Chapter 2 - The Echo in the Walls
Ethan stood up slowly, moving with the gait of a man twice his age.
He led me out of the bedroom, past the perfectly still living room.
The burgundy shoes of the nurse followed us, clicking softly on the hardwood.
We reached the small door behind the kitchen.
The door to the cellar.
In most Chicago apartments, the basement was just a place for the furnace and old boxes.
Ours was unfinished.
Damp.
Smelling of old stone and laundry detergent.
Ethan reached for the light switch.
A single, naked bulb flickered to life at the bottom of the stairs.
The smell hit me first.
It wasn't bleach.
It was lavender.
The specific, expensive lavender perfume I had used for ten years.
"Four days after you left for Dallas," Ethan began, his voice echoing.
"I was sitting in the kitchen. The door opened."
"I thought you’d forgotten something."
"She walked in. She kissed me on the cheek."
"She sat down and started talking about the flight delay."
He gripped the railing so hard I thought the wood would snap.
"I didn't doubt her for a second, Sarah."
"She was you."
"She stayed for three weeks."
"She cooked dinner. She watched movies with Noah."
"She even called your office in Dallas using your phone."
I felt a cold sweat break out across my forehead.
"My phone was with me in Dallas the whole time," I whispered.
"I know," Ethan said.
"But the calls came from your number. I checked the bills."
We reached the bottom of the stairs.
The laundry area was clean, but the far corner was draped in heavy plastic sheeting.
The kind used for renovations.
Or for hiding something.
"Noah was the first to notice," Ethan said.
"He said her eyes didn't move the same way yours did."
"He said she didn't know the name of the dog he had when he was six."
"One night, he followed her down here."
Ethan pointed to the plastic sheeting.
"He found her sitting on the floor in the dark."
"She wasn't doing anything."
"She was just... staring at the wall."
"When he tried to talk to her, she turned around and hissed at him."
"Not a human sound, Sarah. A sound like a broken machine."
I took a step toward the plastic.
My hand was trembling so much I had to tuck it into my pocket.
"Where is she now?" I asked.
Ethan didn't answer.
He pulled back the plastic.
Behind it wasn't a monster.
It wasn't a ghost.
It was a small, makeshift bedroom.
There was a twin mattress on the floor, covered in the same sheets from our master bedroom.
There was a small table with a mirror.
And on that mirror, dozens of photographs were taped.
Every single one of them was a photo of me.
Some were from my social media.
Some were candid shots taken from outside our window.
There were notes written in the margins in a handwriting that looked exactly like mine.
Likes: Cinnamon rolls.
Dislikes: Humidity.
Loves: Noah.
Hates: Being late.
It was a script.
Someone had been studying me like a role in a play.
"She disappeared two weeks ago," Ethan whispered.
"Right before Noah collapsed."
"We haven't seen her since."
"But Noah thinks she never left."
"He thinks she’s in the walls."
"And when he saw you today... he thought the script had finally started again."
I looked at the photos on the mirror.
In the corner of one, I saw a reflection I didn't recognize.
It was a woman standing across the street from our building.
She was wearing a navy cardigan.
May you like
Just like the one I found on my bedroom floor.
***
