Just one message,

and it wasn't from his ex-wife's number. Or any phone number that was stored in his contacts, or any telephone number that looked real with it's 969 area code.

"Who in the fuck is this?" Kyle Stormer said quietly with a rasp to his voice, as if he was in a crowd of six year olds, whose mothers would cover their ears and give Mr. Stormer a dirty look because "How dare he?" and not standing on the far side of his home office.

The moment he finished enunciating the last syllable, his phone screen flared to life. It started to work on it's own, or like a ghost gone corpereal and renamed the contact...