Chapter 2: The Bedroom Was Empty
Nia ran.
She didn't decide to run. Her body made the decision before her mind could catch up.
She stumbled backward into the living room, knocking the edge of a side table with her hip. A framed photograph of her and Marcus at Tybee Island rattled against the wall but didn't fall.
Behind her, the front door remained closed.
The man in the navy shirt didn't chase her.
That frightened her more than if he had.
“Stay away from me!”” she shouted.
He stood beside his work bag, his eyes brown again.
“Nia, calm down.””
“Don't tell me to calm down!””
“Baby, look at me.””
“No!””
Her voice cracked. She snatched her phone from the coffee table, nearly dropping it because her fingers wouldn't cooperate.
Marcus took one slow step toward her.
She raised the phone as if it could protect her.
“Another step, and I'm calling the police.””
He stopped.
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then he looked toward the staircase and sighed.
“Okay,” he said.
“Something is clearly wrong. We need to figure out what you heard.””
Nia stared at him.
“You're acting like you didn't just—”
She couldn't finish the sentence.
How could she explain the red eyes? How could she describe something her own mind was still refusing to accept?
The man rubbed his forehead.
“Nia, I've been driving for forty minutes. I'm exhausted. I came home, and you're telling me there's somebody upstairs who sounds like me.””
“You don't sound like you believe me.””
“I don't know what to believe.””
“Then go upstairs.””
He looked at the stairs.
“Fine.””
He picked up his keys.
Nia's stomach tightened.
“Wait.””
He turned toward her.
“What now?””
“Why are you taking your keys?””
He looked down at the keys in his hand, then back at her.
“Because I'm going upstairs.””
“You don't need keys to go upstairs.””
For the first time, his patience seemed to slip.
“Nia, what do you want me to do?””
She didn't know.
She wanted him to prove the upstairs voice was a trick. She wanted him to tell her that she had misheard him. She wanted to wake up in bed beside her real husband, with morning sunlight coming through the blinds and none of this having happened.
Most of all, she wanted to stop looking at his face and wondering whether the person she had married was still standing in front of her.
“Just go,” she whispered.
Marcus climbed the first step.
The staircase creaked beneath his weight.
Nia watched his back. His navy shirt pulled slightly across his shoulders. His left hand brushed the wooden railing, exactly as it always did when he climbed the stairs carrying something.
He reached the third step.
Then a voice called from above.
“Baby? You bringing my charger?””
Marcus froze.
Nia gripped the back of the couch.
The voice had come from the bedroom hallway.
Marcus slowly turned his head toward the landing.
“Who's up there?”” he called.
The question sounded almost convincing.
Almost.
Because Nia noticed something strange.
He hadn't sounded surprised.
He had sounded like a man who already knew what he would hear.
“Marcus?”” she whispered.
He didn't look at her.
The upstairs voice spoke again.
“You know which one.””
Nia felt tears gathering in her eyes.
The man on the staircase tightened his grip on the railing.
Then, from somewhere above him, came a soft chuckle.
The exact same chuckle Marcus made when she caught him stealing fries from her plate.
The man downstairs closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, he looked directly at Nia.
“Stay there,” he said.
She shook her head.
“I'm not staying here alone.””
“Then don't come up.””
He climbed the remaining steps.
Nia watched him disappear beyond the landing.
For three seconds, the house was silent.
Then she heard footsteps moving toward the bedroom.
A door opened.
A drawer slid shut.
And Marcus's voice, unmistakably from upstairs, said, “You took your time.””
Nia backed away from the staircase.
The man who had entered through the front door answered, but his words were too muffled for her to understand.
Then came a sound she would remember for the rest of her life.
A single, sharp impact.
Like a fist striking a wall.
Nia screamed.
She grabbed her phone and dialed Marcus's number.
The call rang once.
Twice.
Then a voice answered.
“Hey, baby.””
Nia nearly dropped the phone.
The voice was coming from upstairs.
It was also coming through the phone pressed against her ear.
She couldn't move.
“Marcus?”” she whispered.
“Yeah, baby. What's wrong?””
The voice on the phone was calm and warm, full of the familiar concern that had comforted her through panic attacks, bad dreams, and the grief of losing her mother.
Nia looked toward the staircase.
The upstairs footsteps had stopped.
“Where are you?”” she asked.
A pause.
“Work. Why?””
Her knees weakened.
“What?””
“I'm still at the office. I told you I'd be late tonight.””
Nia pressed a hand against her mouth.
“No. You came home.””
Silence.
Then the man on the phone said, “Nia, I haven't left work yet.””
She could hear distant office noise behind him. A printer. Someone laughing. The low murmur of conversation.
Real sounds.
Ordinary sounds.
Sounds that shouldn't have existed if the man in her house was her husband.
“Marcus, listen to me very carefully,” she whispered.
“There's somebody in our house.””
His voice changed immediately.
“What do you mean, somebody?””
“He looks like you.””
The silence on the line was so complete that she could hear her own breathing.
Then Marcus spoke.
“Get out of the house.””
Nia stared at the stairs.
“I'm serious,” he said.
“Get outside. Don't go upstairs. Don't talk to him. Just leave.””
A floorboard creaked overhead.
She looked up.
“Marcus, I think he can hear us.””
“Then stop talking and leave.””
She moved toward the front door.
The instant her hand touched the lock, a voice drifted down from the second floor.
“Babe?””
Nia froze.
It was the voice of the man who had entered the house.
Not the one on the phone.
The one upstairs.
“Why are you calling my husband?””
Her fingers went numb.
The voice on the phone whispered, “Nia, run.””
She twisted the deadbolt.
The door opened six inches before something on the other side pushed it shut.
Not a gust of wind.
Not a faulty latch.
A hand.
A hand she could see through the narrow gap, its fingers wrapped around the edge of the door.
Nia stumbled backward.
The man upstairs spoke again.
“You shouldn't have called him.””
The phone slipped from her fingers and struck the hardwood floor.
From its speaker came Marcus's frantic voice.
“Nia! Get away from the door!””
She backed into the living room.
Then she heard the front door unlock behind her.
The keys jingled.
The lock clicked.
And the man in the navy shirt stepped inside for the second time.
His black work bag hung from his right hand.
His keys rested between the fingers of his left.
He looked at Nia, then at the staircase.
“Hey baby,” he said.
Nia couldn't breathe.
May you like
Because the first man was still upstairs.
And now the second man had come home.