hoping that it be the kind of quote where I could just enter default information and spit something out really quick and be on my way home. 

Not my luck though. As I answer with the company greeting, I watch with sad eyes everyone around me shut their computers down and walk towards freedom. It will be just me in here soon if I don’t hurry this call-up. I ask the customer on the line what kind of Auto coverage they’d like, the voice on the line went low. 

“State minimums are fine.”

I didn’t argue, I just wanted this over as fast as possible. He then asked me, “Are you alone in the office?” Startled I said, “Uh no. It’s a nice evening through tonight.”

 He chuckled and said, “Seems odd that they would have you stay tonight past 10."

Getting a tad creeped out, I went on and changed the subject back to the quote. “And what state did you say you were in?”

“Why the same as you.”

Um, what? I thought. Is this guy toying with me? Some joke? Who does crap like that? “Ok….,” I said, trying not to sound afraid. “And what is your current city and address?” When I heard him say the address, my blood ran cold. He. Said. My. Exact. Address. Like, my own apartment address in which I stay with my boyfriend. 

He exhaled deeply. “You’ve never noticed me before. I’ve been waiting for you to notice me.”

My mind begins to race. Who is this sick a**h***? “Who are you?” I asked firmly, only for it to come out as some squeak of a voice. 

He said, “You should come home and see.”

Now I’m freaking out. I took my phone out and texted my boyfriend. I told him quickly that I thought someone was in my apartment. He texted back “get off the phone; come home and I’ll meet you there. Call the cops.”

By now the creepy voice was breathing extremely loud. I heard myself say, “Look, I apologize but I am not able to continue with this quote or call any further. Have a good evening.”

The heavy breathing stopped. And I heard his booming voice say, “It will be great once you get home. Until you get here though, I’ll keep your boyfriend occupied.”

My breath caught. Does he know my boyfriend? Knows he’s there? Or coming? Oh God, I have to get out of here now! I hung up the call, signed out, and ran for my car. I unlocked the door and as I climbed in, I glanced all-around making sure I was alone. I took my phone and called my boyfriend. 

“Come on, pick up,” I squealed out of the parking lot. His voicemail picked up, and I screamed on the phone “Derrick! Don’t go inside! Wait for me, wait for the police first!” I called 911 next. The operator had to have thought I was crazy. I didn’t care, I just knew I wasn’t going in that apartment alone, and neither was Derrick. 

I reached home just as a patrol car pulled in beside me. I jumped out screaming for Derrick, looking around for him near his car. I could see he wasn’t there and I start to panic even more. I realized that he had to have gone inside the apartment. The officer asked me to stay back, but by that time I had to see for myself that Derrick was safe. 

I followed the officer to the door. It was ajar. He reached for the light switch; nothing. The officer took out his flashlight and scanned the room when he stopped in the dining area. On the table staring unblinkingly at the ceiling was Derrick. He wasn’t blinking because he was DEAD. I don’t remember much after that. The officer said I screamed and ran to Derrick. 

Later I found out they sedated me and woke up at the hospital. My family asked to the investigators tell me how Derrick died. I pleaded with them to tell me. I had to know. I needed to know. It was after all my text that sent him there that night. I knew it was supposed to be me laying there, not him. Eventually, they told me. 

Derrick had been found on a table in the dining area, with the table covered in blood. The blood was draining off into buckets on the floor. But, it was what was on the wall that they didn’t want me to know the most about. Written in black paint above Derrick’s body was “WHY HAVEN’T YOU NOTICED ME, COLLEEN?”

Denise is a writer who uses history to explain current events. While the subject or event may change; she makes history relevant for all

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