My heartbeat pulses between my ears and throat. This is a cellphone. It's an old flip-phone, an old Nokia—I remember a story a friend told me once about dropping their Nokia in a back alley in winter: how when the snow melted they retrieved their phone, charged it, and it still worked. Durable little guys. Oh, how I wish to take my anger out on it and destroy it...but something tells me the damage has already been done and burning the energy to destroy it wouldn't be worth it at this point.
Taking a shuddering breath I approach the counter, grabbing the Nokia, flipping it open. No passcode so I can dive right in. I first go to Nicole's call history, seeing that several outgoing calls were made between this morning and afternoon. It is currently 2:13pm. The first call was made at the same
