The Call

I don’t answer calls after 11. That’s one of my rules. Discipline is wealth.
But that night, the phone burned with insistence.
Three missed calls. Same unknown number. No message.

On the fourth, I picked up.

A gap where sound should’ve been. Then her breath. Low. Controlled. Too controlled.

"Mr.10… you don't remember me, do you?"

Her voice had poundage to it.

I leaned back in the chair, staring at the City lights bleeding through my window.

"You'll have to be more specific," I said.

She laughed once.

"I left something with you."

Not gave. Left.

The distinction hit different. My mind moved through names, faces, rooms I'd been in. Yet nothing held itself accountable.

"What exactly did you leave?"

Pause.
Faint in the background, a door creaked. Footsteps followed.
They weren’t hers.

"They found me," she breathed into the receiver.

The line went dead.

I sat there in the dark. Phone still pressed to my ear. The city outside kept moving like it always does.

Like nothing had changed.

To be continued…

Next Chapter — Lady With No Name.