My hand shook violently as I swiped the screen to answer. I tried to swallow the lump of pure terror in my throat, forcing my voice to sound normal, stable, innocent.
“H-hello? Miguel?”
“Hey, blue eyes,” his calm, deep voice crackled through the speaker. It was the same soothing tone he used whenever I was stressed, the voice that had comforted me for nearly a decade. Now, it sounded like the hiss of a predator. “Just checking in. How is everything at home?”
“It’s… it’s fine,” I stammered, gripping the edge of the nightstand so hard my knuckles turned white. “Just doing some deep cleaning. The weather is really hot today.”
There was a brief, heavy pause on the other end of the line. The silence stretched for three seconds, four seconds, five…
“Deep cleaning?” Miguel asked. His tone hadn’t changed, but there was a sudden, sharp edge to it, like a blade slipping out of a velvet sheath. “What exactly are you cleaning, Ana?”
“Oh, you know… just the kitchen cabinets,” I lied, my eyes darting to the massive, gaping hole in the center of our mattress, the white foam spilled out on the floor like guts, the black plastic bag sitting open in plain sight. “And the living room rug. Just trying to stay busy while you’re away.”
“I see,” Miguel said slowly. I could hear the faint sound of traffic in the background on his end. He wasn’t in a hotel room. He was in a car. Moving. “You know, the Dallas meeting got rescheduled. The corporate office pushed it to next month.”
My breath hitched. “What? So… when are you coming back?”
“Actually, I’m already back in Phoenix, Ana,” he said softly. “I just landed an hour ago. I’m driving down our street right now. I’m turning into the driveway.”
No Escape
Panic, pure and blinding, flooded my system.
“You’re… you’re home?” I choked out.
“Yeah. I wanted to surprise you,” Miguel replied. His voice was terrifyingly calm, completely devoid of the warmth he usually faked so well. “I’m pulling up to the garage now. Hey, Ana? Why is the bedroom light on? And why are the blinds drawn?”
“I… I was just resting, Miguel. I have a headache,” I lied wildly, my mind racing at a million miles an hour.
“Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be upstairs in a second to take care of you,” he said.
The line went dead.
A second later, the heavy, motorized groan of the garage door opening echoed through the downstairs walls.
He was inside the house.
I looked down at the floor in absolute horror. The scene before me was completely incriminating. The mattress was slashed open, the box cutter lay on the floor, the stained cash, the burner phones, the ledger, and Elena’s blood-stained bracelet were all exposed. There was no hiding it. There was no throwing the sheets back over it. Anyone walking into the room would see it instantly.
If Miguel walked through that door and saw what I had found, I knew with absolute certainty that my name would be the next one written in that black notebook. I would become the next threat that needed to be removed.
My survival instincts kicked into overdrive. I couldn’t pack a bag. I couldn’t clean this up. I had to grab the evidence and run.
With trembling hands, I stuffed the notebook, the burner phones, and the gold bracelet into my pockets. I grabbed one bundle of the stained cash—proof for the police—and left the rest. I scrambled to my feet, my legs shaking so badly I could barely balance.
Thump.
The heavy thud of the garage door closing downstairs vibrated through the floorboards.
