Page 10 of Unhinged

“What do you want?”

She heard him draw in a deep breath before exhaling. “I want you.”

“I don’t⁠—”

“1143 Cypress Drive. Monique needs your help, Carrie.”

“What did you do?” Her voice was little more than a whisper as she gripped the phone.

“It’s almost time.”

“Wait, I don’t⁠—”

She pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at the blank screen. Shivers racked her body, and her hands shook as she dialed the police.

“911, what’s your emergency?”

“M-my name is Dr. Hannah Whitmore.” She swallowed hard and tried to modulate her voice. “I just received a phone call from someone asking for help. 1143 Cypress Drive. I… I think she might be hurt.”

“Ma’am—”

“Just send help!”

She hung up before the dispatcher could say another word. Springing from the bed, heart racing, she yanked on the closest pair of jeans and a sweatshirt to ward off the chill that snaked through her body. Grabbing her phone, she ran down the steps, taking only a moment to gather her hair into a ponytail and check her reflection in the mirror that hung in the hallway.

She snatched up her keys and purse from the side table and threw the front door open, then quickly relocked it before sprinting toward the driveway. Heart still racing, she backed down the driveway and sped toward the exit of the allotment. She braked as she passed the guard station, suddenly realizing she had no idea where she was going. Digging her phone from her bag, she spoke into the microphone. “Find directions: 1143 Cypress Drive.”

The stilted voice in the phone called out directions, and she cut across a back road to a small suburb of Miami. Blue and red lights pierced the dark sky, and dread congealed in her stomach as she pulled up in front of the small house. The men and women on scene moved slowly, milling around the lawn, and her heart dropped to her toes. She was too late.

“What exactly did the caller say?”

She wrapped her hands around the Styrofoam cup, trying to absorb what little warmth filtered through the thick material. “He called me Carrie, told me that the woman—Monique—needed help. I… I was still half asleep, but I remembered the address. I called you guys as soon as I hung up.”

“You said that a male called you, not Ms. Henderson herself?” Detective Sanchez propped a hip on the table and crossed his arms over his wide chest as he inspected her.

“Yes. He had a deep voice, and the way he said it, to send help soon, I had a feeling something bad had happened. He seemed… familiar.”

“Because he called you Carrie?”

“Yes.” She gave a jerky nod. “But there was something else. I can’t describe it, but… I feel like it’s him.”

Detective Sanchez studied her. “You believe this is the same man who killed Selah Wilson?”

“He sounds older, more mature… but there was something about his voice. The tone, maybe. Just the sound of it…”

A shiver raced down her spine at the memory of his words grating over the phone line, and the coffee sloshed precariously in the cup. She leaned forward and set it on the table before lacing her fingers together and pressing them between her thighs, a gesture that always made an appearance when she was nervous.

“The only person who knows about my past is my friend Audrey—Dr. Stanton. We’ve known each other since college, but I haven’t told anyone else. I moved in with my grandparents in Snyder before my senior year of high school and changed my name. No one here has ever known me by anything other than Hannah.”

“I see.” Sanchez dipped his chin. “Ms. Henderson was a nurse at St. Mary’s Hospital. Were you ever in contact with her?”

She shook her head. “No. I’m not a licensed physician, so I don’t have to make rounds. I’ve never met her that I’m aware of.”

“Did the caller say anything else?”

“No, not that I can remember.” She wrung her hands together. “Oh—he did say something like ‘it’s almost time.’”

“In reference to Ms. Henderson?”