The Call
Charcoal skies and the pitter patter of raindrops had always soothed the soul of Asher Von Trapp. His favorite part of living in New York City was spending a rainy morning either reading Russian tragedies over a cup of coffee at a local cafe or working on his novel in the comfort of his cozy Lower East Side apartment. Our story begins with Asher participating in the latter activity, chipping away sentence by sentence on his laptop to the sound of smooth jazz, rain drops, and the faint rumblings of motor vehicles. The book is the third installment of an eventual four part magical-realism series following an artist whose paintings create portals to parallel universes, all of which turning into dystopian nightmares that mirror many aspects of our own world.
Asher Von Trapp was quickly making his name as an upcoming author because of his creativity and unique ability to capture the human spirit, but his day job was being a professor of literature at the prestigious New York University. He took pride in being the third youngest faculty member in the school's long history; Asher accepted the role after the completion of his PhD at Columbia a few years earlier. He has since enjoyed the life of being a distinguished academic and bachelor in America's largest and most diverse metropolis.
When he finished putting the final touches on chapter 13 of his novel, Asher began to prepare for his lecture coming up that afternoon. It was the beginning of the fall term, and he was teaching a course on Modernist Literature that he was excited about. It was not his favorite era of literature, but it was one that interested him very much and one in which he enjoyed teaching. Asher put on his headphones, listening to some voice notes that he recorded the night before to help him remember the key points of his lecture that day, most of which pertaining to Franz Kafka's "The Trial." As he listened, he took out his blender from the cabinet and began to make his personal favorite, a blackberry and banana smoothie with Greek yogurt and a quarter scoop of vanilla protein powder. He always tried to drink it slowly, but after a couple sips he could not help but down the deliciously fresh smoothie in a few big gulps.
It was 11am, and with his lecture not beginning until two, Asher laced up his red Reebok running shoes and switched his choice of audio from his own lecture notes to his pre-historic running playlist. The playlist consisted mainly of early 90s grunge music and 2000s pop-punk. Though new tracks seldom entered the playlist, it was made up of a few hundred songs so that they always remained somewhat fresh when they came on. He put his phone on Do Not Disturb and took to the streets for a three to four mile run, depending on how he was feeling.
It was a relatively warm September morning, and the rain had turned into more of a drizzle. It was picture-esq conditions for many runners. Asher decided to run across the Brooklyn Bridge and back, a route he usually stayed away from due to the crowding of tourists, but on a Monday morning it usually wasn't too bad. He kept a good pace, easily trotting along at about a nine minute mile, taking things a bit easy but still working up a decent sweat. He usually saved his long runs for Saturdays, Mondays were more of a recovery run. Asher was training for a half-marathon that would take place in Central Park at the end of October. Running was somewhat of a new habit of his, in fact he went multiple years without doing anything but yoga and lifting weights. It was a hobby suggested by his therapist, not only as a way to improve his cardiovascular system, but as a mental exercise as well.
He got back to the apartment around 11:45 after a solid 4.1 mile run at 36 minutes and a bit of stretching as a cool down. Asher took off his sweaty shoes and shirt but procrastinated on getting into the shower because of how hungry he was. He filled an old metal pot up with water to bring to a boil and gently placed four eggs in. While the eggs boiled, he jumped into a cold shower, something he had been trying to implement into his routine recently. He had heard that a cold shower can significantly increase the amount of dopamine released in the brain. Also, he was conditioning his brain to do things that he did not want to do, trying to find comfort in uncomfortable situations.
The first few seconds were always the worst, but then the body adjusts. He was in the shower for a good five minutes, getting out and drying off in time to turn the stovetop off. He grabbed a big bowl and filled it with cold water and some ice cubes. He then made a smooth transition of the eggs from the boiling pot to iced water. From there, he peeled the shell off nice and easy after letting the eggs cool. Asher sprinkled some Himalayan salt and a little bit of black pepper on the eggs. After cutting the first egg in half with his fork, he saw the perfectly golden, slightly moist yoke and congratulated himself on another gourmet performance in the kitchen.
After quickly devouring the eggs and grabbing a couple handfuls of blueberries from the fridge, Asher realized he had forgotten to take his phone off of Do Not Disturb following the completion of his run. As soon as he tapped the button, his phone began pinging rapidly. There were multiple calls and text messages, mostly from his sister Petra who was living overseas in New Zealand as an environmental researcher. Asher followed the directions of the text message and called her right away.
As soon as the lines connected, Asher could hear that something was very wrong. He heard the sound of muffled sobs and short breaths in succession. "Petra, what is going on? What's happening?" he asked, very alarmed now.
"It's Fritz… Fritz is… He's dead Ash, our brother is dead."
As Petra had gotten the grim news off her chest, her sobs became uncontrollable. All Asher could do was stay on the line and listen to his sister's heart shattering, trying to contemplate the meaning of her words. The words were suffocating him. "Our brother is dead…"