Series: Five years ago, my husband Mark died from what the county coroner ruled a fatal domestic accident—a slip down our basement stairs.

Arthur stood in the utility room doorway, blocking my only path back into the main house. The storm cellar was behind me, sealed shut. “You’re [more…]

Arthur raised the syringe, its sharp needle glinting in the faint light. He was just a few feet away, his shadow looming over me. “Last [more…]

Arthur raised the syringe, its sharp needle glinting in the faint light. He was just a few feet away, his shadow looming over me. My [more…]

Arthur lunged, a beast driven by pure rage. The syringe, forgotten, lay on the floor near the shattered satellite phone. He was no longer the [more…]

Arthur’s furious shouts echoed from inside the storm cellar, muffled but clear enough. “You think this is over, Laura?!” he roared, his voice raw with [more…]

Two weeks later. The air in my cramped studio apartment near the Chicago industrial rail yard hummed with a different kind of noise. Not the [more…]