DAWN’S PALE LIGHT edged through the Venetian blinds. Jon peered at Bethany across the room, asleep on the sofa. He went and stood over her. She looked so peaceful as her chest rose and fell, and air whistled from her nose. Their baby son lay asleep in the portable crib in the corner of the room. Jon lay a palm on him. So warm. So unaware. He stooped and kissed his son’s forehead.
In the kitchen, Jon listened to his voice mail. The state police were due to come and listen to all the messages today. Three messages Jon listened to now were from attorneys working with him on the case. A dozen were from reporters regarding the previous night. Another dozen or so were from strangers, as far as he knew, who left messages along the lines of him being in league with Satan and a faggot lover and a fucking cocksucker.
Jon went through the messages until he found the one he was seeking.
He listened as revulsion washed through him.
The same voice he’d heard from for the past week or so. The first message had been just eight words that left him feeling drained of blood. There were five messages total. Each more demanding and threatening.
Jon had erased the most recent message. Then he erased the other messages left by the same voice. In a spontaneous, reflexive panic, he erased all his messages and the caller ID history.
He called his work phone and erased all the messages from the same voice.
Then he slipped out of the house to get to the office and think about what it was he was going to do to try to keep his life from blowing apart.