My grandmother and I moved into Apartment 3B at the historic Fenwick Building three weeks ago, adopting a stray hound named Buster who roamed the alley.
I invited Chloe in, ushering her into the living room. Grandma Martha, hearing the commotion, came out from the kitchen, her expression a mix of curiosity and concern.
Chloe sat on the edge of our sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Buster immediately went to her, sniffing her hands, then nudging his head into her lap for a scratch. She stroked his fur, a small, sad smile on her face.
“Clara got Buster about three months before… she vanished,” Chloe began, her voice barely a whisper. “They were inseparable.”
Grandma Martha offered her a glass of water. Chloe took a sip, her gaze distant.
“I met Marcus a few months after Clara disappeared,” Chloe continued, her voice gaining a little more strength, but still fragile. “He was charming, you know? Said Clara had moved to California for a new job. He acted heartbroken.”
She paused, taking a deep, shuddering breath.
“I moved into 4B with him about six months after Clara supposedly left. He said the apartment was too big for just him. I thought he was still grieving.”
A shiver ran down my spine. So Marcus had wasted no time.
“One day, Marcus was out, and I was cleaning,” Chloe said, her eyes fixed on Buster. “I moved the big Persian rug in the hallway. The one right outside what used to be Clara’s bedroom.”
She closed her eyes briefly. “Beneath it, on the hardwood… there were dark brown stains. Big, deep ones. Almost black. Like they’d tried to clean them, but couldn’t get them all out.”
Grandma Martha gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
“They looked like… dried blood,” Chloe whispered, her eyes opening again, wide and haunted. “I know what blood looks like. I worked at an antique restoration shop. I’ve seen old stains.”
“When Marcus came home, I asked him about them,” Chloe continued, her voice growing firmer, a hint of anger mixing with the fear. “I said, ‘What happened here? Was someone hurt?’ He just… changed.”
Her whole body seemed to shrink at the memory.
“His face went cold,” she said. “He told me that if I ever mentioned those stains again, if I ever questioned anything about Clara, he would make sure I lost everything. My job, my apartment, my reputation. He said he’d ruin my life.”
Chloe’s hands clenched into fists. “He had connections. Powerful people. I believed him. I was terrified. I packed my bags that night and never looked back.”
She finally met my gaze, her eyes glistening. “I’ve lived with that fear and that guilt for two years. But seeing Buster… knowing he’s here… I think something terrible happened to Clara. And Marcus is behind it.”
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