I Saw My Death Coming, So I Escaped Their Perfect Trap

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I was carrying a maintenance report for the seabed pipeline, on my way to have my fiancé double-check it.

My hand had just closed around the door handle when a few lines of grayish-white text floated up in front of my eyes.

【Don't go in.】

【Tonight at ten forty, two men will die in the sealed chamber.】

【The report they use to go down bears your name.】

【Three days from now, the dead man's son will rush over and stab you to death.】

I stood in the corridor, the back of my shirt soaked through in an instant.

The radio crackled at the same moment.

Rodney Sanchez's voice came through, as gentle as ever.

“Ginny, I've gone over the report for you. Tomorrow you can just send the men straight down. Come sign it, would you?”

1

Rodney and I had been engaged a year and a half.

Everyone said he was steady, respectable, the kind of family man you rarely find.

But in that moment, all I felt was the cold spreading down my spine.

I gripped the radio and asked him,

“What report? Why do I have to come sign it right now?”

Rodney gave a short laugh.

“Tomorrow's maintenance. I tidied up a few numbers for you. You'll rest easier if you come check it over yourself.”

“Don't hold things up. The men go down at six to start prepping.”

The message had just told me not to go in.

And he was pushing me to come sign right away.

The timing was so neat, it was like someone had worked it all out and was placing the knife in my hand.

I glanced at the digital clock on the wall.

Five fifty-two in the afternoon.

Less than five hours left before the time the message said it would happen.

I kept my voice as level as I could.

“I'm feeling a little dizzy. I'll look at it tomorrow.”

The other end went quiet for a beat.

“Dizzy? Want me to have someone walk you back to your quarters to rest?”

“No need.”

I hung up.

Then I turned and headed for the deck equipment area.

The work recorder was clipped at my waist, filming the whole time from the moment I stepped into the equipment area.

I walked a full circle around the No. 3 sealed chamber.

The state of the hatch.

The pressure gauge reading.

The position of the isolation valve switch.

I filmed all of it, logging the time for each.

Then I called Clyde Lambert.

“I've got concerns about the No. 3 chamber maintenance. Come over now and walk through the report with me.”

Clyde showed up grumbling that I was wasting his time.

I didn't explain. I opened the recording.

“Say the current time into the camera, and the current state of the valve.”

Confused as he was, he did it.

I uploaded the video to the cloud.

Then I had Clyde hang a warning sign on the No. 3 chamber's isolation valve.

Clyde hesitated.

“Miss Simmons, this needs to go through a formal report.”

“I'll take responsibility.”

Ten minutes later, the sign was hanging securely in place.

I sealed the report steps into a file envelope and took it to the records room.

Lucky for me, someone was still on duty before six.

I explained the situation.

They logged it for me and issued a receipt.

At six oh-three, after I left, I went back to the break quarters.

At six twenty-six, a startled cry came from next door.

It was Ethel Harding, who'd just arrived from headquarters.

She'd collapsed at the mouth of the passageway.

I ran over and dropped to one knee beside her.

“Ethel, can you hear me?”

Seeing her slipping out of consciousness, someone beside me shouted,

“Is it her heart?”

I checked her pulse, saw the pill case poking out of her pocket, and said at once,

“Don't move her. Get a tablet under her tongue, and call for the helicopter now.”

I eased her onto her side so she wouldn't choke, and got the tablet under her tongue for her.

A dozen minutes later, the medics arrived.

Ethel gripped my hand.

“Miss Simmons, is that you?”

I said, “It's me. Virginia Simmons.”

Her eyes cleared considerably. She looked at me for a while. “Good girl.”

That night at ten forty, the No. 3 isolation valve was opened before depressurization was complete.

Two maintenance workers were pulled straight into the seabed pipeline.