Chris Carter - The Caller

Too many shelving units down in that basement. Too many places one could hide behind — that worked both ways. If Holden could hide behind them, so could Hunter... or so he thought.

Without turning his head, Hunter’s eyes quickly moved left then right. The closest shelving unit to him was on the left, but it was about seven feet away — way too far for him to get to before a bullet either blew his head off or added a hole the size of a grapefruit to his back.

‘Still wondering if you’re quick enough, Detective?’ Holden asked. ‘Why don’t you give it a go and we’ll find out. My money is on me. Want to take that bet?’

No reply.

‘Arms wide open, Detective,’ Holden repeated. ‘Weapon dangling from your left index finger. Do it now.’

Hunter knew he had no other option but to comply. He took a deep breath and did as he was told.

‘Now, toss it to your left. Don’t drop it, toss it , and make me believe you mean it.’

Hunter didn’t move.

‘ Now , Detective.’

Angering a man holding a three fifty-seven Magnum was a mistake in any imaginable scenario. Angering a serial killer holding a three fifty-seven Magnum was just plain stupid.

Hunter flicked his wrist firmly and his weapon flew across the room. As it hit the floor several feet away, it slid up to a cardboard box by a shelving unit. Hunter followed it with his eyes.

‘Keep your arms wide open, Detective,’ Holden said. ‘They come down, you go down, minus a head, is that clear?’

‘Crystal.’

There was a long silent pause and Hunter couldn’t help but wonder if he was about to get shot in the back anyway. What did the killer have to lose? He’d already killed three people, and according to his ‘death board’, there were nine more still to come. Adding Hunter to that list wouldn’t make a difference.

‘Admit it, Detective...’ Holden finally broke the silence. Hunter could tell he had moved a little to his left. ‘You’re impressed by my work, aren’t you?’

Hunter hadn’t seen it, but Holden had nodded at the board.

‘I’m not sure “impressed” is the word I’d use, Nick.’ Despite how fast Hunter’s heart was beating, he still managed to keep his voice composed and its pace steady. ‘More like... sickened by it.’

The new pause that followed felt heavy and Hunter wondered if he had just sealed his fate with his poor choice of words.

‘That’s because you don’t understand it, Detective.’

This time Hunter put more thought into his reply. ‘What is there to understand, Nick?’

Hunter kept using Holden’s first name for a very simple reason — he was trying to insert a subliminal message into his sentences. Trying to make Holden’s subconscious mind perceive him as a friend, not an enemy. As he spoke, Hunter’s eyes stayed on the board in front of him. The more he looked at it, the more dots he connected.

‘You were... punishing innocent people by killing someone they were close to. Someone they loved.’

The three familiar faces with the red ‘X’ over them didn’t belong to the killer’s three victims. They belonged to the people who the killer had called — Tanya Kaitlin, John Jenkinson and Erica Barnes. They had been the real targets of the ‘video-call killer’.

‘Innocent?’ Holden asked, his tone almost sarcastic. ‘Have you looked at the pictures at the top of each column?’

‘I have,’ Hunter confessed.

‘And can’t you see what they’re doing?’ Holden’s voice was still calm, but Hunter could tell that anger was starting to creep into it.

‘Yes, I can.’

The accident Hunter had read about back in his office was the connecting link between Holden and his targets... his victims. It was the reason behind all his torturing. The reason behind all his murders.

The accident had happened three and a half years ago in Lancaster, Northern Los Angeles. At around two in the morning, on Sierra Highway — a single-carriageway road that links Los Angeles to Mojave — a blue Ford Fusion driving south crossed over on to the north-heading traffic and collided head-on with a white Saturn S. Both occupants of the Ford Fusion, a couple in their early twenties, died instantly. The Saturn S was carrying a family of four: Nicholas Holden; his wife of ten years, Dora; and both of their daughters, nine-year-old Julie and Megan, seven and a half. Nicholas Holden was the only survivor of that tragic collision.

Back in his office, Hunter had had no trouble accessing the report by the Collision Investigation Unit. The conclusion reached by the investigating detective had been that the accident took place because the driver of the Ford Fusion had diverted her attention off the road. The reason for that, as witnessed by the driver of another car, was that she had been using her cellphone to take a selfie with her boyfriend while the vehicle was moving at speed.

That was the recurring theme on all the photographs on Holden’s board — a selfie taken with either friends or family while the subject was driving.

In Tanya Kaitlin’s photo, which was the same photo Hunter had come across back in his office, she and Karen Ward had big bright smiles on their faces while Tanya held her cellphone at arm’s length. The motion blur that could be seen through the passenger’s window left no doubt that the car was moving.

A similar photo had been taken by Mr. J. His wife Cassandra was sitting on the passenger seat, smiling. Their son Patrick was giving them both bunny ears with his fingers from the back seat.

Erica Barnes and her sister, Dr. Gwen Barnes, were both making silly faces at the camera while Erica, the driver, took the shot.

‘Did you know that one in every four traffic accidents in the USA is caused as a consequence of a driver using a cellphone?’ Holden’s voice got angrier. ‘One in every four, Detective.’

Hunter knew the statistic, but he remained silent. His arms were starting to tire.

‘I lost my entire family that night,’ Holden continued. ‘My wife, who was thirty-six, and my two daughters. The oldest was nine years old. The youngest, seven. They all died because some stupid woman decided to snap a selfie while driving down a highway, so she could upload it to her goddamn Facebook page. Now is that fair?’

Another piece of the puzzle just slotted into place — social-media websites. That was the reason he searched them.

‘I too lost my life that night, Detective,’ Holden said. The anger was gone from his voice. ‘One moment I had everything to live for — a beautiful wife and two gorgeous daughters — the next... all gone. My life was left without meaning. My heart had nothing to beat for anymore.’

Another heavy pause.

‘After the accident,’ Holden continued, ‘I spent six months in hospital then another year just... existing... vegetating in this world, really. Everything I did, I did robotically, without any meaning. For me, life became nothing more than a vacuum.’

Hunter noticed that Holden’s voice had moved again. This time, slightly to the right.

‘Despite all the counseling I was given, nothing seemed able to stop the destructive thoughts that tormented me almost daily. Not towards others, but towards myself. Without my family, it didn’t seem like I belonged in this world anymore. But isn’t life ironic, Detective? When I was finally about to succumb to those destructive thoughts, when I had finally decided that I just couldn’t vegetate any longer, I witnessed something that changed my life. As I was sitting at a coffee shop, wondering about the best way to go, I saw a car take out a mother holding a child at a crosswalk. The accident happened because the driver was distracted. Want to have a guess why?’