CHAPTER 5 : Jack mysterious past

The WKLN booth felt smaller tonight, the air thick with the scent of old vinyl and burnt coffee. Ellie Harper adjusted her mic, her eyes flicking to the phone every few minutes, half-expecting its red light to blink. It had been two nights since Jack's voice crackled through the line, since he'd appeared outside the station like a ghost stepping out of the dark. Two nights, and she couldn't shake him—his gravelly drawl, the way his eyes had pinned her in place, calling her trouble before roaring off on his bike."Alright, Cloverfield," she said into the mic, forcing her focus back to the airwaves. "It's 1:13 a.m., and you're with Ellie Harper on WKLN. Let's keep the night rolling with some Tom Waits—here's Ol' 55 to carry you down those lonely roads." She hit play, the song's melancholy chords curling through the booth.Ellie leaned back, her notepad doodled with absent-minded swirls and the word Jack scrawled in the margin. She didn't know why he'd stuck in her head like a stubborn song lyric. Maybe it was the mystery—the way he'd dodged her questions, hinting at a past without giving her a single thread to pull. Or maybe it was the way he'd looked at her, like he saw something she didn't even know was there.The phone lit up.Ellie's heart lurched. She grabbed the receiver, her voice steadier than she felt. "WKLN, you're on with Ellie. Who's this?""Guess," came the low, familiar rumble.Her lips curved despite herself. "Jack, you're gonna have to get more creative than calling every other night. Cloverfield's got other fans, you know."His chuckle crackled through the line, warm and rough. "Yeah, but they don't sound like you. How's the booth treating you tonight, Radio Girl?""Quiet," she said, twirling her pen. "Just me and the ghosts of DJs past. You out there driving again?""Something like that." A pause, the faint hum of wind in the background. "Got a request—Wicked Game by Chris Isaak."Ellie's breath hitched. Another song about longing, about falling into something dangerous. "You're sticking with the heartbreak anthems, huh? What's the story this time?"Jack was quiet for a moment, long enough that she thought he might dodge again. Then he spoke, his tone softer, edged with something raw. "It's a song that plays when you're running from something you can't outrun. Ever feel that, Ellie?"Her fingers stilled on the pen. "Yeah," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sometimes." She didn't elaborate—she wasn't ready to spill her own ghosts, the ones she'd left behind in the city, the broken dreams and a love that had shattered her confidence. But Jack's question hung there, a bridge between them.She cleared her throat, flipping the mic switch. "Alright, Jack, this one's for you and whatever you're running from. Here's Wicked Game." She started the track, its haunting guitar licking at the edges of the booth.As the song played, Ellie's mind raced. Jack wasn't just a drifter passing through Cloverfield—she could feel it. There was a weight to his words, a story he was holding back. And she wanted to know it, even if it meant stepping closer to whatever fire he was carrying.Across town, Jack sat on his motorcycle at the edge of Miller's Quarry, the town's old mining scar, now a quiet expanse of stone and shadow. The radio in his hand crackled faintly, Ellie's voice fading into the song he'd requested. He tilted his head back, staring at the stars scattered above, his jaw tight.Wicked Game. It hadn't been a random pick. It was the song that had played on repeat four years ago, back when his life was a different kind of mess. Back when he was still Jackson Tate, not just "Jack," the name he'd given Ellie to keep her at a distance.He'd been twenty-eight then, working as a mechanic in a coastal town in Oregon, his days filled with grease and salt air. He'd had a life—a small one, but his. A garage he co-owned, a fixer-upper house with a view of the Pacific. And Lena. She'd been the center of it all, with her wild laugh and her habit of stealing his flannel shirts. They'd danced to Wicked Game in their kitchen, her head tucked against his chest, her voice promising forever.But forever didn't last. Lena had secrets—debts she hadn't told him about, ties to people who didn't take kindly to unpaid promises. Jack had tried to fix it, dipping into his savings, working double shifts. But one night, those people came looking. Words turned to fists, and Jack fought back—too hard. He hadn't meant to leave a man bleeding on the pavement, but intent didn't matter when the guy was connected. The cops called it self-defense, but Lena's creditors didn't. They'd promised to come for him, and Jack knew they wouldn't stop.So he'd run. Sold the garage, left the house, and became someone else. Jack, the drifter, moving from town to town, fixing radios and engines, keeping his head down. Cloverfield was just another stop—until he'd heard Ellie's voice on the radio, warm and curious, pulling at threads he'd thought were long buried.He shouldn't have called. Shouldn't have shown up at the station. But there was something about her, something that made him want to stay, even if just for a little while. Trouble, he'd called her. He almost laughed. She had no idea how right he was.The song ended, and Ellie's voice came back, smooth and teasing. "Hope that hit the spot, Jack. Got time for one more call—whaddaya say?"Jack stared at the radio, his thumb hovering over the call button on his burner phone. He wanted to answer, to give her another piece of himself. But every piece came with a risk—not just to him, but to her.He clicked the radio off and started the bike, the engine's roar swallowing the silence. Cloverfield's lights blinked in the distance as he rode toward the highway, the weight of his past heavier than ever.Back in the booth, Ellie stared at the silent phone, disappointment curling in her gut. Jack hadn't called again. She queued another song, her voice bright for the listeners despite her thoughts drifting to him. Whoever he was running from, it wasn't just a memory—it was a chain, one he hadn't broken.As she signed off at dawn, locking the station behind her, she glanced down the empty street, half-hoping to see a motorcycle parked under the streetlight. Nothing. Just the quiet of Cloverfield waking up.But Ellie wasn't give up easily. Tomorrow night, she'd be back on the air. And something told her Jack would be listening.

