What'S The Plot Twist In 'Call For The Dead'?

Sunday, the 10th of July 2030, will be the day everything, life as we know it, will change forever. For now, let's bring it back to the day it started heading in that direction. Jebidiah is just a guy, wanted by all the girls and resented by all the jealous guys, except, he is not your typical heartthrob. It may seem like Jebidiah is the epitome of perfection, but he would go through something not everyone would have to go through. Will he be able to come out of it alive, or would it have all been for nothing?

My husband, Garrett Kachmar, vanished overseas with his ex, Linda Sharpe. They left me with one thing—an illegitimate, screaming baby. Twenty years later, I posted that my "son" had passed his exams. He was joining the police force. That's when Garrett came back. With Linda. And a lawsuit. At the plaintiff's table, Linda looked polished—soft makeup, perfect posture. Her voice? Pure control. "After Garrett divorced, we got married and had a big, healthy boy. Jemma couldn't stand seeing us happy, so she stole our son. We searched for twenty years. She refuses to give him back. We're his biological parents. We have the right to take him." Garrett shot me a glare. "Jemma, just because you can't have kids doesn't mean you get to steal mine." The trial was livestreamed. The comments exploded. [Can't have your own kid so you steal one?] [You destroyed a family. Sick.] [Give him back to his real parents!] Then my "son" was called into the courtroom. And the whole room went dead quiet.

On our third wedding anniversary, Kent gave me a gift. A black metal wristband. Cold. Sleek. He called it a new product from his company—a pain-sharing system. The other user was Violet. His "girl bro." The person he was closer to than his own sister. Kent brushed a hand over my cheek, his gaze soft. "Clara, you're too coddled. You should learn from Violet. She's tough." Then he snapped the wristband onto my wrist. So while Violet got a full-back tattoo and an entire sleeve, I felt every single needle. When Violet went wingsuit flying, I collapsed at home. Every bone in my body felt shattered. I threw up blood. While she soaked up attention online as the "extreme sports queen," I was drowning in nonstop pain. Kent sat beside me, holding my hand as he cared. "Just hang in there. Violet's just being herself. As my wife, you should be more understanding." To finally push me over the edge, Violet decided to livestream herself jumping into the ocean to make me die in her place. Their friends couldn't wait to watch. Later, I watched calmly from a hospital room as the system slowly drained the life out of her. Kent looked deranged as he demanded to know why I wasn't dead. Because I had already reversed the system. All her vitality had become the nourishment that sustained me.

After getting laid off, I come across a post when I'm looking for a new job. "What sort of job is the most lucrative these days?" There's a comment with the most likes in the comment section. "Find yourself a sugar daddy, duh! My sugar daddy is already the CEO of a company even though he's only in his 30s! He gives me 100 thousand dollars every month. Not only is he handsome and caring, but he's also amazing in bed! Hoo boy, we can keep going around seven times every night!" Someone asks the commentor, "How did you find such an amazing daddy?" "Last May, he was at a bar drinking his sorrows away after an argument with his girlfriend. I consoled him for a bit. That's how we ended up being together. "He kept complaining that his girlfriend was like dead fish in bed, so he was already sick of her a long time ago. You know what men are like, always going for excitement in life." My fingers curled around my phone slightly. Last May, I did get into a huge argument with my boyfriend, Brian Dicht. He never came home that night. The next morning, he returned while reeking of alcohol. I continue scrolling down the comment section, only to see the commentor posting a photo. "See? I was acting all cute and whiny to him just now by telling him that I cut my finger when I was preparing a meal for myself. He agreed to drop by my place to keep me company tonight." In the photo, there's a diamond ring adorning the ring finger that has a plaster wrapped around it. That ring looks exactly the same as the set of engagement rings Brian and I have. At the same time, my phone starts ringing. Soon, Brian's voice drifts from the other end of the line. "Bella, something came up in the company at the last minute. I'm not coming home tonight."

After working abroad for several years, I returned home, only to have my parents arrange a blind date for me. He was tall and strikingly handsome, honest in character, steady in demeanor, and came from an excellent family background. In short, the perfect candidate for a husband. I told myself that sooner or later, marriage was inevitable, so I settled on him. The day before the wedding, I went to the church—only to be stunned by the sight before me. The entire place had been transformed into something sinister and grotesque. The walls were plastered with terrifying photos of corpses, the floor littered with wax figures of severed arms and legs, and even the flowers had been dyed black, dripping with blood-red stains. But the most infuriating part was the image hanging right at the center of the church—an AI-generated picture of me, pinned beneath my fiancé, as he whipped me. My whole body trembled with fury. I stormed at the staff still working on the decorations, ordering them to stop immediately. Just then, his best friend, Nina Cullen, walked in. "Don't stop. Yves prefers this wedding style." I froze, staring at her in disbelief. "How is that possible? Who in their right mind would decorate something as joyous as a wedding with gore? This is insane!" Nina only gave a cold, arrogant laugh. "That's the theme. If you want to marry him, you'll have to accept it." Speechless, I immediately called Yves. "Yves, I'm not interested in getting married in a haunted house. You'd better restore the church to normal; otherwise, this wedding is off."

When my wife, Cynthia Larson, dies of bone cancer, I am in Penwood on a honeymoon with my "first love". After this is exposed, I—a well-known philanthropist—am subjected to the internet's rage for an entire month. Beyond threats and harassment messages, even my food deliveries are poisoned. As public outrage intensifies, the companies under my name are on the verge of bankruptcy. In overwhelming grief, I start a livestream. Tens of thousands of viewers flood in, demanding that I apologize to my deceased wife. They want to see me suffer as I chase after lost love when it is too late. Unexpectedly, I stand in front of Cynthia's grave holding a shovel. "She is already dead. Shouldn't her kidney be donated to Irene?"