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“Rafe Johnson.”
At first, Rafe thought he was dreaming. He rolled over in bed, grabbed his mobile, and looked at the time: 2:31 a.m.
“Rafe Johnson.”
He sat bolt upright in bed. It was no dream. He looked around the darkened room in the basement of his Mom’s house and saw no one.
“Who’s there?”
A shape slowly coalesced near the foot of the bed. It was a shadow, then it was a man.
“Do you remember me, Rafe?”
“What the fu…”
“If you kill a man, you should at least remember what he looked like.”
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