Marley shot from the couch like it was on fire, her phone clattering from her hands to the ground. With blurry eyes she dove for it with shaking hands, sprawled out on the hardwood floor with her head spinning.
"...a call request from inmate number...356891...Bob Hoover..."
Dad?
She was nearly hyperventilating, heaving for breaths as she held her phone with whitened fingers, trying to figure out how to feel, what to do.
Marley could hear the robotic female voice repeating the message again even with her ringing ears, as she stared at the numbers climbing on the call duration time numbly. After all this time of being behind bars, since the day she left camp, he's calling now?
What if it's an emergency?
What if he's going to mess with your head again?
If you don't answer now, he may n
