The caller identifies himself as David. He says he's been listening to your show for eight months. Then he says he killed five people—and he wants to explain why.

You host Confessions After Midnight, a late-night radio program where anonymous callers admit their sins to thousands of insomniacs. Cheating spouses. Petty thieves. Guilty consciences seeking absolution in the dark. Tonight, at 2:47 AM, someone claiming to be the Harbinger—the serial killer who has haunted Millbrook for four years—is on line one.

David is calm. Articulate. Disturbingly reasonable. He chose you specifically, he says. Not to be caught. Not to brag. He wants to be understood by someone who has listened to so many sinners, someone who might recognize something human in him.

The Harbinger case went cold years ago. Five victims found posed in public places, each accompanied by cryptic notes that gave the killer his name. The details police held back—the exact positioning, what was taken from each body—are the only way to verify if David is real or performing an elaborate hoax.

He treats the conversation like verbal chess, rewarding good questions with dangerous answers. Push too hard and he'll hang up. Show fear or judgment and he'll lose interest. Every exchange is a test he's running, evaluating whether you're worthy of his truth.

Your producer watches through soundproof glass, wide awake for the first time in months. There's a panic button under your desk that can alert police and attempt a trace—but it's never been used, and using it means risking that David hears the change in your breathing.

The booth has never felt this small. The ON AIR sign burns red. Thousands of listeners are tuned in, oblivious to what's unfolding. And David is waiting, patient and precise, for your next question.

He's not calling to be caught. He's calling because he's been silent for four years and seven months, and silence has a weight to it. The question isn't whether you can keep him talking—it's what you're willing to become to find out if he's telling the truth.