I swipe to accept. “Hello?”

It’s silent for a beat, and then her groggy, slurred voice reaches my ear. “You’re… incorrigible.”

“I suppose I am.” I bite down on the inside of my cheek, a tingle of concern poking at me. “You okay, Corabelle?”

“No… no, I’m not okay. But I think you’re pretty okay. Even though you’re incorrigible.”

Her voice is raspy. Sluggish. She sounds drunk. “Have you been drinking?”

“I’ve been thinking.”

“Okay…”

Cora sighs, and I hear clatter in the background like she knocked something over. “I think we could have been the best thing to ever happen to me.”

I zone in on her use of could have been. “We still can, Cora. This doesn’t have to be over.”

“It does have to be over, Dean, because you’re a lion and I’m a mouse.”

“What?”

A stretch of silence passes, and I wonder if she spaced out or fell asleep, but then she replies softly, “You’re a lion, fearless and strong, and I am just a mouse.” Cora pauses again, then continues, “I’m small and weak, afraid of everything lurking in the dark. The things I want are disguised in deadly traps, and yet, I’m still tempted.”

“Cora…” I start pacing around my living room, my stomach unsettled.

She sighs, long and lingering, her heavy breaths like an ominous soundtrack to her words. “The trouble with mice is you always kill them.”

I recognize that quote from the book, Of Mice and Men. It sends a chill down my spine. “That’s not true. Are you sure you haven’t been drinking?”

Cora laughs a little, and it’s just a fleeting, foreboding chuckle. “Goodbye, Dean.”

“Wait. I’m worried about you, Corabelle. Talk to me.”

“I do think we could have been great,” she finishes. “If you weren’t a lion, and I was not a mouse.”

The call disconnects, and I’m left staring at my phone, my insides twisting into knots and my heart telling me that she is not okay.

Something’s off. Something’s wrong.

I realize I might come off like a stalker driving to her house in the middle of the night to console a woman who clearly wants her space. But I’m willing to take that risk because my instincts are screaming at me to go.

I’m knocking on her front door ten minutes later, after speeding my way over here, blowing two stop signs. The happy, turquoise door is a deceiving camouflage to the dejected woman residing on the other side of it. “Cora!” I call out. My knuckle taps turn into pounding fists when she doesn’t open the door. “Cora, open up. I’m worried about you.”

All I can hear on the other side is animal claws pacing the entryway, mingling with squeaky whines. I try the doorknob and heave in a breath of relief when it opens. But then I realize Cora never leaves her doors unlocked, and my relief fades back into concern.

Jude and Penny Lane greet me at the door for the first time, pacing around in circles. As I step through the threshold, both dogs go running down the hallway towards Cora’s bedroom, like they are beckoning me to follow. “Cora?” I try to make my presence known, so I don’t startle her. “Cora, it’s me. I’m just here to check on you.”