CHAPTER 6 LYNN TATUM

6

Lynn Tatum

GRACIE AND OSCAR WERE screaming now. Fighting about God knows what.

Lynn Tatum dug the palms of her hands into her ears and hummed in hopes of drowning them both out, little good that did. It was like they knew what she was doing and yelled louder to compensate. Where the hell was Josh? Why weren't the pills working?

On her computer screen, another box popped up: Remember—you're not a bill collector, you're a friend! If not for you helping each person you speak to, their credit rating would be negatively impacted. You're doing them a favor! You're a solution to their problem! 31 calls in queue. 31 people waiting for your help! What are you waiting for?

Lynn sucked in a breath, held it, then let it out slowly, just like her doctor told her to.

Work.

Earn.

Get it over with.

Before she could change her mind, she slipped her headset on, scanned the text on her screen, and clicked the Connect button. "Is this Gordon Woolley?"

Landford's system auto dialed, and when a live person picked up, it placed them in the queue with a recording asking them to hold. If they hung up on the recording, it dialed them back from a different number. Once the system had you, it didn't let go. Gordon Woolley had hung up twice in the past minute, according to the time-stamped log.

"Who the hell is this?" The voice was gruff, full of gravel.

"My name is Tamera," she lied. "Am I speaking to Gordon Woolley?"

"What do you want?"

Lynn forced her eyes shut again. "I'm calling on behalf of First Encore Auto Loans. Are you aware that you are three months behind on your car payments and facing repossession on your 2016 Toyota Tundra?"

"Yeah? How is that any of your goddamn business?"

Lynn swallowed. "I've been authorized to make you a one-time offer. If you make two payments with me today, not only can I stop the repossession, but I can cut your third payment in half to get you caught up. How would you prefer to make those payments? I can either take a credit card or your checking account information."

The man on the other end of the line said nothing. He hadn't hung up, though. Lynn could hear him breathing. She added, "Of course, if I cut the third payment in half today, the balance will be due at the end of your loan period."

"If I had the money, don't you think I would have paid it by now?"

Lynn's heart thumped. "If you don't have the funds immediately available, I do have the ability to offer you a low-interest loan against your next paycheck. To do that, I need you to take a photo of your last pay stub and send it to me. Would you prefer to do that in order to bring your account current today, or will a credit card be easier?"

"Fuck you, you ignorant cunt. Don't ever call me again!"

The call disconnected with a hard click. The hang-up didn't sting as much as that particular word did. She hated that word.

Shut it out.

Ignore it.

Don't let it get to you.

A new box filled her screen: Congratulations! You earned $1.37! And we've got better news—For the next 30 minutes, you could earn 20% of whatever you collect! Yay, bonus Sunday! 34 calls in queue. Don't miss out!

The pills made her numb. The pills made it all doable, kept these people from creeping under her skin. So why weren't they working? She looked down at the drawer in her desk. Take another? No. She couldn't take three.

A crash came from down the hall, behind the various closed doors. This wasn't the toy box; this was something bigger. Lynn started to rise from her chair, then dropped back down.

No.

She wouldn't do it.

Whatever mess they made, that was on Josh. He could deal with it. He could clean it up.

A thick rubber band sat on the corner of her desk. Lynn scooped it up, wrapped it around her wrist, and snapped it. Allowed the sting against her skin to work up her arm before she rolled her mouse over the Connect button on her monitor again and clicked the next call. "Is this Klara … Pacheco?"

"Yes."

Lynn snapped the rubber band again. "I'm calling on behalf of Springton Medical Group in regard to your outstanding invoice of …" Although she'd read the details only a few seconds ago, she couldn't remember the exact amount and had to look at the screen again. "$23,681.43."

"My husband passed away last week. Do you think this can wait?"

Lynn went quiet and studied her screen. Lanford's system used sophisticated voice recognition software to analyze what was said and provide several approved responses. Scripts vetted by legal. Because it was fairly repetitive, Lynn had most of those responses memorized. Her mind went blank, though, and she waited for the computer to update. When it did, she scanned the text, then read, "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Pacheco. This particular invoice is nearly a year old. Because it's a medical debt, I can bring it current with a payment as little as one percent. Would you prefer to make that payment with a credit card or from your checking account?"

Please don't cry.

Please don't cry.

Lynn could deal with the name-calling, had no trouble forgetting the ones who hung up on her, but the people who cried? They were the worst.

"That's when the cancer first appeared," the woman said. "A year ago. Springton was Lou's first treatment center. First of four."

Down the hall, Oscar shouted, and that was quickly followed by a scream from Gracie. Lynn cupped her hands over her headphones and pressed them against her ears. Her blood felt hot and itchy under her skin, carried by ants too large for her veins.

Her screen updated with a new response, and Lynn wasn't sure she could read it. She could hang up. Let the system call this woman back and connect her to someone else. Maybe she should do that. When Lynn hesitated a little too long, a new message box appeared: This call is eligible for the 20% collection bonus! You got this!

