Chapter 1 - The Digital Ghost
Daniel didn’t take off his wet jacket. He didn’t even take off his boots. He just walked straight to my laptop on the kitchen island, his hands shaking so violently that he dropped the tiny micro-SD card twice before finally sliding it into the port.
“Daniel, what is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper over the sound of the rain lashing against our kitchen window. “What was on that camera?”
He didn’t look at me. His eyes were locked onto the screen, dark and hollow.
“Just watch,” he rasped.
He clicked on a video file stamped with last Wednesday’s date. 6:14 PM.
The footage was grainy, cast in the pale, washed-out tones of cheap night-vision technology, but the angle covered the entire living room perfectly. On the screen, my parents were sitting in their usual spots. My dad was in his recliner, doing a crossword. My mom was on the sofa, folding laundry. It was painfully, heartbreakingly normal.
Then, at 6:18 PM, the doorbell rang on the video audio.
My father set his crossword down, smiled, and walked out of the frame toward the front hall. A few seconds later, he walked back into the living room, followed by someone else.
I gasped, my hand flying to cover my mouth.
It was Greg.
Greg, my sister Chloe’s husband. The charming, successful investment banker who had married into our family five years ago. The man who hosted our Christmas dinners. The man who had sobbed on my shoulder in the hospital waiting room just two days ago.
On the screen, Greg was smiling. He was holding two large, insulated travel mugs.
“Chloe made some of that herbal tea you both love,” Greg’s voice echoed through the laptop speakers, slightly distorted but undeniably his. “She wanted me to drop it off before we left for our cabin trip.”
My mother beamed, taking the mug. “Oh, you two are too sweet. Thank you, Greg. Stay for a minute? We can open some wine.”
“Can’t, Helen,” Greg replied, his tone smooth and entirely casual. “Chloe’s waiting in the car. We just wanted to make sure you got this while it was hot.”
My parents both took deep drinks from the mugs.
I watched in sheer, paralyzing horror as the toxin took effect with terrifying speed. Less than thirty seconds after Greg walked toward the door, my mother dropped her mug. It spilled across the rug. She grabbed her chest, her eyes wide with sudden panic, and collapsed sideways onto the floor.
My father shouted her name, stumbling out of his chair, but his legs simply gave out. He crashed onto the hardwood next to the fireplace, knocking his glasses off his face.
And Greg?
Greg didn’t run to help them. He didn’t pull out his phone to call 911.
He walked slowly back into the center of the living room. He stood over my mother, staring down at her with cold, dead eyes. Then, he methodically picked up the two travel mugs, wiped the side table down with his sleeve, and walked out of the front door, pulling it quietly shut behind him.
He had stood there and watched them die.
May you like
I fell back against the kitchen counter, my knees buckling. Daniel caught me, holding me tight as a guttural sob tore from my throat.
“He killed them,” I choked out, tears blinding me. “Chloe’s husband tried to kill my parents.”