The static hum of the radio booth filled the air as Ellie Harper adjusted her headphones, her fingers trembling slightly. It was her first night hosting the midnight slot at WKLN, Cloverfield's only radio station, and the weight of the empty airwaves pressed against her chest. The blinking "ON AIR" sign glowed red above the console, a silent reminder that every word she spoke would float out into the night, reaching who-knows-who."Alright, Cloverfield," she said into the mic, her voice steadier than she felt. "This is Ellie Harper, your new late-night companion, spinning tracks and stories until the moon hands over to the sun. Let's kick things off with a classic—here's Van Morrison to ease you into the witching hour."She queued Brown Eyed Girl and leaned back in her chair, exhaling. The booth was a cozy cocoon of dim lights and worn equipment, its walls plastered with faded band posters and handwritten playlists from DJs long gone. Ellie had dreamed of this moment since she was a kid, sneaking a transistor radio under her pillow to listen to late-night hosts weave magic through the airwaves. Now, at twenty-six, she was finally here—though Cloverfield's tiny station was a far cry from the big-city gigs she'd once imagined.The song faded out, and Ellie leaned forward, flipping the mic switch. "That was Van Morrison, folks. So, tell me—what's keeping you up tonight? Got a story, a song request, or maybe a secret you want to share with the night owls? Lines are open." She rattled off the station's number, her voice warming as she settled into the rhythm.The phone stayed silent. Ellie glanced at the clock—12:17 a.m. Maybe Cloverfield's insomniacs weren't ready to trust a new voice yet. She was about to queue another song when the phone's red light blinked.Her heart skipped. She grabbed the receiver. "WKLN, you're on with Ellie. Who's this?"A low, gravelly voice crackled through the line. "Hey, Ellie. Name's… let's go with Jack. Long-time listener, first-time caller."She smiled, scribbling Jack on her notepad. "Well, Jack, welcome to the show. What's on your mind tonight?""Not much," he said, his tone casual but laced with something she couldn't quite place—amusement, maybe? "Just driving through the backroads, saw your station's signal pop up. Thought I'd keep you company.""Driving at this hour? You a night owl or just lost?" she teased, leaning into the mic.He chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to curl through the booth. "Bit of both, maybe. Got a request—how 'bout Harvest Moon by Neil Young?""Solid choice," Ellie said, already pulling the track up. "Any story behind it?"A pause. "Let's just say it reminds me of someone I used to know."There it was—a hint of something deeper, like a door cracked open. Ellie's curiosity sparked, but she knew better than to push a caller too soon. "Alright, Jack, this one's for you and that someone. Here's Neil Young." She hit play, the soft strums of Harvest Moon filling the airwaves.As the song played, Ellie stared at the phone, wondering about the man behind the voice. Jack, whoever he was, had a way of lingering in the silence, his words carrying a weight that made her want to know more. She shook her head, laughing at herself. One call, and you're already spinning stories, Harper.The rest of the night passed in a blur of songs and small talk with other callers—an insomniac baker named Rita, a trucker hauling produce to the city. But Jack didn't call back. By the time Ellie signed off at 4 a.m., her eyelids heavy but her mind buzzing, she couldn't shake the feeling that his voice would haunt her until she heard it again.Outside the station, the pre-dawn air was crisp, and Cloverfield's main street was deserted, save for the flicker of a streetlight. Ellie locked the door behind her, her breath puffing in the chill. She was halfway to her beat-up hatchback when she noticed a figure leaning against a motorcycle across the street, silhouetted under the sodium glow."Hey, Radio Girl," a familiar voice called out, low and teasing.Ellie froze, her keys dangling in her hand. The figure stepped forward, and the light caught his face—rugged, with dark stubble and eyes that glinted with mischief. He wore a leather jacket, worn but well-loved, and his boots crunched softly on the gravel as he closed the distance."Jack?" she said, her voice barely above a whisper.He grinned, tilting his head. "In the flesh. Nice show tonight."Her pulse raced, a mix of surprise and something she didn't want to name. "What are you doing here? Stalking the new DJ already?""Nah," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Just… passing through. Thought I'd see who's behind the voice keeping Cloverfield awake."Ellie crossed her arms, trying to mask the flutter in her chest. "And? Verdict?"Jack's eyes held hers, steady and unreadable. "I think you're trouble, Ellie Harper. The good kind."Before she could respond, he turned back to his bike, swinging a leg over the seat. "See you on the airwaves," he called, the engine roaring to life. And just like that, he was gone, taillights fading into the dark.Ellie stood there, the night swallowing the sound of his departure. Trouble, huh? She smiled to herself, unlocking her car. Maybe Jack was right—but something told her he was the one who'd bring it.