Hotline to Murder

the line was open. He said, “Hello,” as he pressed the button to place the call on the speaker.
    A male voice said, “I don’t want to go on.”
    Startled, Tony looked at Shahla. She mouthed the word, “Suicide.” He thought, my God, this is a real call. I’m not playing a role in a class, anymore.

    CHAPTER 2
    “You don’t want to go on,” Tony repeated, using a subdued tone of voice to match the caller’s. He realized he had just used reflection, another listening skill.
    The silence that followed was as deafening as a rock band. He wanted to say something more, but he didn’t know what to say. Shahla was listening intently to the speaker, but she didn’t give any helpful hints.
    “I’m going to end it,” the sad voice finally said.
    “What’s your name?” Tony asked. He needed to establish rapport with the caller.
    After a pause the caller said, “Frank.”
    “Hi, Frank. Do you think you’re going to hurt yourself?” He couldn’t bring himself to use the word “kill.”
    “Yes.”
    “How are you going to do it?”
    “I have a gun.”
    The guy was serious. “Where is it?”
    “In my hand.”
    “Is it loaded?”
    “Yes. It’s pointed at my head.”
    Tony looked at Shahla in panic. She pressed the mute button and said, “Try to get him to put the gun in another room.”
    “Frank,” Tony said, “I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll talk to you, but I can’t do it when you have a gun in your hand. I’m afraid there might be an accident. Will you do something for me? Unload the gun and place it in another room.”
    Silence. Then Frank said, “I won’t unload it.”
    “All right, but please put it in another room, out of sight.”
    They went back and forth for several minutes. Finally, Frank agreed to take the gun to another room. While he was off the line, Tony said to Shahla, “I’m sweating.”
    “Stay with him,” Shahla said, “You’re doing fine.”
    Frank came back on the line and, without being asked, assured Tony that the gun was gone. That was a good sign. Tony said, “There are people who care about what happens to you.”
    “Nobody cares.”
    “I care. I care very much.” And Tony found that he did care.
    Slowly, Frank’s story came out. He had a degenerative disease that was making his muscles useless. He was disabled and his physical condition was deteriorating. At some point he would be completely helpless. Tony wracked his brain, but he couldn’t think of a way to put a positive spin on that. He tried to keep Frank talking. There were long periods of silence, during which Shahla’s support helped Tony remain calm. The phone rang a number of times, but she ignored it.
    An hour into the call, Frank said, “This isn’t going anywhere. I’m going to hang up now.”
    “Don’t hang up,” Tony blurted. “I have something more to say.”
    Silence.
    Tony talked desperately, repeating things he had said, previously, while expecting to hear the click of a hang up at any moment. He had to get some agreement from Frank. Frank had said several times that he didn’t have any relatives or close friends, but he had mentioned that he did have a cat. Tony decided to focus on the cat.
    “What kind of a cat do you have?” Tony asked.
    “Alley cat. He kept hanging around the neighborhood. The neighbors fed him. I never did. But he came in the house one day when I left the screen door open. I couldn’t boot him out.”
    “How long have you had him?”
    “Five years.”
    “What would he do without you?”
    “Go back to being an alley cat.”
    “But he obviously likes you, Frank. You can’t desert him.”
    It was a thin thread, one that might break at any moment. Tony kept Frank talking about his cat. Little by little, Frank agreed that he should stay alive because of his cat. Or did he? Part of the time he seemed to be ready to disavow any agreement.
    Before he hung up, Tony said, “Please call us tomorrow and tell us how you’re doing,” knowing that Frank might never make the call.
    As he put down the receiver, Tony realized that his shirt was soaked. He glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. He had been on the call for two hours. He said, “I’m not sure I convinced him.”
    “You did the best you could,” Shahla said. “That’s all you can do.”
    “To be honest, if I were in his shoes, I would probably want to end it too.”
    “That’s the hardest call you’ll ever get on the Hotline. The suicide calls I’ve had are like, ‘I’m going