Part 2 — The Voice That Didn't Need to Scream
Cole's phone rang.
The ringtone rang out in the kitchen like a siren. He glanced at the screen, rolled his eyes, and smiled as if the universe existed only to amuse him.
“Very good,” he murmured. “Your father.”
He answered on speakerphone without moving. “Yes?”
A man's voice rang out: calm, low, precise. Not loud. Not emotional. The kind of voice that made people listen.
“This is Grant Mercer ,” said the voice. “Who is speaking?”
Cole snorted. "Cole. Hannah's husband . It's past midnight, she's..."
“Get me Hannah,” Grant Mercer said, cutting off Cole’s words as if they were background noise.
Cole gave me an amused look. “Did you hear that, Han? Dad wants…”
“I said put it on,” Grant repeated. “Now.”
Cole's smile tightened. It wasn't fear yet. Just irritation at not being able to control the pace.
He pushed the phone toward me. My fingers were cold and slippery.
“Dad,” I whispered, and the word came out broken.
On the other end, something grew sharper. “Hannah. Where are you?”
“Home,” I said, struggling to keep my breathing steady. My stomach tightened again. “I’m bleeding. I think… I think I’m losing the baby.”
A pause, short and controlled, like a door closing silently.
“Listen to me,” Grant said. “Hold the line. Don’t hang up. Tell me what room you’re in.”
“The kitchen.”
“Good. Put the phone down where I can still hear you.”
Cole made a disgusted sound. “Oh my God, can you stop…”
Grant's voice turned to him without rising. "Cole, don't speak while I give you instructions."
Cole blinked. “Excuse me?”
Grant didn't care. "Hannah, sit down. Hold on to the cabinets if you can. Keep applying pressure where you're bleeding."
I lowered myself to the floor. The tiles shook my thighs. I pressed my hands to my abdomen and tried not to bend over.
Evelyn hovered near the table, arms crossed, watching as if this were an inconvenience that had spilled over into her kitchen as well.
Cole paced back and forth, anger returning to him. “You can’t tell me what to do in my own house.”
Grant replied, “Your home is currently a registered location.”
Cole stopped mid-step. “What?”
“This call is being recorded,” Grant said calmly. “Your number. Your voice. Your proximity to a medical emergency. Choose your next words carefully.”
For the first time, Evelyn's face changed: recognition, not remorse. As if she knew that name and wished she didn't.
Cole tried to regain his composure. “Are you threatening me? Who exactly are you?”
Grant didn't answer the way Cole wanted. He asked me.
“Hannah, is Cole between you and the front door?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“C’è Evelyn?”
I looked up. His lips tightened.
“Help is already on the way,” Grant said.
My heart skipped a beat. “How—“
“I made a call,” he said. “Two, actually.”
Cole's cheeks flushed. "Did you call the police?"
“I called 911,” Grant corrected quietly. “And I called the people who work there to intervene when someone decides to trap my daughter in the kitchen.”
Cole lunged at me, his hand outstretched. “Give me that…”
Evelyn grabbed his arm, suddenly pale. “Don’t do it,” she hissed. “Cole… don’t do it.”
He jerked back. “Mom, stay out of this.”
Grant's voice remained calm, but it was sharp as steel. "Cole, get away from Hannah. Open the front door. Put the phone on the counter."
Cole forced a laugh. “Or what?”
Grant replied as if he were telling us what the weather would be like the next day. “Otherwise, you’ll find out why the judges stop talking when my name is mentioned.”
Evelyn brought a hand to her mouth. “Grant Mercer,” she whispered, and it sounded like an old fear.
Outside, a siren sounded.
Then another.
Closer.
Red and blue lights began flashing through the kitchen window, illuminating Evelyn's face with alternating colors: each flash made her look smaller and more insecure.
Part 3 — Consequences in Red and Blue
To learn more, read the next page >>
To see the full instructions for this recipe, go to the next page or click the open button (>) and don't forget to share it with your friends on Facebook.
