The Call That Never Died

STORM AND SILENCE

The storm had raged for hours, clawing at the city with relentless wind and rain. Lightning cracked open the sky as Zane Faulkner drove through a winding road on the outskirts. His long black overcoat was damp, collar turned up against the cold. Beside him, Eli shivered under his scarf, staring through the fogged windshield.

"You still haven’t told me what the case is," Eli muttered.

Zane smiled without looking. "Let the fog clear first."

"Very funny," Eli grumbled. "Middle of the night, no destination in sight, and a cryptic detective who thinks suspense is foreplay."

Zane glanced sideways. "We got a call. A woman. She was terrified. Screamed for help. Then silence."

"So?"

"The number was disconnected twelve years ago."

Eli blinked. "What?"

Zane nodded. "And the call came from a house that’s supposed to be abandoned."

THE ABANDONED HOUSE

The house stood at the very edge of the city—decaying wood, shattered windows, and vines curling over its frame like claws. Lightning illuminated it for a heartbeat. Zane pushed open the creaking door and entered, Eli hesitantly behind him.

Inside, the air was damp and heavy. The living room held broken furniture, the fireplace black with soot. In the kitchen, a single cracked mug lay in the sink.

"This place reeks of memories," Eli whispered.

They passed into a narrow hallway and entered a library—shelves lined with dust-choked books. In the center, a heavy oak table. And atop it, an antique rotary phone. The receiver dangled, gently swaying.

Zane approached. There was no dust around the phone—unlike the rest of the room. And just beneath the table’s edge, a dark stain. He bent down, brushed it with his gloved finger.

"Blood," he murmured.

THE CLOSED CASE

Twelve years ago, Catherine Miles was found dead in this very room. Authorities ruled it a suicide—slit wrists, a farewell note, and no sign of forced entry. Her case had been closed, boxed away as another tragic ending.

But the call had reopened everything for Zane.

He reviewed the old files, tracked down her last connections. Catherine had three relatives: an uncle, a cousin, and a stepsister. Four close friends: David, Aaron, Michael, and Grace. Michael and Grace were now married.

He began interviewing them, one by one.

FACES OF THE PAST

David and Aaron seemed shocked but cooperative. They remembered Catherine fondly, but Zane noticed the subtle rehearsed quality to their answers. Like men who’d told this story too often.

Eli leaned in during the drive back. "You suspect them too, right?"

Zane’s smile was unreadable. "Time will tell. For now, they sit well within the circle of suspicion."

When Zane met Grace, her face showed not tension—but sorrow. Her expression was genuinely pained as she spoke about Catherine. That subtle shift made Zane pause.

Michael, her husband, appeared shaken but honest.

Catherine’s relatives offered little. They dismissed the new developments as coincidence and madness.

But Zane knew better.

CALLS FROM THE DEAD

From the police archives, Zane uncovered a chilling pattern. Over the years, every time a storm hit the city, someone—be it an officer or a passerby—reported a strange phone call. Same number. Same female voice screaming.

But no one had connected the dots. Until now.

AN UNEXPECTED ALLY

Zane made a call. One she rarely ignored.

Lyra.

Her voice, even sleepy, held an instant readiness. “Where are you?”

He told her.

She arrived within hours, stepping into the old house with eyes that scanned every shadow.

"I feel like I’ve seen this place before," she murmured in the library.

"Déjà vu?" Eli asked.

"Or fate," she replied.

Zane showed her the antique button he found beneath a floorboard—one stained with old blood. It didn’t match anything Catherine had owned. Lyra examined it carefully.

"This is from a woman’s coat. High-end, early 2000s."

THE MEDIA TRAP

Zane’s plan clicked into place.

Through Lyra’s media contacts, they orchestrated a subtle piece on a late-night show—an unsolved case with “new forensic clues” pointing to someone “very close” to the victim.

No names. Just pressure.

Zane, from a hidden surveillance setup across the street, watched killer reaction through a camera planted days earlier.

This was the trap.

And it worked.

The killer watched the show. Panic flashed in their eyes. A quick descent into the basement followed, where old clothes, letters—everything—were set ablaze."

Zane, watching from his screen, quietly said, "Got you."

THE REVEAL

Another storm brewed.

Zane invited everyone to the house.

In the same library where Catherine had died, he stood before them all. The wind howled outside.

"Catherine Miles didn’t kill herself," Zane said. "She was murdered. On a night like this."

The room tensed.

He turned toward Grace.

"The murderer is not one of the men."

Gasps. Grace’s face paled.

"You and Catherine were in love with the same man. But he chose her. You couldn’t stand that. So one stormy night, you visited her. Said you wanted to talk. You brought tea. And a knife."

Michael looked stunned.

Zane held up the button. "This matched the coat you burned three nights ago. The coat you wore that night."

NO ESCAPE

Grace turned to run. But Zane didn’t move.

Calmly, methodically, he stepped forward and caught her by the arm before she reached the door. She barely resisted.

He looked her in the eyes. “It’s over.”

Grace collapsed to her knees, sobbing.

AFTERMATH

Grace was arrested. Michael was heartbroken but innocent. The press latched onto the case, but Zane refused interviews.

As the rain died, Eli whispered, “No more calls?”

Zane nodded. “No more.”

They stood in the library.

The phone on the table was still.

Silent at last.