Your phone rings at 3.45 a.m. Your first thought is, something's wrong. Something's wrong with someone I know. This is an emergency. With your heart already pounding in your temples, your hands already sweating and your mind already racing, you fumble for the receiver. Shaking off the fog of sleep, you need to be prepared for the news you're going to hear.

You manage to gasp out a frantic, hello?

From the other end of the receiver, there comes no frantic voice telling you of an accident.

Neither are there cries of someone hurt and in need of help. There's just

breathing. The weighted breath of someone who wants to be heard but does not speak. Under normal

circumstances, this call would scare you, make you think of a stalker who's been watching you, and wants you to

acknowledge the embodiment of fear. We've all seen the horror movies of women, most commonly,

usually young, babysitters likely, who get these calls. Usually, it sends a chill through us,

because while this could be a prank call, it could also be someone sinister.

Someone we wouldn't even be able to identify by voice.

But what if I told you that these calls were not fear-inducing for Judith Rann of Manchester, New Hampshire.

Instead, her heart rose into her throat out of hope and not fear,

thinking this could be her missing daughter trying to give a sign that she's still alive.

After all, this wasn't the first call of this kind,

and she knew her daughter would try to reach out in any way possible.

Maybe she would hear her daughter's voice this time.

She'd been longing for that sound for such a long time. But just like always, the breath was

followed by the same thing. A click of the call being abruptly ended. And with that click,

sunk Judith's hope again. Would she ever see the day when the call might end differently,

a day when she could be reunited with her sweet girl? This is the case of Larene Rann.

Music I'm . ... Welcome to coffee and cases where we like our coffee hot and our cases cold.

My name is Allison Williams.

...