The Last Call

It was a rainy night in New York City. Jake Carter, a young and ambitious journalist, was sitting at his desk in the newsroom, typing furiously on his laptop. He had been working on a series of articles about the notorious serial killer known as The Caller, who had been terrorizing the city for the past six months. The Caller had a twisted modus operandi: he would call his victims before killing them, taunting them with clues about his identity and motives. He would also leave a phone at the crime scene, with a recorded message for the police and the media.

Jake had been obsessed with finding out who The Caller was and why he was doing this. He had interviewed several experts, witnesses, and survivors, but none of them could give him a clear picture of the killer's profile. He had also received several anonymous tips and leads, but most of them turned out to be false or irrelevant. He was frustrated and exhausted, but he refused to give up. He believed that he was close to cracking the case and that he could be the one to expose The Caller to the world.

He was so engrossed in his work that he didn't notice his phone ringing until it was too late. He glanced at the caller ID and saw an unfamiliar number. He hesitated for a moment, then decided to answer it. Maybe it was another tip, or a source, or someone who knew something.

"Hello?" he said.

"Hello, Jake," a distorted voice replied. "I've been expecting your call."

Jake felt a chill run down his spine. He recognized the voice instantly. It was The Caller.

"How did you get this number?" he asked, trying to sound calm.

"Oh, come on, Jake. Don't play dumb with me. You've been trying to find me for so long. You've been digging into my past, my secrets, my motives. You've been writing about me, talking about me, thinking about me. You've been chasing me, Jake. And now I'm calling you."

Jake felt a surge of adrenaline and fear. He looked around the newsroom, hoping to find someone who could help him. But it was late, and most of his colleagues had already left. He was alone with The Caller.

"What do you want from me?" he asked.

"I want to play a game with you, Jake," The Caller said. "A game of life and death."

Jake swallowed hard. He knew what The Caller meant by that. He had heard his recordings before. He had seen his victims before.

"What kind of game?" he asked.

"A simple one," The Caller said. "I have one more victim with me right now. She's tied up in a basement somewhere in the city. She's alive, for now. But not for long."

"Who is she?" Jake asked.

"That's for you to find out, Jake," The Caller said. "I'll give you some clues, some hints, some riddles. If you can solve them in time, you might be able to save her. If not, well...you know what will happen."

Jake felt a pang of anger and pity. He wondered who the victim was, and why The Caller had chosen her. He wondered if he could save her, or if it was too late.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked.

"Because I can," The Caller said. "Because it's fun. Because I like to see you suffer. Because I want to teach you a lesson."

"What lesson?" Jake asked.

"You'll see," The Caller said. "But first, let me ask you a question: Do you know who I am?"

Jake paused. He had been trying to figure out The Caller's identity for so long, but he had no concrete evidence or proof. He had some theories, some suspicions, some hunches, but nothing solid.

"No," he admitted.

"Good," The Caller said. "That makes it more interesting."

"Tell me who you are," Jake demanded.

"No," The Caller said. "That would spoil the fun."

"Tell me where you are," Jake said.

"No," The Caller said again.

"Tell me anything," Jake pleaded.

"Okay," The Caller said. "I'll tell you this: I know you very well, Jake. Better than you think."

"What do you mean?" Jake asked.

"I mean that we have a connection, Jake," The Caller said. "A connection that goes back to your childhood."

Jake felt a jolt of shock and confusion. He tried to think of what The Caller could mean by that.

"My childhood?" he repeated.

"Yes," The Caller said. "Your childhood."

"What are you talking about?" Jake asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," The Caller said. "But for now, let me give you your first clue. Listen carefully, Jake. This is the only time I'll repeat it."

Jake grabbed a pen and a paper, ready to write down anything The Caller would say.

"Go ahead," he said.

"Here it is," The Caller said. "The first clue to find the victim and me:

The place where we met is the place where we'll end

The place where you lost is the place where you'll win

The place where you laughed is the place where you'll cry

The place where you lived is the place where you'll die

That's it, Jake. That's your first clue. Good luck."

The Caller hung up.

Jake stared at his phone, then at the paper. He read the clue over and over again, trying to make sense of it.

The place where we met is the place where we'll end

The place where you lost is the place where you'll win

The place where you laughed is the place where you'll cry

The place where you lived is the place where you'll die

What did it mean? Where was The Caller? Where was the victim? How much time did he have?

He had no idea.

He felt a surge of panic and desperation.

He had to find them.

He had to stop The Caller.

He had to save the victim.

He had to save himself.

He had to solve the mystery.

He had to finish the story.

He had to make the last call.