The Planck Factor

Chapter 4

Jessica

"Who is this?" I said. My chest tightened and my pulse raced.

"Look for a dark van. Down a few spaces to your right. Remember, don't—"

I snapped the phone shut. What the fuck? My pulse was pounding now. I thought of the story. The dark van in the parking lot that morning. And Alexis being followed by a dark van. Too weird. But it had to be a coincidence. Just some wacko.

The phone rang again. I jumped at the sound. Private caller again. I set the phone on the counter and moved back, staring at it as if it were about to explode.

The phone stopped ringing but started again within seconds. A burning odor filled the air. For a crazy moment, I thought it was the phone. Then I saw smoke billowing from the pan.

"Goddamn it!"

I turned off the burner and set the pan aside, surveying the wreckage within it, the butter singed on its surface in shades of mottled black and brown.

"Great," I said. "Just great."

The phone stopped ringing, then started almost immediately.

I snatched it up, checked the number. Private caller. Well, Private Caller was about to get a piece of my mind.

"Jessica?" It was the voice. "Have you looked out the window?"

"No. No, I haven't looked out the damn window. I've been too busy trying to burn my place down."

Silence. "Jessica—"

"No, listen up. I'm trying to make dinner and just ruined my best pan—thanks to you. So why don't you leave me alone. Quit fucking with my head."

"The van—"

"Fuck the van and fuck you. And how do you know there's a van outside my place? Unless, of course, you're in it. I'm calling the cops. Right . . . now!"

I hit the button to disconnect, and immediately dialed 911. In the few seconds it took for them to answer, I turned off the light and edged up to the window, so I could peek through the crack in the blinds without moving them.

Among the vehicles in the lot, I saw a dark van. Looked like the same van I'd seen that morning. My stomach felt hollow, as if I were plunging down a skyscraper in a fast-moving elevator. What was going on? I thought again about the story, but no one knew the details except my writers group. And none of them would play a sick joke like this.

"911. What is the nature of your emergency?"

"Um. I've been getting strange calls." My voice sounded strangled. "And there's this van parked outside my place." I groped for the right words, but they all sounded crazy.

"Threatening calls?"

"Not exactly. Just . . . strange."

"Ma'am, this is an emergency line. If someone is trying to hurt you or break into your house—"

"No, no. And I'm in a condo." My voice shook. "But this person called and said I was being watched by someone in a dark van. And there's a dark van, just sitting there."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but there's no law against someone parking in a public place. And, just so I'm clear, did you say the caller threatened you?"