When she woke up, there were 17 voicemails from a stranger. Her eyes—ugh. They felt glued shut. Throbbing behind them, head pounding, that kind of hangover that makes you swear you’ll never drink again. She rolled over, sheets twisted around her legs, the taste of last night still bitter in her mouth. Ping. That sound. Her phone somewhere by the nightstand. She reached out, almost knocked it off, cursed under her breath. Screen light hit her face. Bright. Too bright. 17 voicemails? Seventeen? Who the hell even leaves voicemails anymore. She sat up. Stomach turning. Pressed play. The first one—just a man’s voice. Calm. Even polite. “Hi, uh, miss…. you left your purse in my cab last night. I just wanted to let you know. Your number was inside, so I thought I’d call…” Normal. Totally normal. Second one, same guy. “Yeah,,,,, it’s me again. The purse is still with me. I can drop it off later if you like.” She frowned. Normal again. Not creepy. Not threatening. Just a guy doing what he thought was decent. But why seventeen? She listened to a few more. All the same tone. “Still have your purse.” “Not sure if this is the right number.” “You had your phone number in your wallet.” Nothing strange. Still. It nagged. Why so many? Her mouth was dry. She gulped water from a bottle by the bed, felt it slosh. Tried to remember last night. Blurry. Cab ride, sure. Her heels clattering on the pavement. Laughter. Then nothing. She shoved on jeans,,,, old t-shirt and a jacket. Grabbed her keys. She’d go get the damn purse, clear this whole thing out of her head. The street outside was loud, midday sun glaring off windshields. Her brain rattled with every sound. She walked,,, quick steps, hands jammed into pockets. The cab was parked near the corner, right where the voice said it would be. She stopped in front of the cab, heart hammering for some reason, like maybe it was too easy. Hands fidgeting with her bag strap, she knocked on the window. The driver looked up. Squinted in the sunlight. “Oh….. you’re the lady who forgot her purse?” “Yeah… that’s me,” she said, voice a bit higher than she wanted. “Uh… where is it?” He nodded, like duh, obvious, and pointed to the backseat. “It’s… look… just there. Same spot you left it.” She blinked. Blinked again. Relief washed over her. “Oh. Thank…. thank you so much.” Her words spilled out too fast, like she was scared the moment would vanish if she didn’t say them. As she ducked her head into the car and reached for her purse,,,, she was suddenly whacked on the head and she lost consciousness. She blinked. Pain shot through her skull like fire. Not the usual headache from last night… this was different. Sharp. Explosive. She groaned, tried to lift her head. Everything felt heavy. Her vision blurred, shapes coming into focus slowly. Where the hell…? The room. Dark. Damp maybe. No sunlight. Just shadows. She swallowed hard, every nerve screaming. And then it hit her. The memory. The cab. The purse. Her hand reaching for it—and the whack,,, and then the sudden black. Her heart started racing. She scrambled, tried to move, and then—oh. Chains. Cold metal biting her wrists. Her legs. She froze. “What… no… no no no…” Her voice trembled, cracking. She tugged, twisted, cursed herself, screamed at herself, “God! I’m such an idiot! Walking into a trap in broad daylight?!” Her chest heaved. Panic clawed at her throat. She looked around, tried to understand. The room. Shadows stretching like long fingers across the walls. Nothing familiar. Nothing to hold on to. Why? Why did she even…? Every stupid thought she’d had about the cab, the purse, the calls—all of it crashed over her. She banged her head lightly against the chair back, whimpering. “Stupid… so stupid… so, so stupid.” The chains rattled as she struggled again. She wanted—needed—to get out. To run. Anywhere. Anywhere but here. And then she froze. She felt it, really felt it—the weight of it. The fear. The absolute, undeniable truth. She wasn’t getting out easily. Not without… something. Some plan. Some edge. Her breathing slowed a fraction, heart still thumping like mad. She leaned back against the chair, head spinning, trying to collect… anything. Strategy. Anything at all. *Back at Madison’s apartment. Knock knock knock. “Maddie? Hey, Maddie, wake up. I brought soup—hangover cure,,, works like magic. C’mon, open up.” Silence. The friend—Olivia shifted the bag of soup in her hands, knocked again, harder this time. “Maddie! Don’t make me drink this all by myself.” Still nothing. Her brows pulled together. She pulled out her phone,,, dialled Maddie’s number. The line clicked and then—ringing. From inside. Liv was surprised a bit. “Wait. What?” The sound was muffled but clear enough. The phone was inside the apartment. She tried the door, half-expecting it to be locked. It wasn’t. It slid open with a soft creak. “Uh… Maddie? You… left your door open? That’s not..