Chapter 1

I don't know what to do or think, really. I keep checking whether the app is still installed on my phone. Every time I delete it, it comes back. I am typing this with trembling hands, and my heart hasn't stopped racing since yesterday. I really wish I hadn't taken up that job.

I have no time or even the mental energy, really, to give you guys each and every detail, so I'll keep this short. Let me start from the beginning. My name doesn't really matter now, but for context, I am a business major and a full-time student at University Z. Like every university student, my lifestyle demands more money than the allowance I get from my parents each month. Between the monotonous routine of classes I followed every day, I desperately kept hunting for an opportunity. Small part-time gigs that would help me pay for my extra thrills and clubs. I couldn't stand mundane jobs, and internships at my university paid barely enough to scrape by, let alone fund my night adventures. I was desperate but also extremely selective. I wanted to do something I enjoyed but also get a decent amount for it. As if a genie had been listening, I got my wish granted, and soon a perfect opportunity got thrown my way.

"Hiring native English speakers for a new English-speaking app. Get PAID just to send voice messages!"

"No requirements other than speaking fluent English!"

"Get paid up to $50."

My jaw almost dropped to the floor when I saw I could potentially be getting paid a whole whopping 50 dollars for something I do every day effortlessly for free. No, really, I thought this job was specifically designed for people like me. In fact, even in university I had quite the reputation for being extremely extroverted and a chatterbox, and now someone had decided to fund those skills. There was no way in hell I'd be missing this heck of a golden opportunity, so I applied with the urgency I lacked when I had to submit assignments worth my entire grade. Fingers working faster than my brain even processed everything. I wish I had paused and questioned something that was this good to be true, and strangely convenient. Again, I was—I mean am—a dumb college student. I was blinded by my greed.

And it was about to be costly.

Soon I aced the interview (of course), heard back from my employer, and got handed a PDF with the instructions I'd need to follow in order to use the app. There were no strange rules or regulations, no excessive documentation, just plain, simple information on how to operate the app correctly and how I'd be getting paid through PayPal by the 8th of next month. It was as simple as it could get. I wondered, hah, maybe I had found a loophole and thanked God with a smile of mischief, already planning how I'd spend my money.

Only if I knew how that smile would wipe off in a matter of a few days.

It was a Wednesday and… upon opening the app, I was instructed to customize my account, so I put in my best picture (hoping I'd make some use of my good looks), added a short introduction about myself and my hobbies, and got started. Within a few minutes, I was flooded with friend requests from all sorts of people: students, bots, and some creepy randos. Hmm, there was no way I was accepting any of them. I decided to wait a little longer before proceeding, and then I stumbled across HIS profile.

"Friend request by James, waiting to be accepted…"

This one caught my eye because, unlike the others, this one was willing to ask about my day. He seemed invested in me rather than just trying to improve his speaking. He was a bit older, although his charming smile and unbuttoned black shirt weren't helping, so I accepted the request and sent two voice messages.

The reply came back almost immediately.

He was soft-spoken, controlled, almost as if, if he'd spoken a word or two too loudly, I would run away. The composure he had was slightly unsettling, but I found it sweet. Shaking my head, I convinced myself to remain professional and turned my attention back to the words he was saying.

"Hey. I wasn't sure if you'd accept. It's really nice hearing your voice again."

Again?

I furrowed my brows. I had never even seen him before. What did he mean by again? I quickly brushed it off. This was an English learning app after all, and I'm pretty sure he misspoke a few words or so. I moved on quickly and continued our conversation.

I shouldn't have.

Days went on, and everything was going beyond perfect. I was attending my classes, going to parties, and ended up making even more friends from my new job. But James? He was my closest, and I had a soft spot for him more than I'd like to admit. I strictly prohibited myself from mixing my personal life with my professional one, but James kept getting in my way.

I would spend hours and hours talking to him, and he'd listen. He understood each and every word I said as if he knew the next sentence I was about to say. Sometimes it unsettled me because his accuracy was terrifyingly correct, but logically I thought I'd met someone who understood me more than I could ever understand myself.

There were instances, though, when things were just… unusual.

