A mixture of fear and confusion had Deven’s mind hazy as she sipped the bland water. Officer McKinney had assured her they would conduct some additional tests, but she had given no indication of how long that could realistically take. And there was no guarantee if the results would answer their questions, or present more. It was as if Deven’s life beforehand had dissolved into some lucid dream. Interesting how traumatic events could make that division; before and after. Was that before your sister died, or after? Like two distinct and separate lifetimes.

The sudden ringing pierced the air like a siren and had a gasp clogged in Deven’s throat. She let out a staggered breath, her eyes flickering to the window to confirm the early-morning hour. Who in the world could that be? She couldn’t bring herself to make the short journey back into the living room to retrieve her cell. It was highly doubtful Justin would call this early. Could Officer McKinney have found out something new so quickly? But what if it wasn’t? What if it was the nursing home? Or Kennedy? The thought had Deven shuffling across the floor. Her anxiety was now bordering on panic, and she knew feigning ignorance would just prolong the inevitable. Like she said before, the unknown was the worst part of tragedy.

Deven looked at the caller ID and frowned at the unfamiliar number flashing across the screen. Moments later, the phone went silent in her hand and just as quickly, the envelope icon popped up indicating a new text message. Call me. That was it. No name, no pleasantries, no sign of the source or the reason for the correspondence. Her finger hovered over the ‘call’ button for a split second before she opened the message again and typed in a reply. Who is this? She watched the screen looking for an answer. Whoever he or she was had just accompanied a phone call with a text message—at seven-thirty in the morning no less—so it had to be pretty important. Instead of another message, her phone rang again, that same mystery number flashing like a warning. This time, she decided to pick up. “Hello?”

“Hey, ma.”

Deven pulled the phone from her ear to look at the ID again. The man’s voice was vaguely familiar, but not enough for the informality. “Who is this?” She was insulted and she didn’t bother hiding it. She had enough to deal with without having to worry about some idiot with an entitled disposition and wrong number.

The man chuckled at her attitude and Deven pulled the phone off her face, prepared to hang up on him. Then he spoke again, “Still the same old Deven, huh?”