The words I never said

Chapter five: The call

The first thing I did after reading the message was turn off my phone.

Not because I believed that would make me safer.

It wouldn't.

But somehow, seeing those words disappear into darkness made the situation feel less real.

Run before they find you.

I read the sentence again in my head.

Then another thought came.

Who were "they"?

I looked at the notebook lying beside me.

The room suddenly felt unfamiliar.

The walls.

The window.

The door.

Even the shadows seemed different.

I stood up and checked the window.

Nothing.

I checked the door.

Locked.

I returned to my bed and picked up the notebook.

The final page was still open.

Ask her why your brother called her before he disappeared.

My brother.

Amara.

A phone call.

Three things that shouldn't have belonged in the same sentence.

I opened my phone again.

The unknown number was gone.

Not blocked.

Not deleted.

Gone.

The conversation had completely disappeared.

I searched my recent calls.

Nothing.

My hands became cold.

Someone had sent those messages.

Someone had known about the notebook.

And somehow, someone had been able to erase the evidence.

I barely slept that night.

When morning came, I already knew I wasn't going to school.

Not because I was afraid.

At least, that's what I told myself.

I needed answers.

And there was only one person who could give them to me.

Amara.

I called her.

No answer.

Again.

Nothing.

I sent a message.

We need to talk.

A few seconds later, the message showed as read.

No reply.

Then my phone rang.

Her number.

I answered immediately.

"Where are you?"

Silence.

"Amara?"

I heard breathing.

Then a voice.

But it wasn't hers.

"Stop looking."

My heart stopped.

"Who is this?"

The caller didn't answer.

"Where's Amara?"

A faint laugh came through the phone.

Then the line went dead.

I stared at the screen.

The call had lasted eleven seconds.

I checked the number.

It was Amara's.

I called back.

This time, the number didn't exist.

I sat completely still.

Something was terribly wrong.

I grabbed the notebook and left the house.

I didn't know where I was going.

I only knew I couldn't stay home.

I walked toward the old library.

The librarian might know something.

But when I arrived, the library doors were locked.

A sign hung on the entrance.

CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE.

I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked again.

Still nothing.

Then I noticed something on the ground.

A small envelope.

My name was written on it.

Not my full name.

Just one word.

YOU.

I looked around before picking it up.

Inside was a key.

An old metal key.

And a piece of paper.

Only six words were written on it.

Your brother left this for you.

I stared at the key.

My brother.

Again.

I closed my eyes.

For years, everyone had told me the same thing.

He was gone.

There was nothing to find.

Nothing to investigate.

Nothing to remember.

Yet suddenly, clues were appearing everywhere.

As if someone had been waiting for me to start asking questions.

I turned the key over.

There was a tiny number engraved into the metal.

17.

I knew that number.

There was an old storage room at school numbered seventeen.

It had been locked for years.

I headed back.

The school was almost empty because classes hadn't started yet.

I entered through the side gate and walked toward the old science building.

Room seventeen was at the end of a narrow corridor.

The door was covered in dust.

I tried the key.

It fit.

The lock clicked.

I froze.

Someone had recently used this key.

The door opened.

Inside was darkness.

I switched on the light.

Nothing happened.

I used my phone's flashlight instead.

The room was filled with old desks, broken equipment, cardboard boxes, and forgotten school records.

Then I saw something on the wall.

A photograph.

My brother.

I stepped closer.

It was the same photograph from the notebook.

Except this one was larger.

And there was something written underneath it.

He didn't disappear.

I swallowed.

Then I noticed another photograph beside it.

Amara.

She was younger.

Much younger.

Standing beside my brother.

I stared at the picture.

How was that possible?

My brother had disappeared years before I met Amara.

How could they have known each other?

I searched through the boxes.

One contained old school files.

Another contained photographs.

Then I found a small recorder.

An old voice recorder.

There was only one file saved on it.

The date was the same day my brother disappeared.

I pressed play.

Static filled the room.

Then a voice.

His voice.

I stopped breathing.

For several seconds, there was only silence.

Then he spoke.

"If you're hearing this..."

The recording crackled.

"...then something went wrong."

I gripped the recorder.

His voice sounded frightened.

"I don't know who I can trust anymore."

A pause.

Then he said something that made my entire body go cold.

"Especially her."

The recording ended.

I stared at the device.

"Her?"

Who was he talking about?

Amara?

Someone else?

I pressed play again.

Nothing.

The file had disappeared.

I checked the recorder.

Empty.

Every file was gone.

A sound came from behind me.

The door creaked.

I turned.

Someone was standing in the doorway.

I couldn't see their face.

They stepped inside.

I backed away.

"Who are you?"

No answer.

The person closed the door behind them.

Then came a voice.

A voice I recognized.

The same voice from the phone.

"You're making a mistake."

I stepped backward.

"Where is Amara?"

The person didn't answer.

Instead, they said:

"Your brother asked the same question."

My heart pounded.

"What did you do to him?"

The figure moved closer.

"You really don't remember, do you?"

I froze.

"Remember what?"

Silence.

Then the figure reached into their pocket.

I prepared myself for whatever was coming.

But instead of a weapon, they pulled out a photograph.

They placed it on the desk.

Then walked back toward the door.

Before leaving, they turned around.

"You've been looking for the wrong person."

The door closed.

I ran to the desk.

The photograph showed my brother.

Amara.

The mysterious boy.

And someone else.

Me.

I stared at the picture.

It had been taken years before I ever remembered meeting Amara.

On the back were three words.

You were there.