Lynn closed the message box and scanned the system's response again. If she didn't do it, someone else would. Someone would collect that 20 percent. Why not her? She snapped the rubber band again, did her best to block the emotions roiling in her gut, and read the computer-generated text. "Unfortunately, Mrs. Pacheco, you guaranteed payment to the treatment center with the title of your home. If you are unwilling to make a payment with me today, you'll be at risk of foreclosure. I can prevent that with a payment of $236.81. Do you have your wallet handy? Any major credit card is acceptable."

"And when would the next payment be due?"

Lynn checked the system. "One week."

"One week."

Lynn pulled the rubber band back as far as it would go, let it snap down on her wrist with a crack! and then did it again. "Yes. How would you like to cover it, Mrs. Pacheco?"

The woman's voice began to break. "Do you have a family? Are you married?"

"No," Lynn lied. Beneath her desk, her left foot was tapping like a jackrabbit. Her leg bouncing with it, smacking the underside of the drawer. She willed it to stop, and that was worse, like she shut off a tap and the anxious energy had no place to go, pressed against her insides, inflated like a balloon. Maybe ten seconds passed before her foot started again.

"Of course not. You couldn't do this for a living if you did. If you cared for someone or had someone in your life who cared about you. There's no way you could treat other people this way."

Lynn didn't respond to that. She knew better. She'd been trained to ignore the bait, stick to the script.

Down the hall, Gracie screamed again, and this time she didn't stop. She held it out for nearly a full minute—one long, high-pitched shrill. Lynn smashed down her Mute button somewhere in the middle of it. If the woman heard, she didn't say anything. She was going to pay, Lynn could feel it. She snapped the rubber band again, barely felt it this time. "I need your credit card number, Mrs. Pacheco."

"You're a horrible person. I hope you burn in hell," the woman replied and slammed down the phone.

New message box: Congratulations! You earned $1.37!

Lynn didn't remember taking the pill bottles from the drawer. She certainly didn't remember opening them and lining up one of each next to her keyboard, but there they were. For one brief second, she thought maybe she forgot to take them when she first came in. She'd been half asleep.

Gracie's marathon scream finally came to an end, and both kids went quiet.

Lynn shoved all three pills in her mouth and swallowed. This time, she felt the effects immediately. Maybe her imagination, maybe not. Maybe she had taken the pills earlier … maybe not. She didn't remember and didn't much care. The warmth, numbness … that would come next. That would get her through—

Another scream—Oscar this time.

"Stop!" Lynn shouted out, yelled it as loud as she could. "Shut the hell up! "

The silence that followed was harsh and sharp, abrupt.

Lynn mashed her mouse button down on the Connect link and took another call. "Am I speaking to Louis Martinez?"

Her words came out fast, spilled from her mouth.

Heavy breathing filled the line, nothing else.

"Mr. Martinez?"

No response.

"Mr. Martinez? You're seriously delinquent on your—"

"I told you if you called me again, I'd come to your house and gut you like a pig. You remember that?"

"We've never spoken, Mr. Martinez. I'd like to—"

"You'd like to what?" he spoke in a low drawl, the hint of a Southern accent. "How 'bout this? How 'bout I pay you a visit? You know how you people spoof the caller ID? I bought this gizmo that gets around that and gives me your real number. You're in … where the fuck is Hollows Bend, New Hampshire? Huh, lookie there, it ain't that far. I can be there in a few hours. Maybe I'll do that, and you and I can have ourselves some time together. How you like that? Bet you'd like that lots. You ever take it in the—"

Lynn tore off her headset and dropped it on the desk, ran her hand through her oily hair.

New message box: Congratulations! You earned $0.29! 41 calls in queue ready to talk to you!

Her hands were trembling. Heart pounding like a hammer. Her pajamas clung to her skin with sweat. Whatever she thought she felt from the pills, that was gone. This was something else, and it wasn't good. Overdose? No. Not from … how many had she taken? Just give it a minute. She'd be okay. Pins and needles crawled over her skin, the room swooned, and Lynn closed her eyes as dizziness washed over her. A light show of pinks, reds, and purples against the inside of her eyelids. It all passed in a moment, but it didn't go far. The feeling lingered like a stranger standing on the opposite side of a closed door waiting for the lock to click open.

How long did she sit there like that? Lynn wasn't exactly sure, but her children had gone oddly quiet in those moments. That was either really good or really bad, and she was leaning toward the latter.

She leaned her head back and shouted, "Josh!?"

No answer.

"Gracie and Oscar—what are you two doing?"

Nobody answered. If she'd heard them yelling, they certainly heard her.

She shouted again. Still nothing.

Forty-three calls in queue now.

A new message box: Moving a little slow today? Feeling stressed? If you'd like one of our mental health specialists to call you back, click HERE. Don't let the negative people of the world get you down! We're in this together!

"Fuck you."

Lynn rose, and the fact that she had to hold on to the edge of the desk to pull herself up wasn't lost on her. She stood there for a moment, long enough for the room to go steady. Her nerves felt like tiny firecrackers, pins poking at every inch of her skin. It only grew worse as she stepped out into the hallway, the silence slapping at her.