She Never Returned My Calls

"She Never Returned My Calls"
by
W. P. Gerace

It had been a week since millionaire Irma Flannighan stepped into Eric's office, her appearance not the usual astute, confident woman he knew her to be. This Irma was quite different. She had a haggard look in her pale skin. Indeed, there were more wrinkles and stress ingrained into her appearance. Eric felt Irma aged nearly twenty years. Usually, she had her hair done up in a fancy bun held by one of her forty-karat gold clips. Not this day, her hair hung loosely, not even combed, almost straggly and oily, reminding him of one of those homeless people he had seen in downtown Phoenix. Gone was the fire from her deep blue eyes.

She needed a divorce from her newly married husband, Rocco Franks. There was little time, and she could not go into it now. Shaking her hands were so frail her veins raised along the tops of her flesh as if she were an older woman suffering from Varicose Veins. Practically losing hold of her Vape between her fingers, her voice extremely hard to understand. It was as if she was fragile and worn down. It was barely above a whisper. The one thing Eric did recall from that brief meeting and one he promised to adhere to was please call me in three days. I want to meet you somewhere discreet and explain everything. Have the divorce papers ready, please, Eric. Holding Eric's hands, he could feel her pulse. It was so light, almost nonexistent.

Eric could not wait the 3 days she asked him to. Later that night, he called Irma's private cell number. Irma had been his client for nearly fifteen years and had more of a bonded relationship beyond lawyer and client. They had been friends since college and quickly connected. Deep down, Eric always felt for the gorgeous chestnut-haired woman with deep sky-blue eyes, but she was out of his lane. She was always moving in higher circles, climbing ladders, buying businesses, and advancing wherever possible. Eric was no poor man by any means; his parents were District Attorneys, but Irma was in a league of her own. Silently, the phone rang in his ear, and her chirpy yet business-like voice greeting came on. Hi there, you have reached Irma Flanngan. Please leave your name and phone number, and I will reply. Have a great day, and be safe. Despite her business interests and her assets, she never gave that aura that some of his other clients did. No, Irma Flannigan was in a class all her own.

Sitting in his office, it had been seven days since he last saw Irma. He has text-called, sent emails, called again, reached out to friends, and the results were the same. She has yet to return one of his calls. This differed from the Irma Flannighan he had known for the past twenty years. Grabbing his coat and briefcase, he took a ride to her home.

During the drive to Irma's house, Eric could not help but wonder what was happening. She was not easily defeated, but she appeared mentally and physically drained that day last week. Not one ounce of makeup was on her pale cheeks. Her lips were a deep purple, as if she had some sort of anemia.

Eric never trusted Rocco Franks. He had a few of his own people research his background. Not much could be said about Rocco outside of his business dealings. But there was something behind those sable eyes of his. There was nothing but cold darkness in Rocco Franks.

Irma's house even looked different to Eric as he pulled up. Usually, the massive three-story white stucco property would be lit with brilliant lights. The grass would be watered and a bright emerald green. The Azulia would bloom and spread love throughout the 400-acre property. There were no lights, and the grass was just about dead, its brown stubs barely alive. The Azelia's were beyond droopy; they needed major resuscitating or would be gone for good.

Knocking on the door, Eric heard nothing but a dead silence. Without much force, the mahogany door opened. Everything was dark inside. It smelled of mold, and something was rotting in there.

Sitting over in a wooden chair was Irma. She had a dazed look in her eyes. Gone were any signs of hope in her eyes. They were black and cold, just like her soon-to-be ex-husband.

"Irma, I have been calling you the past week, but you haven't answered or returned any of my phone calls. This is not like you. Are you ok, Irma?" Eric spoke, but he felt he was talking to a woman who had suffered a significant stroke or some major health crisis.

"Eric, come closer. I have missed you so much. I just haven't felt well. Please come to me, my friend. "Putting out her hands, they didn't seem as shaky as before.

Walking over, Eric wanted to comfort his best friend. He knew deep down Rocco was responsible for this. No woman should ever go through this. Hugging her, that pungent stench was more prominent. Eric was ready to vomit when he felt a piercing in his neck. Irma drank his blood, moaning in ecstasy as she lapped every drop of him. Clutching onto the edge of the chair, trying to pull away was no match for Irma's increased strength. Clamping his hands down as she drank his life juice spilling from him as the world he was accustomed to became foggy. Unable to sustain consciousness, the last thing he knew, he was crashing into Irma's hard marble floor.