Andy Stanley: It Got Me Worried…

Andy Stanley: It Got Me Worried…

Andy Stanley sat at his desk, staring at his laptop screen. The cursor blinked expectantly on the blank document, but his fingers hovered motionless over the keyboard. The email he had received an hour ago still echoed in his mind, unsettling him in a way he couldn’t shake.

The subject line had been vague: “Urgent: We Need to Talk.” The sender, Dr. Eliza Hartman, was a name he recognized but hadn’t expected to hear from. She was a forensic analyst working for the Bureau, someone he had crossed paths with years ago when he was still in law enforcement. That was another life—a past he had buried beneath layers of sermons and leadership conferences.

Andy took a deep breath and reread the email:

Andy,

I know we haven’t spoken in years, but something has come up that concerns you directly. I can’t discuss it over email. Meet me at The Lantern Café at 8 PM tonight. It’s urgent.

-Eliza

A chill ran down his spine. He had built his life around faith, trust, and community. He had counseled thousands of people through crises, but nothing had prepared him for a message like this. What could possibly be so urgent? And why now?

He checked his watch—7:30 PM. He had thirty minutes to get to the café. Deciding against telling anyone, he grabbed his coat and keys and headed out into the cold night.

The Lantern Café was dimly lit, its cozy ambiance offering an odd contrast to the knot tightening in Andy’s stomach. He spotted Eliza immediately—she hadn’t changed much. Her sharp eyes, always observant, met his as he approached.

“Andy,” she greeted, motioning for him to sit.

“Eliza. It’s been a long time.”

She nodded but wasted no time with pleasantries. “I don’t know how to say this except to be direct. A case has come up—a missing person. And your name was found in his personal effects.”

Andy blinked. “What?”

Eliza slid a file across the table. “His name is James Harrow. Does it ring a bell?”

Andy shook his head. “No. Never heard of him.”

She opened the file, revealing a grainy photo of a man in his early forties. Something about his eyes made Andy uneasy.

“He disappeared three nights ago,” Eliza continued. “We found your name on a list in his desk drawer. It was hand-written, along with a few others. Some are deceased, some missing. You’re the only one still accounted for.”

Andy’s pulse quickened. “That doesn’t make sense. I don’t know this man.”

Eliza studied him. “Are you sure? Think carefully.”

Andy tried to recall every name, every interaction from his past. Nothing about James Harrow stood out. But there was something familiar about the handwriting.

Eliza pulled out another paper—a letter. “This was also found in his belongings.”

Andy’s breath caught as he read:

Andy, I need to talk. It’s about what happened in 1997. I think they found me. If you remember anything, reach out. Before it’s too late.

He exhaled sharply. 1997.

A memory stirred, distant and fragmented—an old case, one of his first as a young officer. A string of disappearances. A suspect who was never found. And something else… something he had locked away.

Eliza was watching him carefully. “Andy, what happened in 1997?”

He hesitated, then whispered, “I don’t know. But it’s got me worried.”

That night, Andy couldn’t sleep. He paced his study, searching his memory for any details that might make sense. The name James Harrow was still foreign, but the unease in his chest told him this was no coincidence.

Finally, he went to the old storage boxes in his garage. Digging through files and notes from his law enforcement days, he searched for anything connected to the missing persons cases of 1997.

Then, he found it.

A case file labeled “Operation Harrow.”

Andy’s hands trembled as he opened it. Inside, he found a newspaper clipping: “Three Men Missing, Last Seen Near Abandoned Chapel.” And scrawled on the margins, in his own handwriting, was a single word:

RUN.

His blood ran cold. Whatever had started in 1997 wasn’t over.

And now, it had come back for him.