Okay, Megan." Bill the engineer's voice echoed in the shadowy studio. "Your second caller tonight is Regina, who says she's having suicidal thoughts."
"Are you—" The intro music blared, ended. Megan glared both at Bill and her new boss Richard Randall, the station manager. They'd agreed calls like this would be referred to a suicide hotline. The silence stretched. Bill waved his arms and pointed, his face reddening.
Dead air was the worst thing that could happen on the radio. Richard drummed that into her so hard in the last few weeks leading to this inaugural show, silence of any kind was starting to make Megan uncomfortable. Not good when you lived alone and had no friends.
"Welcome back to Personal Demons," she finally said. "Our next caller is Regina. Hi Regina, how can I slay your demons tonight?"
Richard nodded. They'd fought over that stupid opening line, just as they'd fought over the immense publicity campaign the studio orchestrated. (radio stations are called stations, not studios. Movie companies are studios)
Richard won, because Richard signed the paychecks. (take out the because and make two shorter sentences. It brings that bit of explanation to a close and signals we're moving on)
Silence. Megan tried again. "Regina? Welcome to the show, Regina."
"I'm scared." The small, almost childish voice brought with it a rush of images that raised goosebumps on Megan's skin. The pale, pointed face of a woman, her limp blond hair tucked behind her ears. Blood, red and viscous, washed across her skin and hid her features. Gnarled six-toed feet stepped in the blood and left prints. (take out everything in italics)
Megan gasped, jumping back in her chair. The vision was so real for a second she expected to see the horrible footprints on the floor of the studio. She shook her head. What the hell was that? (you say this better in the next paragraph)
Bill and Richard went crazy behind the glass. Oops. Time to pretend she wasn't psychic and hadn't just been assaulted by images she didn't understand.
"Sorry, sorry Regina . We had a minor technical problem. You said you're scared?"
"Yes." Regina sniffled. "I can't do it anymore. I can't take it anymore."
"Can't take what?" Now the initial terrifying flash had passed, Megan received more mundane pictures. A car, an office looking like every other office. An attractive man, smiling down at her—at Regina. A boyfriend, maybe?
"The voices. They talk to me all the time. When I'm awake, when I'm asleep…I hear them."
Regina didn't answer right away. Megan pictured her nodding, forgetting they were on the phone. "Evil voices. They tell me to…to hurt myself. To hurt other people. And I don't do it, but I think I might. I have to make them stop."
Shit. This was much, much worse than anything Megan could handle over a quick radio phone call. "Okay, Regina," she said. "Where do you hear these voices? Is it just when you're alone, or is it when other people are with you?"
"At first it was just when I was alone. I tried to be around people all the time, you know? To keep them quiet. But now they're always talking, singing…chanting."
"And you're thinking of harming yourself?"
Regina sobbed, her hitching breaths loud through the phone. "I don't know how to make them be quiet. They won't go away, they won't go away, and they say horrible things, and they want me to do horrible things, and I think if I were dead I wouldn't hear them anymore. I don't want to die. But I can't listen to them anymore either." (exclamation points, use judiciously are your friends)
Regina's problems went further than simply being lonely and depressed. Megan didn't feel organic mental illness from the girl, but mentally sound people did not hear voices. And none of this accounted for that scaly, misshapen foot or the panic it inspired.
"Regina, suicide is never the answer. Listen to me. You can be helped. We can find out why this is happening to you, and we can make those voices go away. Okay? You can be happy again. You're a good person, Regina, and you deserve to be happy, right?"
"I don't know. I don't think so. They told me I'm not, they told me they're with me because I'm bad."
"You're not bad, Regina," Megan forgot her nerves, forgot the radio listeners, and spoke directly to Regina. "Not at all. I bet the people you work with don't think you're bad, do they?" The face of the man in the office flashed up again. "Maybe there's a few people there you can trust, who you can talk to?"
Regina blew her nose, which sounded wonderful on-air. "Maybe."
Pare down. You only need to say things once. And you'd benefit from speaking this aloud and seeing how you'd say it if you were actually talking.
I like this idea, I thought the hook was really good, but it needs more polish before I'd read past the five pages you'd send in a query.