Those lights were red a few minutes ago.” Michael bolted out of bed, locked the bedroom door, and pushed a large, low dresser several feet so that the door couldn’t be pushed open. In a series of visual flashbacks, he mentally retraced the brutal events of the past few days. “Call 9-1-1.”
But just as Samantha picked up the phone to dial, it rang. Flustered in her attempt to dial out, she answered on instinct, “Hello, who is this?”
“Yes, Mrs. Nicholas, this is your alarm service. We understand there has been a breach. Is everything okay?” The voice was loud and deep; Michael could hear everything from where he stood.
“No, we’re not okay. Send the police. Someone is in our house.” Her voice was cracking.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Nicholas. We’ll be upstairs to help you in just a minute.” Michael could see that Samantha was momentarily comforted, but he then saw a look of confusion on her face.
“Michael, how did he know I was upstairs?”
Michael looked closer at the multiline phone. The numerous buttons and lights showed which telephone lines and extensions in the house were being utilized. A paralyzing chill darted up his spine. A red light was flashing, indicating that the telephone extension in the downstairs library was being utilized. The caller was inside the house.
Michael reached for his cell phone on the bureau near his bed. But before he could press in 9-1-1, a voice seemingly coming from in the bedroom stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t touch that cell phone, Michael.”
Samantha appeared to bolt upright. “Michael, it’s the same guy I just heard on our phone. But where is this coming from?”
Before Michael could answer, the stranger spoke again. “I’m here with you.”
Without moving from where he stood, Michael looked around, his eyes scanning the large bedroom. He looked at Samantha. “He’s not here. There’s no one here.”
The voice echoed through the room again. “Oh, but you’re wrong, Michael. I was here before you moved the furniture against the door. I didn’t want to interrupt your screwing around.” Michael again reached for his cell phone.
“If you want to die right now, go ahead and get your phone. By the way, Samantha, I just loved your little nightgown, although you look even better in that blanket.”
Michael continued to look around the room, unable to find anyone—or anything—unusual. “What do you want? Who the hell are you? Where are you?”
“Where am I? I’m here, Michael. You can keep looking around, but you won’t see me until it’s too late. By the way, I enjoyed the show.”
Michael rushed toward Samantha, taking her in his arms. She whispered closely into his ear, “What do we do?”
The phone rang again. They both stared at it, sitting on the table by their bed, the blinking red light indicating the incoming call. The first ring seemed to last forever. And again there was another red light glowing on the phone panel, indicating that someone was on another line in the house. But this time the call wasn’t coming from the library downstairs. Michael stared in disbelief at the indicator light signifying “Guest Bedroom #1.” The caller was on the second floor, in the room next door, just five feet away from their bedroom.
Michael whispered to Samantha, “But how can he see us in here?” He scanned the room again. Connecting to their huge bedroom was a large bathroom and two dressing rooms. The doors to each of those rooms were open. Four large windows were, as always, obscured by thick fabric drapes behind which were blackout shades. The lighting was soft, coming from the dimmed lamps on either side of their bed and from recessed spot lights, also dimmed, illuminating the several pieces of fine art, mostly fashion photographs, each framed in either black or silver, on each of the white walls.
“I don’t see anyone here—unless they’re hiding in the dressing rooms or the bathroom and peeking in,” Michael said
But just as Samantha picked up the phone to dial, it rang. Flustered in her attempt to dial out, she answered on instinct, “Hello, who is this?”
“Yes, Mrs. Nicholas, this is your alarm service. We understand there has been a breach. Is everything okay?” The voice was loud and deep; Michael could hear everything from where he stood.
“No, we’re not okay. Send the police. Someone is in our house.” Her voice was cracking.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Nicholas. We’ll be upstairs to help you in just a minute.” Michael could see that Samantha was momentarily comforted, but he then saw a look of confusion on her face.
“Michael, how did he know I was upstairs?”
Michael looked closer at the multiline phone. The numerous buttons and lights showed which telephone lines and extensions in the house were being utilized. A paralyzing chill darted up his spine. A red light was flashing, indicating that the telephone extension in the downstairs library was being utilized. The caller was inside the house.
Michael reached for his cell phone on the bureau near his bed. But before he could press in 9-1-1, a voice seemingly coming from in the bedroom stopped him in his tracks. “Don’t touch that cell phone, Michael.”
Samantha appeared to bolt upright. “Michael, it’s the same guy I just heard on our phone. But where is this coming from?”
Before Michael could answer, the stranger spoke again. “I’m here with you.”
Without moving from where he stood, Michael looked around, his eyes scanning the large bedroom. He looked at Samantha. “He’s not here. There’s no one here.”
The voice echoed through the room again. “Oh, but you’re wrong, Michael. I was here before you moved the furniture against the door. I didn’t want to interrupt your screwing around.” Michael again reached for his cell phone.
“If you want to die right now, go ahead and get your phone. By the way, Samantha, I just loved your little nightgown, although you look even better in that blanket.”
Michael continued to look around the room, unable to find anyone—or anything—unusual. “What do you want? Who the hell are you? Where are you?”
“Where am I? I’m here, Michael. You can keep looking around, but you won’t see me until it’s too late. By the way, I enjoyed the show.”
Michael rushed toward Samantha, taking her in his arms. She whispered closely into his ear, “What do we do?”
The phone rang again. They both stared at it, sitting on the table by their bed, the blinking red light indicating the incoming call. The first ring seemed to last forever. And again there was another red light glowing on the phone panel, indicating that someone was on another line in the house. But this time the call wasn’t coming from the library downstairs. Michael stared in disbelief at the indicator light signifying “Guest Bedroom #1.” The caller was on the second floor, in the room next door, just five feet away from their bedroom.
Michael whispered to Samantha, “But how can he see us in here?” He scanned the room again. Connecting to their huge bedroom was a large bathroom and two dressing rooms. The doors to each of those rooms were open. Four large windows were, as always, obscured by thick fabric drapes behind which were blackout shades. The lighting was soft, coming from the dimmed lamps on either side of their bed and from recessed spot lights, also dimmed, illuminating the several pieces of fine art, mostly fashion photographs, each framed in either black or silver, on each of the white walls.
“I don’t see anyone here—unless they’re hiding in the dressing rooms or the bathroom and peeking in,” Michael said
Similar Books
