“Grace, it’s Martha. I don’t have much time. Meet me at our old hotel. It’s important. And whatever happens, don’t call the police.” That text, received on my 60th birthday, took me straight to a past I’d sworn never to face again.
I never expected to receive a present for my birthday. Over the years, the day had become nothing more than a formality—just a handful of perfunctory phone calls from distant acquaintances, wishing me good health in the same monotonous voices.
No excitement. No surprises. Just another mark on the calendar. But this year, there was something different.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
A small package sat on my doorstep, carefully wrapped in craft paper. No return address. No note. Just my name, written in black ink.
I bent down hesitantly before picking it up. Usually, my mailbox contained nothing but bills and supermarket leaflets. It seemed… odd, but curiosity got the better of me.
Inside, nestled between layers of tissue paper, was a dictaphone.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
For illustration purposes only | Source: Pexels
I frowned. It’s not exactly the kind of birthday present you’d expect. A scarf, maybe. A book.
But that?
I pressed play anyway.
[Recording: 03/12, 7:42 PM]
“Grace, it’s me. It’s Martha. Listen, I don’t have much time. I need you to come to the hotel we booked together years ago. Please. It’s important. And no matter what, no police.”
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
Martha’s voice was urgent, almost breathless. A far cry from the confident, teasing tone I remember.
I gripped the recorder tighter. Martha always had a sense of drama. She could turn a lost earring into a real mystery. But this… was different. The tremor in her voice wasn’t an act.
I thought about all kinds of things.
Is she in trouble? Is this some elaborate joke?
I exhaled sharply, grabbed my bag, and called a taxi before I talked myself out of it.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“It’s probably a prank,” I muttered when the car stopped. “A birthday surprise. Nothing serious.”
But as soon as I stepped into the dimly lit hotel lobby, I felt an unease creep into my chest.
The receptionist, a tired-looking man with coffee-stained cuffs, barely looked up, but when I asked about Martha, his brow furrowed.
“Yes, ma’am, she was here. Room 214. But she left late last night… with a man. A black sedan. I assumed he was family,” he said.
A great shiver ran down my spine.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
“Has the room been paid for?”
“Yes, until tomorrow.”
“I really need to check the room.”
The receptionist hesitated, eyeing me suspiciously. “Ma’am, I really shouldn’t… Hotel policy.”
“I understand, but she left me a distressing message. I just need to check.”
He paused, then with a sigh, slid me a keycard. “Five minutes. You were never here.”
The elevator ride was slow, each floor emitting a louder ding than the last. When I reached room 214, I hesitated before turning the handle.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
The door creaked open. And then… I froze.
A man stood in the middle of the dimly lit room, staring at me. In his hand, he held a Dictaphone identical to the one I had received.
Richard.
My breath caught. Decades had passed, but time wasn’t enough to erase his face from my memory. The same fixed gaze. Only now there was gray hair and a sharpness in his eyes I didn’t remember.
For illustration purposes only | Source: Midjourney
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