Chapter 2: Plaster and Lies

👉 Previous decision: You chose to seal the hole immediately with quick-set plaster, hide under the covers, and pretend you saw nothing.

I scrambled for the spackle kit I’d bought for minor repairs. My hands shook as I ripped open the tub of quick-set plaster.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. I worked fast, slopping the grey paste into the drill hole, then smoothing it over with a putty knife.

It was crude, but it was sealed. I found a half-empty can of grey paint under the sink and dabbed it over the patch. It looked like a water stain, nothing more.

I slid the heavy oak wardrobe back into place, pressing it flush against the wall. Then I stripped down to my boxers and dove under the covers.

My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat echoing the frantic drumming I’d heard moments before. I closed my eyes, picturing the burning paper. My signature.

I tried to convince myself it was a nightmare. A hallucination brought on by stress and too much coffee.

I just had to stay quiet. Get through the next six months until the lease ended. I could survive that long. I could.

The cheap alarm clock on my nightstand read 2:15 AM.

A faint click echoed from the front door. The sound of a key turning in the lock.

My breath hitched in my throat. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to slow the pounding in my chest.

The floorboards creaked. Heavy footsteps moved slowly across the small room.

A narrow beam of light cut through the darkness, sweeping over my bed, then moving to the wardrobe.

I heard a soft grunt. The scrape of wood on wood.

The wardrobe groaned as it was pulled away from the wall.

The flashlight beam settled on the fresh, damp patch of plaster. My crude attempt at a cover-up.

Julian Cross stood there, property manager and the man who’d rented me this room. His face was unreadable in the harsh glow of the flashlight.

He lifted his gaze from the wall, a slow, cold smile spreading across his lips.

➡️ Read CHAPTER 7 to continue the story.