I Called For Help In Cold Room But My Husband Called Me A Liar Chapter 01

I Called For Help In Cold Room But My Husband Called Me A Liar Chapter 01

It was our wedding anniversary night when Dallas—the serial killer my husband, Thomas Jonson, had been hunting—suddenly showed up at the flower shop where I worked.

I’d been stabbed. Clutching my bleeding wound, I stumbled into the walk-in freezer and dialed Thomas’s number.

The line picked up, and a familiar whistle hummed through the speaker.

Then Thomas’s voice cut through, sharp with revulsion.

“Cecilia. You’ve been hiding with that killer for three years. Now that he’s in custody, you finally worked up the nerve to turn yourself in?”

Hiding for three years? Turn myself in?

But this morning, he’d dropped me off at the shop, grinning and promising to take me to the movies that evening.

I froze, ice seeping straight into my bones.

Heavy footsteps drew closer outside the freezer door. I shoved my confusion aside, ready to beg for help.

But another woman’s voice piped up first.

“Tom, is that my sister calling? Does she still plan to plead for that murderer?”

In the background, Dallas’s wild cackle echoed from the interrogation room.

Thomas let out a cold, bitter laugh.

“Plead for him? A co-conspirator like her doesn’t deserve the right.”

“Cecilia, if you’ve got any shred of conscience left, go beg forgiveness from all the people you got killed.”

I blinked frost off my eyelashes, suddenly devoid of the strength to even speak.

Thomas had no idea. The whistle coming from Dallas in the interrogation room was the same one echoing right outside my freezer.

……

A metal prying sound scraped against the lock. My fingers tightened around the blood-slicked phone, and I hissed a quiet plea for help.

“Tom, I’m locked in the flower shop freezer. That maniac Dallas is right outside—”

Thomas cut me off with a scoff, sharp and impatient.

“Cecilia, can’t you even bother to make up a halfway believable lie? That flower shop got torn down three years ago, back when you leaked our operation and let Dallas slip away. And as for the killer you’re rambling about…”

He fell silent for two beats, stepping closer to the interrogation booth. Dallas’s chilling drawl crackled through the phone.

“The victim that haunted me the most? Hands down the woman I butchered in a walk-in freezer three years ago. Her blood froze solid mid-spurt. Took me ages to hack her body up and bury the pieces separate.”

It hit me right then—I’d really died in this walk-in freezer, three years ago.

The freezer lock rattled, barely hanging on its hinges.

Shudders wracked my frame, my throat raw and parched. “I’m not lying to you, Tom. You dropped me off here this morning. You said we’d celebrate our third wedding anniversary together tonight…”

Thomas’s tone turned frigid. “Cecilia, three years ago, when you handed our raid intel to Dallas and ran off with him, that was supposed to be our third anniversary too. Did that slip your mind?”

The line went dead with a violent click.

We’d been together seven years. That was the first time he’d ever hung up on me.

The temperature plummeted further. Tears splashed onto my frost-numbed, blue-tinged knuckles, freezing solid the second they landed.