“If they get inside, go to the bathroom,” he instructed softly. “There is a small window there, and you must leave the phone behind.”
“And you,” I asked desperately.
“I will call you again when it is safe,” he replied.
Metal scraped against the lock, and I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the sound of the door giving way.
Then my phone vibrated violently in my hand. Another call was coming in. From my husband.
Confusion washed over me as I answered instinctively.
“Are you calling me right now,” I whispered.
On the line I had been on moments earlier, his voice sounded panicked.
“Why did you stop answering,” he demanded. “I have been trying to reach you.”
My bl00d turned cold.
“But I am talking to you,” I said slowly.
“No,” he replied. “I am outside the building, and I have not called you tonight.”
My breath hitched.
“Then who am I speaking to,” I asked, dread flooding my chest as my hands began to shake uncontrollably.
There was a brief pause, followed by a voice that was calm in a way no frightened person could ever fake.
“Hello,” the man said softly. “Thank you for trusting the first call.”