Hell bound

Chapter 1: The Silent Warning

I am roused from my sleep by the persistent hum of my phone vibrating against the wooden surface of the bedside table. The sound cuts through the quiet of the morning, drawing me from the hazy comfort of slumber. Still groggy, I reach for it and see that it’s my mother calling. I press the screen to answer, and through the static of a poor connection, I hear her voice, familiar and warm, yet tinged with an underlying urgency.

"Are you still planning to come to New York tomorrow to pick up your things?" she asks, her words crackling as they travel across the line. It’s been almost two years since I left New York to pursue my studies at the University of Washington, with the goal of becoming a lawyer, and in that time, the city has slowly faded into a memory—a place where I once lived, but no longer call home.

"Yes, Mom. I’ll be there tomorrow morning," I respond, my voice steady, though it carries the same promise I’ve made a dozen times before. She always sounds relieved when I confirm, as if hearing it again somehow reassures her. There's a soft, unmistakable joy in her tone, she’s excited, as always, at the thought of seeing her daughter once more after such a long time apart.

We exchange a few more pleasantries before I end the call, placing my phone back on the bedside table with a soft click. But as I turn to leave the bed, I notice something odd—a quick glance at the wall clock reveals that it is no longer ticking. The silence it leaves in its wake is strangely unsettling, but I quickly brush it off, too preoccupied with the day ahead to dwell on it.

I push myself out of bed and shuffle toward the kitchen, the cool wooden floors beneath my feet grounding me in the present moment. I turn on the coffee machine, its familiar motions calming my racing thoughts. As the rich liquid begins to pour into my cup, I find myself gazing out the window above the sink, drawn to the soft light spilling through the glass.

The early morning sun glints off the metal of the sink, casting a warm, golden glow. For a moment, I allow myself to be lost in the simple beauty of the scene, the way the light dances across the surface of the water, how the quiet hum of the morning seems to suspend time. It reminds me of my mother in the summer, when we would spend endless hours by the pool in the backyard. I can almost see her now, lying on a lounge chair, her skin smeared with sunscreen, gleaming like gold in the sunlight. It’s a memory so vivid that it nearly feels as if she is still there beside me, her presence filling the room in a way I hadn’t expected.

With a deep breath, I snap myself back to reality and head toward my bedroom to get dressed. I open the closet door and, at the far end, my eyes fall on the Starbucks apron hanging from a hook. It’s an apron worn thin by time, stained with countless coffee spills and darkened by the hours of work that have come to define so much of my daily life. The stains, though not particularly noticeable to anyone else, are a badge of honor to me, a reminder of the hard work and sacrifices I’ve made in order to pursue my dream of becoming a lawyer.

As I tie the apron around my waist, the familiar notification sound from my phone interrupts my thoughts. At first, it’s a single chime, then another, and soon a rapid succession of notifications. The sound grates against my nerves, and a sense of irritation bubbles up within me. I walk quickly back to the bedside table and snatch up my phone. The screen lights up with a barrage of messages, each one from my mother.

"I need you to come now!" The first message reads.

Then another follows: "Please, it’s urgent."

I feel my chest tighten with a mix of concern and frustration. Her tone is more insistent than usual, and I can’t help but wonder what has caused the sudden shift in her mood. Still, I can’t afford to ignore it. I place the phone back on the table, my mind already racing through possible scenarios as I try to prepare for whatever it is that awaits me.