The Last Call
February 11, 2025
The phone rang at exactly 11:57 p.m.
Detective Alex Carter stared at the screen. Unknown number. Normally, he’d let it go to voicemail, but something in his gut told him to answer.
He pressed the button. “Carter.”
A distorted voice crackled through the line. “Room 412. You have three minutes.”
The call ended.
Alex grabbed his coat and bolted out of his apartment. The number was blocked, the voice scrambled. But he recognized the urgency.
Fifteen minutes later, he pushed through the revolving doors of the Blackwood Hotel. The lobby was eerily quiet. The clerk barely glanced up as Alex strode toward the elevators, flashing his badge.
He reached the fourth floor in seconds. Room 412. The door was ajar.
Gun drawn, Alex nudged it open.
The sight stopped him cold.
A man sat slumped in a chair, a single gunshot wound in his chest. Blood seeped into his crisp white dress shirt. In his limp hand was a cellphone, the screen still lit.
Lisa Monroe, his partner, appeared behind him. “Damn it, Alex. You couldn’t wait for backup?”
Alex stepped inside. “I got a call. Someone wanted me to find this.”
Lisa examined the victim. “Looks like he was dead before you even left your place.”
Alex scanned the room. There was no sign of forced entry, no struggle. Just the body, the phone, and a single envelope on the table.
Lisa picked it up, reading aloud. “‘It’s your turn to play, Detective.’”
Her eyes met Alex’s. “This was meant for you.”
Alex clenched his jaw. “And whoever did this is watching.”
Back at the precinct, they ran the victim’s prints. His name was Richard Lawson, a corporate lawyer with no criminal record. Nothing about him screamed target.
Lisa tapped her pen against the desk. “The killer called you. Left a personal message. This isn’t random.”
Alex’s stomach twisted. It wasn’t.
His phone buzzed. Another unknown number.
He answered. “Who the hell are you?”
A chuckle. The same distorted voice. “Enjoying the game?”
Alex gripped the phone. “You killed a man to get my attention?”
“I did worse,” the voice said. “But you’ll have to find out for yourself.”
The line went dead.
Lisa was already tracing the call. “Got it. The signal’s bouncing, but it started near the waterfront.”
Alex grabbed his keys. “Then that’s where we go.”
The docks were quiet, the air thick with salt and rain. A single warehouse light flickered in the distance.
Lisa pointed to a door slightly ajar. “That’s inviting.”
Inside, the place was empty—except for a laptop sitting on a crate. The screen flickered to life as they approached.
A video played.
Security footage. Of Alex. Sitting at a diner. Drinking coffee. Last night.
Lisa inhaled sharply. “They’ve been watching you.”
The screen cut to black. Then, a single line of text appeared.
“One step ahead. Try to catch up.”
Alex clenched his fists.
This wasn’t just a case anymore.
This was personal.