Banner for Stalking Shadows by Stacy L.

 

 

PROLOGUE:  Desperate Times   

 

“The number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

 

They were just words, a simple phrase stating a fact. They didn’t mean anything. They couldn’t pick up on the tension screaming in his body, on the panic he bit back with every sharp breath he took. They couldn’t tell him everything was going to be okay or that he was worried for no reason. They were just words issuing from an automated recording belonging to an inanimate machine on the other end.

 

As he hit the redial he waited hoping, praying he had dialed the wrong number. Again the recording came over the line. It hadn’t changed merely repeated like a broken record, flat and emotionless. He hung up.

 

The third time he dialed the number he watched the screen intently carefully typing each individual number into the key pad and feeling his heart beat increase as he waited, read the “calling” message on the phone and read the name of the one he was trying to reach on the LCD screen. He heard a click and sat up straighter positive that this time he’d reach the one he was trying desperately to get in touch with. He waited drawing in a shaky breath and holding it his hopes ripping to shreds as that cold automated voice came back to him. His grip tightened on the phone, his vision started to cloud and mist before he abruptly tossed the phone to the far side of the vehicle. It landed with a loud thump that drew his attention. Almost immediately he found himself staring at the blazing blue screen that clearly listed Dean’s name and number in bold block letters. He was still able to hear the unwanted message continue to play. He wanted to crush the phone, to grind it into oblivion just to shut that electronic voice up and then as if it had read his mind the LCD panel blinked out and the phone line went dead.

 

The abrupt ending of that computer generated voice rang loudly in his ears while the click of the call being disconnected echoed eerily reminding him of the sound a hand gun makes when being cocked to fire. It was so final, so impersonal that it could only mean one thing: Dean was in trouble.

 

 

Next:

 

    PART 1: DESPERATE MEASURES   

 

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