Page 85 of The Night Before (Savannah 1)

What now? Every muscle in her body tensed.

Reaching blindly, she snapped on the light and picked up the receiver. “Hello?”

No answer.

“Hello?”

Her heart was hammering as she waited, though she heard shallow breathing.

“Who is this?”

Nothing. No response.

Her skin crawled . . . was there the faint hint of music in the background? Why wasn’t the person answering? She hung up the receiver and checked Caller ID. Unknown caller. That much she’d already figured out. She rubbed a hand over her forehead. The phone jangled again.

Damn! She started. Looked at the Caller ID before answering. Troy’s number. She picked up. “Hello?”

“Caitlyn. It’s Troy. I know it’s late and I hate to call you, but I think you should know that Mom’s on her way to the hospital. It’s her heart.”

“No! Oh, God, is she okay?”

“Don’t know. I just got a call from the EMT. He asked me to meet them at Eastside General. I’m on my way.”

“Me, too,” she said without thinking. “I’ll meet you there. Oh, and Troy, did you try to call me a couple of minutes ago?”

“No. Why?”

“The phone rang and I answered, but no one was there.”

“It wasn’t me,” he said.

Her fingers clenched around the receiver. “Probably a wrong number,” she said, not believing it for a second as she hung up. She stripped out of her nightgown, pulled on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt, then slid into a pair of sandals, the bottoms of her feet encountering something crusty. “What the devil?” she groused, then saw the dark splotches on the insoles, two purplish drips that she knew instinctively were blood. Her stomach turned over as she realized these were the shoes she’d worn on the night Josh died. She’d obviously kicked them toward the back of the closet and hadn’t noticed the stains when she’d cleaned up her room the next day. Now she scrambled out of the sandals as if her feet actually burned. She felt a wave of panic and found a pair of running shoes that she wormed her feet into, then hurried down the stairs. As she reached the back door, the phone began to ring again. She checked Caller ID.

Unknown caller.

Her heart froze.

She should answer; it could be news of her mother.

She picked up. “Hello?”

No response.

“Hello?”

Nothing, just the static of an open line. The hairs on her nape rose. She had to quell the fear that threatened her.

“Who is this? No, wait, I don’t want to know. Whoever you are, just go to hell!”

“You go first.” The voice was a harsh whisper and had the same effect on Caitlyn as if she’d heard her own death sentence. She slammed the phone down, her heart racing, cold sweat breaking out on her back and face. Who was it? Why were they calling?

Calm down!

Caitlyn backed up and stumbled against the counter. She had to get to the hospital. She didn’t have time to think about whoever it was who was harassing her. But as she stepped outside to the sultry Savannah night, the three chilling words followed her.

You go first.

The hospital loomed in the night, eight very modern stories in sharp contrast to most of the historic buildings in the area. Caitlyn parked and paused long enough to leave a message on Kelly’s cell phone. “Kelly, it’s Caitlyn. I just got a call from Troy. About Mom. It’s around four in the morning, and she’s been rushed to Eastside General Hospital. I don’t know the details, but when I do, I’ll call again.” She hesitated, staring out the windshield to the deserted parking lot. “I, um, I just thought you’d want to know. It wouldn’t kill you to visit her. Maybe it’s time to mend a few fences.” She clicked off, figured she’d probably pissed off her sister, but didn’t really care. A crisis was a crisis.

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