… okay.” Liv stepped inside, the flat eerily quiet, blinds half-drawn. Her shoes tapped against the floor. She followed the ringing. On the bed. There it was. Madison’s phone. Screen lit up with Liv’s name. She ended the call slowly, frowning. Picked it up. The sheets looked messy, tossed around. No Maddie. Her voice was small. “Where… where would you go without this, Maddie? You don’t even leave it to shower.” She glanced around the room like answers might just..… appear. Nothing. Just a chill crawling up her arms. Olivia slipped Madison’s phone into her pocket, left the soup on the table. No point standing there staring at an empty room. She pulled the door shut behind her, still chewing on her lip. Just then, one of the neighbours came down the hall, fumbling with her keys. “Hey—hey, sorry,” Liv rushed over, waving a hand. “Sorry to bother you, um, have you seen Maddie anywhere?” The neighbour glanced up, then nodded a little. “Yeah. Yeah,,,, actually I did. Earlier this morning. She walked out. Shabby jeans, polo, jacket… didn’t look like she was going anywhere far.” Liv frowned. “And.…. she hasn’t come back?” The woman tilted her head. “Isn’t she back yet?” “No. Just checked her room. She’s not in there.” “Oh.” The neighbour hesitated, keys jangling. “Maybe something came up. You should try calling her.” “I know, I did.” Liv patted her pocket, felt the phone heavy there. “Her phone was in her room.” “Hmm.” The neighbour forced a small smile, though it didn’t quite land. “I’m sure she’s fine. She’ll be fine.” Liv nodded, but it was automatic, not real. The woman slipped inside her apartment, door closing with a soft click. Leaving Liv alone in the hallway, uneasy. Not certain. Not at all. A buzz startled her. Liv dug into her pocket, pulled out Maddie’s phone. A text. From her aunt. “Call me when you’re up.” Liv chewed her lip. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. But—yeah. She knew Maddie’s password. Of course she did. Too many late nights,,,, too many borrowed chargers and playlists. Her thumb tapped it in before she even thought twice. The screen lit up. Messages. Missed calls. And then—voicemails. Seventeen of them. “What the hell..…” she whispered. “Who even… leaves voicemails anymore?” Her finger hovered. Curiosity won. She pressed play. The voice—male. Calm. Polite, even. Talking about a purse left in a cab. Not creepy. Not threatening. Just… persistent. Second one. Third. Same thing. Your purse is still here. I can drop it off. By the seventh or eighth, Liv’s stomach clenched. Something off. Something wrong. The tone had shifted, almost casual, too casual. You had your phone number in your wallet. Still waiting with your purse. Her breath caught. “Oh my God.” She clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh my God, Maddie—” Phone clutched tight, heart banging against her ribs. She bolted down the stairwell, feet slamming every step. Outside, air rushed at her face but did nothing to calm her down. She flagged the first bike she saw, shouting at the driver, “Police station, now,,, hurry!” Her prayer was a ragged whisper between breaths. Please, God. Please let Maddie be okay. *** A noise jolted her. A heavy clang, metal grinding against metal. Definitely a sturdy door. Strong enough to keep her in,,, keep the world out. Her breath caught as it swung wider, hinges groaning. Footsteps followed—slow, deliberate. Each one echoing in the silence, filling the room,,,, filling her head. Then a figure stepped into view. It was too dark to make out her face, shadows cutting across her features, but the outline was clear enough. A coat. Long. White. The kind you’d see in a hospital. A doctor’s coat. Maddie’s pulse spiked. She pressed back into the chair as if she could vanish into it. The woman’s voice finally broke the silence. Smooth, controlled,,, almost rehearsed. “Welcome, Miss Madison.” Maddie flinched at the sound of her name. The woman stepped closer, heels clicking sharp against the floor, until she was standing right in front of Maddie. Something slid from behind her coat. A clipboard. Paper clipped neatly, a pen hooked to the side. She leaned down, placed it on Maddie’s lap with slow precision. “Sign,” the woman said simply. Maddie blinked at it. Her hands trembled against the chains. “Wh—what is this? I don’t… I’m not signing anything.” The woman’s head tilted. That smile spread across her face—thin, too wide, not kind. “Rules are still rules. Procedures must be followed. There’s no intermediate consent here.” Maddie shook her head, throat dry. “I don’t… I don’t understand.” The woman’s voice lowered, almost gentle now, which somehow made it worse. “You can already tell I’m a doctor. And in order to do anything to our patients…” she let the word linger, heavy, deliberate, “…we need their consent.” She smiled again. Creepy. Too still. The word ‘patient’ thundered in Maddie’s skull, louder than her heartbeat. Patient. Patient. As if she wasn’t Maddie anymore. As if she’d already been claimed... To be continued…

Pulse Point 

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Pulse Point

ItsmrPascal

Louis Pascale

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Pulse Point

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