Chris Carter - The Caller

Dr. Barnes got to her car and grabbed the leaflet, ready to throw it away. Only this time it wasn’t a leaflet, it was an envelope. Across its front, large letters, which had all been cut out from some glossy magazine, had been glued together to spell her name.

‘What the hell?’ she whispered as she placed her briefcase on the floor and tore open the envelope.

Her surprise heightened. Inside it she found a single piece of paper folded in half, with yet more cut-out letters and words stuck together to create a short message. She unfolded it and was about to read it when she heard some sort of noise coming from her left, or at least she thought she did. Her eyes immediately shot in that direction. In the dim parking-lot light she saw nothing. There was no one there. Dr. Barnes dragged her gaze around the nearly empty lot. Still she saw nothing. No one. Her attention returned to the piece of paper in her hand and she finally was able to read the note.

‘What?’ she asked, frowning, before impulsively looking up again. The parking lot was as still as a moment ago.

Her eyes went back to the beginning of the note and she read it again. This time, as she got to the end of it, she let out a half-humorless laugh.

‘What a silly, stupid prank. Does someone expect me to believe this?’ she asked herself, ready to trash the whole thing; but that was when she noticed that there was something else right at the bottom of the envelope.

She tipped it on to the palm of her right hand.

A split second later, her heart froze.

Hunter had stayed behind in his office after Garcia had left. Even though he wasn’t very prolific with Facebook, Twitter, or any other social media network, he wanted to dig a little deeper into the personal profiles of Karen Ward, Tanya Kaitlin and Pete Harris. He began by carefully rereading all forty-six comments under Pete Harris’s Facebook post about ‘brainlaziness’. Still none stood out, with the exception of Tanya Kaitlin’s comment, explicitly admitting that she didn’t know a single phone number by heart. Sure, Karen Ward’s killer could’ve come across that same information through a number of different methods, making that whole post nothing more than just a coincidence, but Hunter had never really believed in coincidences, especially in this case, where Karen had asked Tanya a very direct question — Really? Not even mine? What a great best friend you are lol.

Hunter spent the next hour and a half click-jumping from one profile to another, reading posts and looking at photos and uploaded images. The more he read, the more images he looked at, the more surprised he became. In short, people were laying their lives bare over the Internet for anyone who cared to read about it, and even though most social media sites tended to offer quite extensive security settings, a lot of people still chose to ignore them.

By 9.30 p.m., Hunter’s eyes were watering from squinting at his computer screen. He needed to get out of that office.

Hunter’s biggest passion was single malt Scotch whisky. Back in his apartment, tucked in a corner of his living room, an old-fashioned drinks cabinet held a small but impressive collection of single malts that would probably satisfy the palate of most connoisseurs. Hunter would never consider himself an expert on whisky but, unlike so many, he at least knew how to appreciate its flavor and quality, instead of simply getting drunk on it, though sometimes getting drunk worked just fine.

He thought about going home, where he could indulge in as much single malt as he wished without breaking the bank, but he quickly debated if staying in tonight was such a good idea.

Hunter lived alone. No wife. No girlfriends. He’d never been married, and the relationships he had rarely lasted longer than just a few months, sometimes a lot less. The pressures that came with being a detective with the LAPD’s UVC Unit, and the commitment the job demanded, always seemed too much for most to understand and cope with. He didn’t mind being by himself. Living alone didn’t bother him either, but he was still human and sometimes the loneliness of his small apartment was the last thing he needed. Tonight was one of those nights.

Los Angeles nightlife was arguably one of the liveliest, craziest, and most exciting in the world. The spectrum of choice was almost interminable, going from luxurious and trendy nightclubs, where the rich and famous mingled with Hollywood stars, to themed bars and dingy, sleazy underground lounges and parties, where the freaks came out to play. Whatever mood, crazy or not, you found yourself in, you were sure to find a place in LA to suit it. Tonight, Hunter was in the ‘stiff but quiet drink’ mood.

‘Are you listening to me, John? Because if you are, keep your eyes on the screen.’

The unwavering determination in the digitally altered voice sent a sickening knot into Mr. J’s stomach. His eyes, full of doubt and anger, forever locked with Cassandra’s, full of fear. But in them, he also saw something else. Something he’d seen before many times, but never in his wife’s eyes. He’d seen it in the eyes of the people he dealt with, the people he terminated — desperation brought on by the total loss of hope.

Cassandra still had no idea what was happening, and why it was happening to her, but she trusted her husband with the utmost devotion and until a second ago she had blindly believed his words.

‘ Cassandra, honey, please listen to me. Everything will be fine, OK. I’ll get this figured out. I promise you, my love. I will die before I let anything happen to you .’

But now she realized that that just wasn’t true. What could he really do? How could he stay true to his word? How could he stop harm from coming to her? How could he protect her when he was miles away?

Cassandra’s confusion was immeasurable. She had never seen her husband look so emotionless. She had never heard him speak so coldly. That was not the Mr. J she knew. That was not the man she had married. The man she had married was a business consultant. He ran his own small firm, didn’t he?

‘ I work for the most powerful syndicate in Los Angeles. The most powerful syndicate in the whole of California. A syndicate that doesn’t abide by any laws. It makes its own. My role within this syndicate is very specific. I am what you might call “the last enforcer” of their rules — the last instance in their problem-solving chain. In fact, I’m “the end of the chain”. If I come to see you, I will be the last person you will ever see .’

What in the world was he talking about? Was any of it true? If he was bluffing to try to scare away the man in her house, it certainly didn’t seem to be working.

‘Keep your eyes on the screen,’ the demon said again.

All of a sudden, almost as fast as the slap Cassandra had received earlier, Mr. J saw a gloved hand come from his wife’s right and stab her in the neck. Her entire body jerked heavily, first from the impact, then from the pain. Her mouth dropped open, ready for the inevitable scream, but all her petrified vocal cords were able to let out was a humble cry, barely loud enough for it to be picked up by her cellphone’s microphone.

‘NOOOOOOOOO!’

Instead, the defining scream came from Mr. J.

Still with his phone in hand, he jumped to his feet, lost his balance, but quickly regained it by grabbing hold of the bed. The knot in his stomach turned into a bottomless pit that threatened to swallow him whole.

Cassandra’s eyes, still sealed with his, lost all their focus in a mere second. Life was fast giving way to numbness.

As the gloved hand pulled away, Mr. J realized what had really happened. From the angle of the stabbing, blood should’ve spurted out from Cassandra’s jugular vein with enough pressure to project it across the room. He knew that well enough, but instead, all he saw was a tiny blob form where her skin was pricked by the syringe needle.