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It comes along like crackles, a subtle, nagging tingle, like poorly grounded wire snaking its way out from the handset to curve instead around the base of his skull. His jaw clenches, teeth humming with frustration — not now, he thinks, a clammy sweat already forming along the creases of his furrowed brow.
He pulls open the drawer of his desk, fumbling blindly for a boiled sweet, an ancient sucker, anything to help alleviate what he knows has already formed. The sound of the wrapper makes him wince; he squeezes his eyes shut, speckled pinpricks of light shimmering in the darkness.