Creative Writing: An Inspector Calls

The phone rang twice now, and the lean figure of the half naked man sprawled on the plush queen size bed finally groans. It's a classical one, D Major, one to sooth a lover of fine music. He's not a lover of such music, however, he's into blues and jazz, but it didn't escape him the wish to strangle the person who put that tune on his phone. How he wish it meant as a joke. The person who customize the tune clearly wants to piss him off. And because of that, Will Graham ignored the damn thing and rolled to his side, burying his face deeper to the pillows. "Go fuck yourself," he muttered. It rang again, and again, and again. Finally, Will had enough. Though his whole body felt like lead, he stretched his arm to reach for the phone on the

Will grabbed the gun that he safely stashes under the pillow and took a slow meandering path towards the dimly lit hallway, aiming ahead and ready to shoot anything that moves. His hackles rise at the sight of the living room. It was bright, all lights up and the blinds were drawn open, making the room bare for the surrounding skyscrapers. His blue eyes swiftly past the main door. It was sealed shut but obviously, the security lock was fucked up now. He was about to push the main control for the window blinds when Mozart caught him mid-stride. The tune thrilled the air once more and…*there it is*. At the center of the room, on the coffee table, still shrieking that fucking version of Lacrimosa was the rectangular matte black colored mass of a gadget. He flicked his gaze to the building adjacent to his suite room. 31st floor, third window to the left, a figure looming in the shadows. Will smirked. Bingo. "Speak," he answered the phone in a flat voice, or more like bored. Surely, the one holding his attention is fully aware of Will Graham's profile. Distinct. Dangerous. Lethal. And needed something from him. Even the moron had Will under the crosshair, the assassin, whoever they are, won't kill him. Not yet, at

"No one told you your flirting sucks, yes? I admired your breaking in though, I tell you that." "Let's get down to business." Will hi-five himself for outing her annoyance within three seconds, proving he hasn't lost his touch. The person he's living with back home was the epitome in that regard. "Yes, laugh," she said as she sensed she was being ridiculed. "Laugh all you want. I will not gamble the cards yet if I were you, Mr. Graham." "Indulge me," he just can't help himself, "I might take the bait." "You're a funny man, Mr. Graham." "No, but you know what's funny? My thoughts a while ago. You see I was planning to break this glass here to make an epic jump from this building to yours and strangle your neck -- technically it'll work, if I'm Spider-man -- but then you said *I'm funny*, all of that had disappeared, gone -- *poof!*" he made a dramatic sound on the last part. "I am so pleased when I making people happy. It helps boost my confidence to kill annoying people like you." "You are full of yourself, aren't you?" "You're not bad yourself." Will yawned. "Jesus, look, it's getting late and I'm tired and bored, and I don't want to get bored, It makes my hands itch so get to the point. I'll start counting sheep if you don't." "Hannibal