Chapter 3 - The Hidden Phone
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The taxi pulled up to the modest two-story house on a quiet street in Dorchester. I stumbled out, shivering, and hurried up the porch steps. Before I could even knock, the porch light swung on, and the front door pulled open.
My mother stood in the entryway, wearing a faded cotton robe. Her eyes swept over my wet hair, my torn work shirt, and my swollen shoulder.
She didn't gasp. She didn't scream. She simply opened her arms wide.
"Oh, baby," she whispered.
I collapsed against her, my strength completely giving out. All the tears I had held back during the frantic escape spilled over. Mom held me tightly, her arms an immovable fortress against the cold night.
She guided me inside, wrapped me in a thick wool blanket, and sat me down on the kitchen chair. She didn't interrogate me. She didn't ask what I had done to provoke him, nor why I hadn't left earlier. She simply fetched a warm cloth and gently wiped the rain and blood from my cheek.
"He hit me with a golf club, Mom," I sobbed, my voice trembling. "Declan... he tried to kill me."
My mother’s hands paused. A profound, terrifying stillness came over her face. Her eyes, usually soft and forgiving, turned into shards of black ice.
"He laid hands on you," she said, her voice dropping an octave, completely devoid of fear.
She walked across the small kitchen toward an old oak sideboard. Reaching into the back of a bottom drawer, she pulled out a small velvet pouch. Inside was an antique black flip phone—a device I had never seen her use in my entire life.
"Mom... who are you calling?" I asked, wiping my eyes.
My mother did not look back as she flipped the phone open. The screen glowed with a faint blue light.
"The person Declan should have never crossed," she replied quietly.
May you like
She pressed a single speed-dial button. She didn't say a word when the line connected. She simply held the phone to her ear for three seconds, then snapped it shut.
Exactly sixty seconds later, far away in his mansion, Declan's phone began to ring.
