When Never Comes

by Barbara Davis

Clear Harbor, Maine November 19, 2016 The first ring came with the same throat-thickening panic all 2:00 a.m. phone calls produce. Disorientation. Dread. The certainty that something, somewhere, is terribly wrong. Christine shot up with a gasp, grabbing for the phone on the bedside table. “Hello?” “Mrs. Ludlow?” “Yes.” “Christine Ludlow?” “Yes. Who’s calling?” “Mrs. Ludlow, this is Sergeant Stanley with the Clear Harbor police. I apologize for the call, but we’ve been knocking for some time now. We need to speak with you.” Police? Her pulse ticked up a notch, the skin on the back of her neck prickling with the old familiar warning. “What’s happened? What’s wrong?” The voice on the other end of the phone was polite but strained. “We’d prefer to speak in person.”