Five years ago, my husband Mark died from what the county coroner ruled a fatal domestic accident—a slip down our basement stairs.
I slammed the basement door shut and threw the deadbolt. The heavy *thud* echoed in the darkness, a flimsy barrier against the danger upstairs. My breath hitched in my chest.
My hand still trembled from pushing Arthur.
The air in the basement was thick with the scent of damp earth and old newspapers. I fumbled for my phone in my pocket.
My fingers brushed against the smooth, cool plastic of the micro-drive. I pulled it out, then slipped it into the front pocket of my jeans.
No time for that now. I needed to call Leo. I needed to call anyone.
I pulled out my phone, the screen a brief, harsh beacon in the dim space. I pressed Leo’s contact.
The signal bars were empty. Not a single one.
My stomach clenched. I tried again. Nothing.
A cold certainty settled over me. This wasn’t a bad spot. This was intentional.
Arthur had installed a jammer. He had planned this.
Heavy footsteps scraped across the floorboards directly above my head. The sound was distinct, measured, like someone testing the weight of each plank.
My heart hammered against my ribs. Arthur was right there.
Then, another sound. A muffled voice.
“Mrs. Hendricks? Laura?”
It wasn’t Arthur. The voice was younger, strained. It was Gabe, the neighborhood handyman.
He must have followed Arthur.
“Gabe?” I called back, my voice hushed. “Are you alright?”
There was a pause, then a soft knock on the basement door. Not a forceful one, but hesitant.
“I… I don’t know what’s going on, Mrs. Hendricks,” Gabe said, his voice barely a whisper through the thick wood. “Arthur, he just left in a hurry. He told me to wait.”
My brow furrowed. What was he talking about?
“Gabe, what did Arthur tell you to do?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady.
Another long pause. I could hear his shallow breaths on the other side.
“He… he paid me,” Gabe admitted, his voice cracking. “Twelve hundred dollars in cash this morning. For emergency dry-rot repair on the back door and the frame. Said it was urgent, a liability.”
My eyes darted to the heavy deadbolt I had just thrown. The one that was supposed to keep Arthur *out*.
“What did you do to the deadbolts, Gabe?” I asked, a chill running through me.
“He said they were loose,” Gabe stammered. “Said the wood was soft around the locking mechanism. Needed to be reset, secured from the outside.”
Secured from the outside.
My mind raced. Arthur hadn’t broken into my house. He had paid Gabe to lock me in.
“I just… I just finished up on the back door and the porch deadbolts a little while ago,” Gabe continued, clearly distressed. “I put those new heavy-duty ones in, just like he wanted. The ones that lock both ways.”
Both ways.
He hadn’t secured them to keep intruders out. He’d secured them to keep me in.
My own home. A sealed box.
“Mrs. Hendricks, I gotta go,” Gabe said abruptly. “Arthur’s coming back. He told me to wait for him by my truck.”
His footsteps receded quickly, then faded entirely.
I pressed my ear against the door. The house was silent again, save for the thumping of my own pulse.
Arthur had methodically cut off every escape route. The back door, the phone signal. My means of contacting Leo.
I was trapped.
This wasn’t just about an argument. This was a hunt.
And I was the prey.
I gripped the micro-drive in my pocket, its sharp edges digging into my palm. Whatever was on this small device, it was worth killing for.
And Arthur was still upstairs.
He was waiting.
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