Make Me Disappear: A twisty and gripping psychological thriller by Jessica Payne

Author:Jessica Payne [Payne, Jessica]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781803142623
Publisher: Bookouture
Published: 2022-05-15T16:00:00+00:00

FORTY-ONE

NOELLE

Now

“Olympia Regional Cardiology Practice, this is an after-hours emergency-only line. How may I help you?”

I couldn’t wait until morning to make this call, but I hadn’t considered it would be after hours. I should have—I know offices usually close by six or seven, and a glance at the clock tells me it’s just after nine. I take a deep breath and launch into the first story that comes to mind. “My husband is a patient of Dr. Peterson. I need to speak to her, immediately. Please.” I speak in a high, frightened voice.

“Ma’am, if your husband is in distress, I would recommend calling 911 or proceeding to the nearest emergency department.”

Shit.

I think fast, remembering how many patients I’ve had who refuse to come in when they’ve started to show signs of a heart attack—how they wait and wait, until when they finally do go in, it’s far worse than it would have been had they simply gone in when they first showed symptoms.

“He’s refusing to until I talk to Dr. Peterson,” I say. “Please.”

A sigh. “Hold, please.”

Anticipation burns through me. I stand up, pace. Check the window again. Force myself to sit down, to focus.

Justine comes on the line exactly two minutes later.

“This is Dr. Peterson. May I ask who’s calling?”

My fist curls in the comforter. It’s now or never.

“Don’t hang up,” I say. “I’m not a patient, but this is a matter of life or death.” I cringe—Jesus, did I hear that in a movie?

“Um. This is an emergency cardiology line for—“

“I know,” I say. “And you’re Justine Peterson, right? You dated Daniel Ashcroft.” My hands curl into fists, saying his name out loud.

A long pause.

“Listen,” I continue, “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m in trouble and—” And what? Daniel’s chasing me? He hired a kidnapper, potentially a hitman to—I fidget, realizing how stupid this would sound; a hitman?—take care of me?

“You’re Noelle.” Her voice is soft, empathy oozing through the line. A desire to say yes, yes, yes, help me, please, fills me, leaves me clutching the phone, waiting for her to say something else.

But she stays silent.

“What happened when you were with Daniel?” I ask, hoping that empathy in her voice means she will answer my questions.

More silence. Has it been too long? Was he a different person back then? Does she not even know what I’m talking about?

“How did you get away?” I press when she still doesn’t reply.

“I’m so sorry,” she finally says. “I don’t know what you mean. I think you have the wrong number.”

“No, wait—” But the line clicks dead, and I’m left with the knowledge of two things: one, she knows who I am, and two, she’s afraid to talk to me.

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