he shouted, trying to hide the syringe with his foot. I stared at him, my eyes wide, pretending to be disoriented.
“Mark, what? What’s happening? Why is the alarm going off? Why are you sitting there?”
I started to cry real tears, born from the sheer terror of what almost happened. He immediately shifted gears. The concerned husband mask was back on in a split second.
“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. You had another episode, honey. You were screaming in your sleep. I was just—I was just getting some smelling salts from the first aid kit to wake you up.”
“First aid kit?”
I pointed at the black bag on the floor.
“Why is it in the bedroom?”
“I brought it up earlier because I had a headache,”
he lied, smooth as silk.
“Go back to sleep, Sarah. You’re just confused. It’s the fog again.”
I didn’t go back to sleep. I waited until he went downstairs to calm his nerves with a drink. I grabbed my phone and saw a flurry of missed calls from an unknown number. I dialed back. A woman’s voice answered. It wasn’t Chloe; it was a voice I hadn’t heard in years.
“Sarah, it’s Detective Miller. I worked your father’s case, the one you closed last year.”
“Detective, why are you calling me at 2:00 a.m.?”
“I’m at the dock, Sarah. We just intercepted a shipment of high-end jewelry and vintage watches heading for a private buyer in the Caymans. The manifest list—it has your father’s name on it. And the person who signed the export papers, it wasn’t your husband.”
My heart skipped a beat.
“Who was it?”
“It was Chloe Vance. And Sarah, there’s something else. We found a set of blueprints in the crate. They aren’t for a condo. They’re for your house. There are red X’s over the gas lines in the basement.”
They weren’t just going to declare me incompetent. They were going to make sure I never woke up, and they were going to burn the evidence with me inside. Soon enough, I heard the basement door creak open. Mark isn’t in the kitchen anymore. He’s headed downstairs, and the smell of gas is just beginning to waft through the vents. Now, the stakes have shifted from my sanity to my very survival. They aren’t waiting for a doctor’s signature anymore. They’re waiting for a spark.
Leave a Comment