Page 28 of Horror and Chill
“But the phone never lies,” the third finishes.
“We need access to the device.”
“Not possible from here.”
The thought clicks in like a puzzle piece. We don’t go to her. We go to someone near her. Someone trusted. Someone with access.
“Lara.”
“Guess we should offer to pick Mason up for her.”
The others pause. Still. Then a slow smile spreads.
“Smart.”
“She’ll say yes.”
We make the call, offering to pick him up and saying we’ll take him for smoothies or to the museum. She thanks us before we can finish the sentence.
Easy.
Almost disappointing.
We prep what we need. The burner phone. The wireless cloning kit. A disguised USB cord tucked inside a fake charging bank. Every move is planned, down to the angle we’ll use when walking to her door.
It’ll take a minute.
Once we’re in, we’ll have it all. Her movements. Her location pins. Any saved addresses. Even deleted searches.
She thinks she’s alone out there. Thinks she’s pulling the strings.
Let her keep thinking that.
We’ll be there before she knows we’re coming.
And when we find the place?—
We’ll remind her who the story really belongs to.
We drive in silence.
No music. No conversation. The cloning kit rests in one of our pockets. The burner phone is charged. Everything’s in place.
The city rolls past in slow strips of color and movement. Brick buildings. Chain-link fences. A mural we’ve seen a hundred times but never really looked at. The light turns green and we ease forward, cutting through the quiet neighborhood where Mason is.
We park across the street. From here, we can see the school doors. The chain-link fence. The painted crosswalk. The tall woman with the clipboard unlocking the side gate.
We get out and head inside, walking past all the backpacks and lunchboxes until we get to the door we know is hers. Pulling it open, we step inside, and there she is.
She’s in the middle of the room, moving fast, chasing the tail end of a sentence as Mason barrels past her, holding a sheet of paper in one hand and a half-zipped backpack in the other. Her silver hair’s tied up in a messy bun. Dark green bib overalls. Black long-sleeve shirt. There’s glitter stuck to her cheek and smudges of ink on her wrist.
She’s beautiful.
“Nice to see you again,” she says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her smile is soft and open. “He’s been so excited you were coming today.”
“Our pleasure.”
If only she knew.
