Page 28 of No Place Left to Hide

A minute or two passes, and there’s no sign of the gas station attendant. I only see one lady behind the counter inside. I’m about to go in and throw a fit—they’re going to make me late!—when I see the self-service sign above the pump.

Shit.I scramble to pull my debit card from my purse and climb out.

“Self-service gas stations can go right to hell,” I mumble, shoving the card into the machine.

It used to be illegal to pump your own gas in Oregon, which suited me just fine. I got to sit in the comfort of my warm car and slip my card through a crack in the window while someone else stood out in the Oregon weather. Butno. Someone had to get a stick up their ass and make it “optional” to pump your own gas. Now most rural gas stationsare self-serve, and I’m the one stuck out here, shivering in my glitter skirt, shoving the nozzle into my car instead of some hourly worker in an ugly fluorescent vest.

Another cold ocean breeze slides through the parking lot and sinks straight into my bones. I shiver in Dylan’s sweatshirt, immensely grateful he made me keep it. It’s always a good twenty degrees colder here on the coast than it is back home. The heated seats in the Subaru are calling my name.

The numbers on the pump slowly climb and I eye the store. I see the top of Jena’s head bouncing between the aisles. She’s not at the counter yet, which means I have a minute or two to get my phone ready. I unlock it with a sigh and toggle it off airplane mode again.

Time to face the music.

One after another, the notifications appear on the screen. Text. Text. Email. Text.Too manycalls. But one notification gives me pause.

10:32 p.m.

No Caller ID

94 Missed calls

1 Voicemail from {Unknown}

A voicemail?

That’s new. All this time, No Caller ID has never left a voicemail.

My thumb hovers over the delete button but I hesitate. Logically, I know nothing good can come from listening to this. As frustrating as the nonstop calls are, they’re quick. The few times I’ve answered, they’ve hung up after five or six seconds of heavy breathing or random background chatter.

This is a thirty-second message. From someone who’s donenothing but try to scare me for months. This voicemail won’t be any different.

And yet, the lure is still strong. What if No Caller ID finally said something useful? What if they slipped up and left an identifiable detail in their message? What if it’s a pocket dial and I can hear them talking? What if this is the key to identifying the caller and finally putting an end to this?

Besides, I don’t have to listen to the whole thing if it’s bad…

I look back at the store. Jena’s still not at the register, and I thank the universe she’s being slow tonight. I press play and brace myself. The sound of someone breathing heavy fills my ear and sends a chill down my back. It’s no different from the other times I’ve answered though. I pull the phone from my ear to delete the message when the heavy breathing stops.

“Time’s up, Brooke.”

The voice is strangely mechanical. Like it’s being filtered to distort the sound.

Someone’s masking their numberandtheir identity.

“I’ve given you plenty of time, but you’ve let me down. So we’re going to play a little game. Maybe…Truth or Shot? You like that one, right?”

My hand starts to shake.

“And since we’re fresh out of shots, how about Truth or Die instead?”

I stop breathing. My brain screams at me to hang up, but I can’t bring myself to move.

“The rules are simple. You’re going to tell everyone what really happened at the lake, or…you won’t make it home. Not in one piece anyway. Truth or die. What’ll it be?”

The voicemail ends and I almost drop my damn phone. I smashthe delete button and erase all the missed calls before I throw it on airplane mode and toss it back into the car. I hold my shaking hands out in front of me.

Fuck. That’s horrifying.

You’re going to tell everyone what really happened…What the hell does that mean? We all know what happened at the lake party. There was a whole-ass investigation. No mystery there. What could I possibly have to confess? And how are they going to keep me from getting home?

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