Play the audioEpisode 01: It died.
I open my eyes to bright white lights and a sterile, unfamiliar smell. My head feels foggy, like the answer to a question I know is right there, at the tip of my tongue, but I can’t seem to find the words.
Where am I?
The words come out dry and cracked. I sit up abruptly, a sharp pain shooting through my right side, forcing me to grip my ribs. Panic sets in. I look around, frantically searching for something familiar. My bag. My phone. Anything.
Reaching into my pocket, I pull out my phone, but it’s dead. Of course, it is. I sigh.
I notice bandages on my head, my wrist tightly wrapped. My heart races. What happened to me?
The door swings open, and a nurse walks in, a look of relief flashing across her face.
“Oh, you’re awake,” she says softly. “You have some visitors.”
Behind her, two people step forward—police officers. A man and a woman.
“Ms. Claire, I’m Detective Arnold, and this is my partner Sammy,” the man says, his voice calm but direct. “I know you’ve been through a lot, but I need to ask you a few questions so we can get to the bottom of this. Can you tell me what happened before the attack?”
I stare at him, confusion thickening my thoughts. What attack?
“Wait,” I manage, my voice hoarse. “What day is it?”
Arnold raises an eyebrow. “It’s Thursday, the 19th. Why?”
Thursday? I was supposed to be at the work conference today giving a presentation. A cold realization settles in my chest.
“I was… supposed to be at a conference,” I whisper, the memory starting to clear, bit by bit. “I remember getting my bag ready. Drank my morning coffee. Ordered an Uber. But after that…”
I trail off, struggling to connect the dots. Everything is a blur.
“I need you to try your best to remember,” Arnold prompts, his voice steady.
I close my eyes, trying to push past the fog.
“There was an email,” I manage to whisper, my mind clawing for something to make sense of. “I’ve been getting these emails for the past two weeks. At first, I thought it was just an angry participant upset about their benefits card being turned off. But when I sent the emails to our service team, they couldn’t find the person in our database. No trace of their email, name, company—nothing.”
The nurse adjusts something on the machine next to me, and for a moment, I focus on the rhythmic beeping, trying to steady myself.
“For some reason, our company has been getting confused with another with a similar name, so when I replied, I suggested they might be emailing me by mistake. It's happened before. But then the emails started getting personal,” I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. “They knew things… personal things. About my life.”
Arnold steps closer, his expression hardening. “What kind of things, Ms. Claire?”
I shake my head at the thought of it.
“They mentioned seeing me during my morning run. Named my dog, Bennie Fits. Pointed out the coffee shop I frequent when I’m not running late. They even referenced something about the int… interaction I had with an old colleague that no one would know about.”
“At first, I thought it was some weird coincidence. But then… it got worse. So, I forwarded it to HR. I never heard back, I don’t think.”
“Did you meet this person?” Detective Sammy asks, her tone soft but urgent.
I shake my head. “No. But they made it seem like they knew me. So maybe I have?”
My heart races as I remember the last email. The one I received the night before.
“I got an email last night,” I say, my voice shaky. “It was strange. They forwarded a conference email, and The subject line was just… ‘See you tomorrow at the show.’”
I close my eyes. I feel overwhelmed and disoriented.
“I… I need a moment,” I whisper, barely able to look at the detectives. Turning to the nurse, I manage, “Can I get a charger for my phone? My family… they’re probably worried sick. And I need to tell my boss… email the show coordinator. Get back to my dog.”
The detectives exchange glances, then nod.
“We’re going to need to see those emails when you’re ready,” Arnold says, his voice gentler now.
I nod, feeling a cold knot tighten in my stomach.
“I’d show you now, but I still need a charger,” I repeat, pointing at my dead phone trying not to seem like a smartass.
Someone out there knew exactly where I’d be. And now, they’ve made their move.
But who are they? And why me?
As Detective Arnold steps back, I glance out the window, my mind spinning with possibilities. Whoever they are… they somehow have complete access to me.
I try to zone everyone out and focus on what’s playing on the TV in front of me.
My phone is still dead…
