Blood Debt

THE THING I WASN’T SUPPOSED TO KNOW

I knew something was wrong the moment I woke up.

It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. Nothing had exploded, nothing had changed in a way I could point to and say this is it.

It was quieter than that.

It was the absence of something.

I sat up slowly in bed, blinking at the soft morning light filtering through my curtains. For a few seconds, I just listened.

No shouting.

No footsteps.

No argument bleeding through the walls like it usually did.

No Barth.

My chest tightened slightly, but I pushed it away immediately.

He’s probably out.

That was normal. At least, it should’ve been normal.

I swung my legs off the bed and grabbed my hoodie from the chair. My phone was already in my hand before I even fully stood up.

Nothing.

No messages.

Not even the usual nonsense he sent me in the morning, like “don’t burn the house down” or “I’m alive, relax.”

I frowned at the screen.

That wasn’t normal.

Barth always texted.

Always.

Even when he was late, even when he was busy, even when life was falling apart around us, he still checked in.

Today?

Silence.

“Barth?” I called out as I stepped into the hallway.

Nothing answered me.

I walked faster.

“Barth!”

Still nothing.

The house felt, wrong.

Not just quiet, empty.

Like it had been drained overnight.

The living room was the first place I checked. The couch was untouched. No blanket thrown over it. No half-empty cup of water. Nothing.

I turned slowly.

My breathing started to change without me noticing.

Okay.

Maybe the kitchen.

I walked in.

Clean.

Too clean.

Even the sink looked like it had been wiped down properly, like someone had taken time to make sure nothing was out of place.

My stomach sank slightly.

“No,” I muttered under my breath. “No, no.”

I went straight to his room next.

Door half open.

I pushed it wider.

Empty bed.

No clothes on the floor. No mess. No sign of a rushed morning.

Just, gone.

My phone felt heavier in my hand now.

I tried calling him.

Once.

Twice.

Straight to voicemail.

I tried again immediately.

Same thing.

“Pick up,” I whispered, pacing now. “Pick up, Barth.”

Voicemail.

Again.

My grip tightened.

Okay.

Maybe he lost his phone.

Maybe it died.

Maybe

My thoughts stopped when I noticed something on the kitchen table.

A piece of paper.

Folded neatly.

My name is written on it in his handwriting.

My heart slowed for a second.

Then sped up.

I walked toward it like I didn’t trust my own legs.

My fingers hesitated before touching it.

For a second, I just stared at it.

Then I opened it.

It wasn’t long.

Just a few lines.

But each word felt heavier than the last.

“Don’t wait for me.

Don’t go looking for me.

Stay inside.”

That was it.

No explanation.

No warmth.

No I’ll be back.

Just instructions.

My throat tightened immediately.

This wasn’t Barth.

This wasn’t even close.

He didn’t write like that. He didn’t speak like that. He didn’t just disappear and leave commands like a stranger.

My hands started to shake.

“Barth.” I whispered.

I turned in circles like the house would suddenly explain itself if I looked at it the right way.

But nothing changed.

Everything stayed the same.

Except him.

Gone.

I grabbed my phone again, already calling him before I even made it back to the living room.

Voicemail.

Again.

My breathing got faster.

No.

No.

This wasn’t happening.

I started pacing harder now, anger mixing with fear in a way I didn’t like.

“Come on,” I said out loud. “This is stupid. This is so stupid.”

But my voice didn’t sound confident.

It sounded thin.

Uncertain.

Then my phone buzzed.

I froze so fast I almost dropped it.

Unknown number.

My heart slammed against my ribs.

I stared at it for a second too long before answering.

“Hello?” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

Silence.

Just static.

Then a voice.

Calm.

Controlled.

Male.

“You’re awake early.”

My entire body went still.

My throat went dry instantly.

“Who is this?”

A pause.

Not rushed. Not confused.

Patient.

Like he had all the time in the world.

“You should read the news before you start calling people.”

My brows pulled together slightly.

“What?”

The line stayed silent for a second longer, then

Click.

The call ended.

Just like that.

I stared at my phone.

“What the hell” I whispered.

My fingers moved before my brain caught up.

News.

I opened my browser.

Typed it in.

Barth’s name.

Nothing.

I tried again.

Still nothing useful.

I scrolled faster.

Articles loaded one after another, boring, unrelated, normal life things that suddenly felt distant.

Then I saw it.

A small headline.

Buried halfway down the page like it didn’t matter.

But my eyes locked on it anyway.

“Local man involved in suspected underground financial dealings missing after alleged mafia connection.”

My breath stopped.

Completely.

My finger hovered over it before I clicked.

The article was short.

Careful.

Like whoever wrote it was scared of saying too much.

But one line stood out more than anything else.

“Authorities are investigating possible links to organized crime groups operating within the city.”

My stomach dropped so fast I felt dizzy.

Organized crime.

My mind rejected it immediately.

No.

That word didn’t belong anywhere near us.

Near Barth.

Near me.

I backed away from my phone like it had burned me.

“This is wrong,” I said quickly. “This is wrong. This is”

My phone buzzed again.

Same unknown number.

Another message.

“You should sit down.”

My hands went cold.

I didn’t sit.

I couldn’t.

Another message came immediately after.

“He made a mistake.”

My breathing got uneven.

Faster.

Shorter.

“A very expensive one.”

My grip tightened so hard my nails dug into my palm.

I didn’t even notice the pain.

Then

“And now you’re the payment.”

The phone slipped from my hand.

It hit the floor with a dull sound.

But I didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

Didn’t blink.

Because suddenly, everything made sense in the worst possible way.

Barth hadn’t left.

He hadn’t forgotten me.

He hadn’t walked away.

He had been taken.

And someone else had decided I was part of the cost.

I slowly looked down at the phone on the floor.

The screen was still lit.

Waiting.

Like whoever was on the other side already knew I was going to understand eventually.

And somewhere deep in my chest

A quiet, terrifying thought formed.

This wasn’t over.