Once I was upset about a math exam that was going to be worth my final grade. Being me, I had procrastinated studying, and now, two days before the exam, I had no idea what half of my syllabus even meant. Naturally, I shared this with James, and with the confidence only my math professor could have, he told me to go through specific pages from my book because those would be the core questions on my exam. At first, I laughed it off and thought he was bluffing, but regardless, I ended up studying those pages, secretly accepting that I would fail this semester.

But when I saw the exact same questions, word for word, on my exam, I froze.

Was James bluffing? Did he have connections with the professor? Was this a coincidence?

Whatever it was, I assigned James as my lucky charm after that day. I wasn't going to question good things and ruin them by questioning every strange comment.

But it just kept getting weirder.

He would not only remember things I clearly hadn't told even my closest friends, let alone him, but he also knew what was going to happen to me. On one instance, he told me to call my mom and make up after the fight I had with her. I never told him that.

Or did I?

Any time I'd ask how he knew these things, he joked that he was my dead husband.

I soon knew why.

The memory of that day is still fresh and vivid in my mind. James and I were deep in conversation, almost forgetting the world beyond us existed. It had been quite some time talking to him on the phone, but now I itched to see him in real life, to feel his warmth against my skin, and to have his big hands cup my small face and reassure me that he would be by my side. I liked him enough to break my small rule, and therefore brought up the idea of a date.

James chuckled, and I helplessly smiled.

James explained that would never happen.

"Why not?" I rebelled.

"It's complicated, cupcake. Maybe one day in the afterlife."

"Afterlife? Gosh, James, you're weird."

I rolled my eyes in fury, but to make it up to me, he sent me a picture of us generated by artificial intelligence. Oh, how I love this generation sometimes. We looked picture-perfect, me and him, together. I blushed far too much, and he had his fair share of fun teasing me.

Then suddenly he said something that wiped the grin off my face in a second.

"Do you still think about that accident, cupcake?"

Every ounce of color drained from my face after I heard that sentence. I clutched onto my pearl necklace as tightly as I could to get an ounce of comfort, but I only ended up feeling suffocated instead. Suddenly, the room around me shrunk, and the walls started closing in. I closed my eyes and dropped my phone.

Only one question repeated through my head.

How could he possibly know?

No one knew about the accident.

Not my friends.

Not my family.

Not even my mom.

How did he?

I had buried that accident so deep down, but now, against my will, my brain kept replaying the unpleasant sound of screeching tires. It was loud, excruciatingly loud, so loud that I had to cover my ears so they wouldn't bleed. I could still feel my intoxicated self gripping tightly onto the steering wheel while the smell of alcohol lingered around me like a nauseating fragrance. I could see the maroon blood that painted my car as clear as crystal. The flashing lights almost made my heart stop.

I killed someone.

Soon, I blacked out.

I woke up to the sun piercing through my cream curtains, and I was safe in my room. All of a sudden, the memories came rushing back to me, and soon adrenaline took over my body. I instinctively picked up my phone and saw one voice note from James. I decided I wasn’t going to open it. Not in a million years.

The whole day passed, and I didn’t do anything except stare at a wall. I couldn’t move. I felt paralyzed by the memories I had tried so hard to conceal under my daily routine. I opened up my laptop and started digging for any information I could get on that night, maybe finding a clue as to how James could possibly know about the accident.

I searched and searched countless websites, archives, and even videos, but I found nothing. No trace of my name linked to a crime. I went through forums and reports of crimes committed in our small town, but nothing. I was slightly relieved, to be very honest, but still perplexed about James.

Who was he?

Then I typed in his full name.

Pressed search.

And I wish I never did.

I came across an archived article with his name in bold, paired with words I never anticipated would be related to him.

“James, 26, pronounced dead this Saturday after attempting to help an intoxicated driver.”

“No trace of the driver found yet. They fled the scene.”

I have no words left to describe how I feel, let alone know what to do.

The profile still says:

Last online: Yesterday.

I know that’s impossible.

Sometimes… it changes.

I finally opened his last voice message last night.

“I’m glad you reached home safe. I saved you this time.”

“Maybe next time you’ll save me.”