they didn’t just let it happen… they planned it…

screen flashed a Phoenix area code. The numbers stared back at me, glowing with an eerie insistence in the dim hotel hallway. A cold dread coiled in my gut.

“Is this Abigail Thompson?” a woman inquired. Her voice carried the sterile, detached cadence of someone who delivers nightmares for a living.

“Yes, speaking,” I replied, pressing the phone harder continue reading …