Permission

Nicholas hesitated for a moment, staring at the chipped rotary dial as though it might have the answers he sought. His hand shook slightly as he picked up the receiver, and the cold metal felt unwelcoming against his palm.

He wished such communucation was available at Odombury but rarely was there ever a phone booth down the street. Its mountains and jagged plains made it difficult to establish proper signals unless it was a government agency, in which case there were many in the same building.

He inhaled deeply, his breath fogging up the glass of the booth, and then he dialed, carefully recalling the numbers he thought belonged to Henry. The rotary clicked back into place with each digit. As he waited for the call to connect, he adjusted his weight onto his cane.

A voice came through, scratchy but unmistakable.

“Is this Henry speaking?”

A pause. Then, sharp and familiar: “What do you want?” he was quick to recognise his friend.

Nicholas hesitated, “Where are you?”