Miguel selected the number to call. Hearing the dial tone next to his ear, he muttered, "Come on, come on…."

Voicemail.

"Tory, it's Miguel. Again," he said into the phone. "Please call me back, let me know you're okay. Alright. Bye." He pressed the red circle to end the message and ran a hand through his hair.

Did the police pick her up? His mind raced with a dozen horrible scenarios. But no scenario was worse than what the needling voice in his mind taunted him with, what he suspected deep down:

She saw. She knew.

He dialed again.

Voicemail.