Chapter 7: The Phone With Green and Red Buttons
Door clicked shut behind Adrian and I stayed still. Mattress held shape of my body. Warm tungsten light leaked under doorway into cabin bedroom. My breath stayed shallow. I counted seconds in silence after footsteps faded down narrow corridor. Then I moved.
Phone pressed against my chest, lit screen hot through satin camisole. Battery bar showed two bars, orange, mid-low. My thumb shook. I slid from under blanket, feet silent on wood floor, back against cabin wall where shadow fell thickest. Yacht hummed around me, engine low, water slapping hull. No voices.
I flipped phone open. Small black candybar, green and red buttons worn smooth, screen glow pale on my hands. Battery tick worried me. I needed voice duplicated before power died. I held phone close to mouth, blanket draped over head to muffle sound, and pressed record.
My whisper came thin. "It is Mara Villanueva. Time is eleven forty seven PM. I am in cabin bedroom on yacht. Adrian de Vera said Today at 2:00 AM, we will take it out. He said Drink it, my love, so you can sleep peacefully. He gave me two white scored pills with water. I did not swallow pills. He said My love, wake up, you need some air earlier when he checked if I slept. I repeat. Today at 2:00 AM, we will take it out."
I stopped recording, played back half second to confirm capture, volume lowest. My voice sounded smaller than I remembered, but words stayed verbatim. I saved file as 2347. Proof existed now outside my memory, timestamped.
Next step demanded lifeline. I opened messages, found attorney contact from earlier call. Signal showed one bar, fragile. I typed with thumbs, fast, blanket still over phone to kill light leak.
My message: "Attorney please don't cut me off they plan to hurt me tonight still on yacht Sea Quest coordinates not visible from cabin no windows to deck need help before 2 AM do not call back voice will alert him text only Mara Villanueva"
I stared at yacht name painted on life ring I saw at boarding, Sea Quest, hoped spelling correct. I added second text: "Two white scored pills hidden as evidence he said Drink it my love so you can sleep peacefully please confirm"
Send failed first time, spinning circle. My pulse hammered against ribs. I held phone higher toward ceiling, toward narrow porthole. Second attempt went through, small delivered check appeared. No reply yet, but delivered meant tower reached.
I did not wait. Light leak risked exposure. Adrian had scanned my chest last time he looked in, eyes dropping to blanket where phone bulge had been. He knew. I needed better cache.
I dimmed screen to lowest setting, then disabled keypad tone, disabled vibration, set screen timeout to five seconds. I deleted call log, deleted sent texts from visible inbox after memorizing attorney number on paper scrap I tucked into palm, cleared recent calls so red call history showed empty. If he grabbed phone, blank history bought seconds.
Battery dropped to one bar red after screen time. I needed conserve.
I knelt beside bed, lifted mattress corner. Seam along edge had small split where stitching loosened. I slid phone inside, screen facing down, green and red buttons hidden. Then I retrieved two white scored pills from folded tissue inside my camisole pocket where I had palmed them earlier. Pills stayed dry, identical, score line sharp across center. I wrapped them in same tissue, pressed them deep into same mattress seam beside phone. Both objects touched. Evidence duplicated, physical and digital together.
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I smoothed mattress flat, tucked sheets tight, fluffed pillow case over lump so surface looked undisturbed. I checked from doorway angle, crouched low where Adrian had watched. No bulge visible. No light leaked.
I slipped back under blanket, lay on side exactly as before, breathing slow, eyes half closed, hands empty on pillow. Corridor stayed silent, but I heard faint creak, weight shifting somewhere above deck. My heart slowed by force. Battery conserved, message sent, recording saved, pills hidden. I waited for next check without sleep, listening.
