Five years ago, my husband Mark died from what the county coroner ruled a fatal domestic accident—a slip down our basement stairs.
The basement lights died with a pop, plunging me into absolute darkness. My breath hitched.
The air grew heavy, thick with the smell of ozone. Another rumble of thunder, closer this time, vibrated through the foundation.
“Karen?” I called out, pressing my face against the glass.
Outside, Karen was struggling to regain her footing. Her face was a pale blur in the fading light.
“The power!” she gasped, her voice laced with fear. “It went out! I can’t… I can’t see.”
Buster began to bark frantically, a high-pitched yelp.
A sudden, blinding flash of lightning illuminated the backyard for a split second. I saw Karen, startled, stumbling backward away from the window well.
She tripped on a loose paving stone. I heard a soft cry as she fell.
“Karen!” I shouted, but my voice was lost in the roaring wind and rain that suddenly lashed against the window.
The storm had broken with a vengeance. Sheets of water streamed down the glass, obscuring my view.
I pounded on the window, desperate. “Karen! Are you alright?”
There was no reply. Only the howl of the wind and the relentless drumming of rain.
I pressed my hands against the cold, wet glass, my vision useless. She was gone.
The opportunity, my chance at outside help, vanished with the light.
This wasn’t just the storm. Not just bad timing.
Arthur.
He had waited. He had planned.
I backed away from the window, stumbling in the sudden, complete darkness. My hand instinctively went to my jeans pocket, gripping the micro-drive.
Every move Arthur made was calculated. The jammed deadbolts. The cellular jammer.
And now, the blackout.
He was cutting off all my senses. Making me vulnerable.
I fumbled for my phone again, knowing it was useless, but needing some light. The flashlight app.
A weak beam pierced the oppressive black. It barely reached across the small basement.
I swept the beam around, then froze.
The door leading to the utility room, directly across from the basement stairs, was slightly ajar. I hadn’t noticed it before.
Through the narrow crack, I could just make out a flicker of movement.
Then, a low murmur of voices. Arthur and someone else.
My heart seized. Gabe.
Arthur must have called him back.
I crept closer, holding my breath, pressing myself against the damp concrete wall. The sound was clearer now.
“The main breaker, Gabe,” Arthur’s voice, calm and measured, drifted from the utility room. “Right there. Top lever.”
“Are you sure, Mr. Finch?” Gabe sounded hesitant, nervous. “That’s the main. It’ll cut power to the whole street, won’t it?”
“Only for a few houses,” Arthur replied, a hint of impatience in his tone. “And only briefly. Just long enough for a proper diagnostic. This storm’s playing havoc with the old grid. Safety hazard, Gabe.”
Gabe mumbled something I couldn’t quite catch.
Then, a metallic *clank*.
The entire house shifted into an even deeper, more profound silence. The hum of the refrigerator, the faint drone of the water heater – all gone.
Arthur hadn’t just waited for the storm. He had manufactured the blackout.
He had sent Gabe, the unwitting accomplice, to cut the power to my home. To make his entrance, his true objective, seem like part of the natural chaos.
My house. My refuge. It was now a dark, silent stage for his twisted plan.
I heard Arthur’s voice again, closer now. “Good work, Gabe. You can pack up your tools. I’ll take it from here.”
Footsteps. Heavy, deliberate. Coming toward the basement door.
He was coming for me.
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