Charley picked up his phone. It was fully charged now. 6:02 AM. He scrolled to a contact he’d never thought he’d use again.

And it was smiling.

Charley slid out of bed and grabbed the baseball bat—the one with the nail through the barrel, Peter Vincent’s idea. The one he’d laughed at. He didn’t laugh now.

The Long Night of North Gate Terrace

Charley tightened his grip on the bat. His heart hammered so loud he was sure she could hear it.

“You said if I ever needed you, text the bat emoji.”