A bit of belated fiction for this week's Sunday Scribblings.
As soon as she heard the first ring, Elle-Marie knew - instinctively - that something was wrong. Legan, the only person with any reason to call, had already checked in several hours ago saying he was about to cross the border. He didn't expect to make contact again for at least a day.
Elle-Marie stared at the vibrating, flashing phone and felt her palms begin to sweat. It was an unknown number, and it was late in the evening. She pondered for a moment whether it was possible to ignore the call completely, but she knew she must answer, if only to hear the voice on the other end of the line and have a fighting chance at identifying that person at some point in the future.
With a trembling finger, Elle-Marie pressed the green button.
"I know what you are doing," said a rough male voice. "If you don't stop, I will make the floor drop from underneath you, and you will feel the beginning of a slow descent to hell."
Elle-Marie's heart began pounding in her throat. She felt dizzy, disoriented, her mind racing with a thousand possibilities. It became difficult to breathe. The call meant someone knew the secret, that she and Legan were no longer safe.
For the first time in her adult life, Elle-Marie dropped to her knees and prayed to God. She barely recognized her own sob-wracked voice, pleading with the only being she thought might be able to make a difference at this point. "Please let it end. Please let it end. Please let it end."