Chapter 2 - The Ghost Across the Street
I returned home just as the sun was beginning to bleed over the horizon,
a sickly orange light that didn't bring any warmth to the quiet streets of Oakhill.
Gracie was staying at the hospital for observation,
guarded by a private security guard my father had helped me hire within the hour.
I didn't go into my house,
I couldn't stand the thought of breathing the same air as Carolina,
who I assumed was inside,
nursing her anger and her bottle of wine.
Instead,
I found myself standing on the sidewalk,
staring at the dark windows of my own life.
That was when I saw her.
Mrs. Kennedy was sitting on her porch swing,
wrapped in a thick cardigan despite the morning heat,
her eyes fixed on my front door.
She had been our neighbor for six years,
a quiet woman who mostly kept to her garden,
but today,
she looked like she had aged a decade overnight.
I walked across the street,
the dew on the grass soaking into my shoes,
and as I approached,
she didn't turn away.
"Sawyer,"
she said,
her voice a fragile thread that threatened to snap at any moment.
"I saw you leave last night."
"I saw the way you were carrying that poor girl."
I stood at the bottom of her steps,
feeling the weight of the entire neighborhood's silence.
"She’s in the hospital,
Evelyn,"
I said,
my voice thick with exhaustion.
"She has a fractured back."
Mrs. Kennedy let out a strangled sob,
covering her mouth with a hand that shook uncontrollably.
"I knew it,"
she whispered,
tears spilling over her weathered cheeks.
"I heard the screaming,
Sawyer."
"I’ve been hearing it for months,
every time your car leaves the driveway."
"I called the police once,
four months ago,
but when they showed up,
Carolina was so charming,
so convincing."
"She told them I was a confused old woman who was imagining things."
My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
"Months?"
I asked,
the word feeling like a sentence of death.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"I tried to talk to you,
but you were always in a rush,
always leaving for the airport,"
she said,
looking down at her lap.
"And I was afraid."
"Carolina told me if I ever spoke to you,
she would make sure I was sent to a nursing home,
that she had friends in the county who would make it happen."
"But I didn't just listen this time,
Sawyer."
She stood up and walked toward her front door,
motioning for me to follow her inside.
The house smelled of lavender and old paper,
a stark contrast to the tension of the street.
She led me to a small office where a computer monitor glowed in the corner.
"My nephew installed a high-definition security system last summer,"
she explained,
her fingers hovering over the mouse.
"It covers my driveway,
but it also has a clear view of your living room window through the gap in the hedges."
She clicked a file titled 'Tuesday Afternoon.'
The video started,
grainy at first,
then sharpening as the motion-activated light on her garage kicked in.
Through our living room window,
I saw the silhouette of Carolina.
She wasn't just mad.
She looked possessed.
I watched in horror as she lunged at Gracie,
who was backed into a corner near the closet.
I saw Carolina reach out,
her movements jagged and violent,
and shove our daughter with such force that Gracie flew backward,
disappearing from the frame as she hit the heavy wooden edge of the closet door.
The audio was muffled,
but the sound of the impact was unmistakable,
a dull thud followed by a high-pitched,
shattering scream that tore through the speakers.
I felt the blood drain from my face,
my legs going weak as I watched my wife walk away from our fallen child,
stopping only to pick up her phone and continue a conversation as if nothing had happened.
"I kept the recording,"
Mrs. Kennedy whispered,
sliding a small black thumb drive toward me.
"I couldn't live with myself if I let her get away with it again."
I took the drive,
feeling the cold metal in my palm.
May you like
This wasn't just a video.
It was the end of Carolina Owens.
