No One Can Hear You Scream (Binge-worthy domestic psychological thrillers) by A.B. Whelan

Author:A.B. Whelan [Whelan, A.B.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Burbank Books
Published: 2021-10-18T05:00:00+00:00

CONNOR

The hot sun is beating down on me from the clear sky, burning the back of my neck and scorching the already drought-stricken land around us. At least it’s a dry heat and not that sticky shit they have in Florida or up north in the summer months.

Last August, my crew worked slightly east of Santa Barbara, replacing poles and parts on electrical lines. The city reported record heat that month we were there. And as if the high temperatures weren’t enough, the ocean layer brought moisture to add to our misery. We were sweating like pigs in a pen on that job. On trying days when Mother Nature seems to conspire against us, switching to a shirt-and-tie office job looks tempting. However, the feeling is fleeting. After a long day in the field, I go home, jump into my pool, and grab a cold one, and I’m a happy man again.

Today we’re working close to the Mexican border near Tecate. There’s nothing out here but desert, snakes, and chaparral bush.

I watch the lineman rechecking the connections one last time before re-energizing the lines my crew has been working on all day. I keep an eye on their every move because this site is my responsibility. I wish I didn’t have to hover over them as if they were children, but last week, one of my linemen grounded a line into a nearby house instead of the main ground, and the whole transformer damn near blew up. It was quite a fireworks show. When it’s a contract job with one of the big electric companies, we can’t afford to make clusterfuck mistakes like that. I haven’t decided yet if I’ll recommend the lineman that made that mistake to be let go or not. A weak link in a crew can ruin the reputation of the entire team, as there’s little room for error in what we do. But he is a family man with mouths to feed, so I’m conflicted about what to do.

When the lineman’s voice comes through the radio telling me he’s ready to energize the line, I bring my hand to my brow to block the glare from the sun and give his work one last inspection. I nod and give him two thumbs-up. He pushes the fuse back into place and activates the line.

No sparkles.

That’s good.

After the guys check the voltage, I yell at the groundsman to lower the crane and bring my people to the ground.

We are done for the day. It’s about damn time.

As I load the tools into my truck, I spot Tim, one of the groundsmen, by the edge of a slope, gulping water out of a bottle. His face is caked with dirt, and black rings line his neck. When he is finished drinking, he wipes the spilled water from his thick manicured beard. His trendy facial hair is the most envied feature among most of the younger men.

Most of these guys on the job are here from Kansas or Missouri.

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