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“This is the sheriff!” A voice boomed through a megaphone, so loud it rattled the windows. “The house is surrounded! Come out with your hands visible!”
“Graham?” My voice came out as a squeak.
“It's okay.” But he didn't look okay. He looked furious and dangerous. “Someone called in a false report. Stay calm.”
“Put your weapons down and exit the building immediately!”
The front door splintered.
Heavy boots thundered through the house.
“CLEAR!”
“BEDROOM!”
“TWO OCCUPANTS!”
Graham's hands moved to his phone, fingers flying over the screen even as armed figures in tactical gear burst through our bedroom door.
“Hands where we can see them! Now!”
I threw my hands up, my whole body shaking. Graham moved slowly, deliberately, his phone still clutched in one hand.
“Nash, it's Graham,” he said into the phone, his voice deadly calm despite the assault rifles pointed at us. “Are you out there? We’ve been SWATed. It’s a false alarm.”
The next twenty minutes felt like a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. Graham and I sat on his front steps—me in my panties and Graham’s shirt—until Graham demanded they get me a coat. Graham was shirtless and barefoot in nothing but a pair of jeans. All while heavily armed deputies searched his house. Neighbors gathered on the street, watching the drama unfold like it was reality television.
Nash arrived just as the deputy in charge was starting to look sheepish about the whole thing. Whatever Nash said to them worked. The tactical team began packing up their gear, leaving behind only two deputies to take statements.
“The call came from a burner phone,” one of the officers explained. “Anonymous tip claimed there were hostages and weapons involved. Said shots had been fired.”
When one of the deputies came to us to ask for information, Graham practically ripped his head off. “We’re going into the house. Now. Joy needs to get dressed before she gives any kind of statement,” Graham growled.
As soon as we got into the bedroom, I heard my phone ringing. It stopped before I had a chance to answer it. I went over to it and saw I had missed eighteen calls, all from the same number that I didn’t recognize. It rang again.
“Don't answer it,” Graham said immediately.
But my finger was already swiping to accept the call. I needed to know.
“Hello?”
The voice that came through the speaker wasn't human. It was electronically altered, robotic and terrifying.
“This could all stop, Joy. All you have to do is leave him. Walk away from the motorcycle man and I'll disappear. Keep protecting him, and things will get much worse.”
The line went dead.
“Who was it? What did they say?”
I swallowed. I tried to tell him. Then swallowed again. I was having trouble getting the words out. When I finally told him, Graham left the bedroom and shouted for Nash.
Graham started issuing rapid-fire orders to Nash and the remaining deputies. But all I could hear was that mechanical voice promising escalation.
“Put some clothes on, Joy. We're leaving, right the fuck now.” Graham's voice cut through my paralysis as he stomped back into the room. “Did you hear me?”
“Now?”
“Yeah, now,” he growled. “We’re going somewhere safe, that won’t endanger anybody else. I want us out of here in under a minute. Are you good with that?” He looked me dead in the eye, and below his barely controlled rage, I saw the edge of fear, and I knew it was all because of me.
