My entire body went numb.
The police officer’s warning echoed in my ears as I backed into the house and slammed the door shut.
The black sedan remained parked across the street.
Whoever sat inside wasn’t moving.
Wasn’t leaving.
Just watching.
My heart racing uncontrollably, I locked every door and closed every curtain.
The officer followed me inside and quietly checked each window before turning toward me.
“Mrs. Wilson,” he said, lowering his voice. “Has anyone contacted you recently asking about your husband?”
My stomach dropped.
“No.”
He exchanged a glance with someone outside through his radio before speaking again.
“Then they don’t know you’ve received the note yet.”
The way he said it made panic surge through me.
“Who are ‘they’?” I demanded.
The officer hesitated.
Too long.
Then he reached into his jacket and pulled out a faded photograph.
The second I saw it, my knees nearly gave out.
It was my husband.
But the date stamped on the back was only three years old.
Three years.
Nine years after his funeral.
A chill ran down my spine.
“That’s impossible,” I whispered.
“I buried him.”
The officer’s face remained expressionless.
“That’s what we thought too.”
The room began spinning.
I remembered the funeral.
The closed casket.
The rushed arrangements.
The strange way several people I didn’t know had attended but never introduced themselves.
Things I had ignored for years suddenly came rushing back.
My hands trembled as I unfolded the rest of my son’s note.
There was another page hidden behind the first.
A page I hadn’t noticed.
The handwriting looked rushed.
Desperate.
Mom, if you’re reading this, don’t trust anyone who claims they’re protecting you. We discovered something hidden in Dad’s storage unit. Something worth killing for.
I felt physically sick.
The officer stepped forward.
“What else does it say?”
His question sounded normal.
But something about it felt wrong.
Very wrong.
I looked up.
For the first time, I noticed sweat running down his forehead.
I noticed how intensely he was staring at the paper.
As if he already knew what was written on it.
As if he desperately needed to know whether I had read the rest.
My pulse thundered in my ears.
Then my phone vibrated.
Unknown Number.
One new message.
With shaking fingers, I opened it.
Only six words appeared on the screen.
DON’T SHOW THE OFFICER THE LAST PAGE.
My blood turned ice cold.
Slowly…
Very slowly…
I raised my eyes toward the man standing only a few feet away from me.
The police officer.
And at that exact moment, his hand moved toward the holster on his belt.
To be continued in C0mments 👇
Watch movie:
*Content is hosted on a partner site.
