The Last Call

When Maya receives a chilling late-night call and a haunting photo, she is forced to revisit a tragedy from her past—only to uncover a truth that cuts closer to home than she ever imagined.

Maya sat curled under a blanket, the flicker of the television casting soft shadows across the living room. It was 2:17 a.m. when her phone rang—a sharp sound that fractured the quiet.

Unknown Number.

She stared at it. One year ago to the day, her younger brother Jonah vanished. The last time she heard his voice, it was from a call just like this one.

Hesitating only a second longer, she swiped to answer.

“Hello?”

A pause. Then, a low whisper.

“Don’t trust the one who brings you flowers.”

Her spine stiffened. “Who is this?”

But the line had already gone dead.

Maya’s heart pounded. Before she could fully process the words, another buzz vibrated through the silence. A message. No text. Just a photo.

She opened it.

It was a grainy shot of her front door. Taken just minutes ago. Sitting at her doorstep: a bouquet of lilies. Her brother’s favorite flower.

Her mouth went dry.

She moved to the window and peeked through the curtain. The lilies were real. Right there, under the soft glow of the porch light. No sign of anyone nearby.

She locked the door, bolted it, and pulled her jacket on, heart thudding like a war drum. The police had called Jonah’s case a disappearance, possibly voluntary. But she knew better. He wouldn’t just leave. Not without a word. Not without her.

And now, this.

She debated calling the police. What would she even say? Someone left flowers?

Instead, she opened the door slowly and picked up the bouquet. No card. Just twelve white lilies, bound in twine.

Then she noticed something strange.

One of the lilies was fake.

Maya gently tugged it loose—and saw what was hidden inside. A USB drive.

She slammed the door shut, inserted the USB into her laptop, and waited as a single file loaded: a video.

The footage was dim, but she saw a man tied to a chair. Bruised. Bloody.

Jonah.

She gasped, tears springing to her eyes.

A figure stepped into frame, face obscured by a hood. His voice was distorted, but the words cut like razors.

"You shouldn't have pushed him, Maya. He learned something he wasn’t supposed to. About you.”

The camera panned to the corner of the room—papers pinned to the wall, photographs, files. Her name circled in red.

Maya’s breath caught. What was this?

The video ended.

She sat frozen, mind racing. Jonah had been investigating something... about her? No. That made no sense.

The doorbell rang.

Maya jumped.

Through the peephole stood a man—Detective Keene. He’d worked Jonah’s case. He held a bouquet in his hands.

Lilies.

She didn’t open the door.

Instead, she backed away slowly, her eyes never leaving the peephole.

“Miss Carter,” he called. “I need to speak with you. It’s about your brother.”

Her phone buzzed again.

Unknown Number:

He’s not who he says he is. Check your brother’s journal. Page 43.

Trembling, Maya turned and ran to the box of Jonah’s belongings the police had returned months ago. She hadn’t been able to go through it—until now.

Page 43.

“Keene’s questions are too specific. He knows more than he should. If anything happens to me, he’s involved.”

Maya’s vision blurred.

Outside, the door handle jiggled.

“Maya?” came the voice again, now more insistent.

She picked up the phone with shaking hands and dialed 911.

“This is Maya Carter,” she said. “I need help. Someone is trying to get in. And I think he’s the one who made my brother disappear.”