Seven Years Waiting, Seven Days Saying Goodbye

Synopsis

Martin's phone buzzed as he finished tucking Winona in. It was 2:17 a.m. A text from an unknown number lit up the screen. [Your fiancée will die today. For the third time.] Martin stared at it for a few seconds, then rolled over and shut his eyes. He thought, 'Seriously? Scammers aren't trying anymore. I mean, if you're going to scare someone, at least make it sound believable. Who starts with 'the third time'?' Winona was fast asleep, breathing steadily behind him. She was a forensic pathologist. Earlier today, she had finished a seven-hour autopsy. By the time she got home, she was so exhausted that she hadn't showered. She collapsed onto the bed and passed out. Martin worried about her, so he had taken the next day off on purpose, planning to drive her out of town and let her relax for once. His phone buzzed again. It was the same number. [If you don't believe me, check her bag. The innermost pocket.] Martin frowned and glanced back at Winona. She lay perfectly still, her breathing soft and even. Every now and then, her eyelashes fluttered, like she was dreaming. He knew he shouldn't go through his fiancée's bag, but the certainty in that message unsettled him in a way he couldn't quite explain. Winona's bag hung on the hook behind the door. A black backpack, half-zipped. Moving as quietly as possible, Martin slipped out of bed and crossed the room. He reached inside and began to search. His fingers brushed against a sheet of paper tucked deep inside the innermost pocket. He pulled it out. It was an autopsy report from the hospital. [Deceased: Winona Lane] [Age: 28] [Time of Death: March 17, 2024] [Cause of Death: Cardiac arrest] [Notes: No external injuries. Abnormal fibrosis observed in myocardial tissue samples.] Martin's hand trembled. The paper almost slipped from his fingers. March 17 was yesterday. Today was already the 18th.