Word Count: 54,120
Summary of Events:
Walker read through some more of the diaries, but found it hard to read them for long before he got so angry at the record of Mr. Schissler's unkind treatments of his wife and children that he wanted to destroy something. Because of the fact that he'd made connections to Dr. Schissler from multiple different sources, Walker made the choice to contact him regarding the papers that he'd found in the hopes of finding out if anyone in the Schissler family wanted them . . .
Excerpt of the Day:
Looking at the number, Walker felt nervousness creep into his chest and make his breastbone feel cold; he didn’t know why he was so nervous, but he was as he woke up his cellphone in order to make the call.
His hand shaking a little bit, he tapped the numbers in the order they were written on the paper until finally he’d tapped them all, then he tapped the green button to call the number and put his cellphone to his ear.
After three trills sounded in his ear there was an answer from a calm, level, professional-sounding male voice: “Hello?”
“Hello,” Walker replied, feeling nervous. “Is this Dr. Jonas Schissler?”
“It is,” the man replied. “And who is speaking?”
Walker took a deep breath. “Walker Kuznecov.”
Walker took a deep breath. “Walker Kuznecov.”
“And why are you calling?” Dr. Schissler asked.
Desperately Walker looked toward the script he’d written out, fearing that he would feel like this. He didn’t like talking to people he didn’t know over the phone.
“Well, I, um, I work in construction and renovation, and in the house that we’re working on I found some papers I think belong to you,” Walker replied. “And your siblings, and I was wondering if you might want to have them.”
“Is that so?” Dr. Schissler asked, his voice sounding tightened.
Walker swallowed nervously. “I’m willing to show you the papers and you can let me know if, um, they’re yours and, um, what you might want to do with them.”
“I think that would be a good idea,” Dr. Schissler said. “When are you available?”
“Um . . .” Walker got up and went over to the schedules magnetically affixed to the front of his refrigerator and looked. “I’m free Saturday from ten to one.”
“We’ll meet for lunch,” Dr. Schissler replied, naming a restaurant that made Walker’s eyes pop open; it was one of the nicest restaurants in Winnipeg, and not one that was part of any sort of international chain or franchise, but one that was uniquely Winnipeg.
“Um, sure,” Walker replied.
“Eleven thirty,” Dr. Schissler replied brusquely.
“Yessir,” Walker replied.
“See you then,” Dr Schissler replied.
“Will do,” Walker replied.
He heard the line go quiet on Dr. Schissler’s end before he removed the phone from his cheek and ended the call on his side. He then opened the calendar app and input the lunch, with a reminder so he wouldn’t forget an hour in advance.
Even once he’d slid his cellphone back into his pocket Walker still felt shaky. Dr. Schissler had sounded mostly professional until Walker had brought up the papers, then he’d felt like there’d been a brooding anger simmering under the surface and had been petrified that Dr. Schissler was going to come through his cellphone and beat the living snot out of him.
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