Echoes of Something Wicked
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A short story collection to make you shiver. The stories we tell through chattering teeth around campfires and on Halloween nights always contain a kernel of truth, a sinister echo of something ancient and malevolent that prowls the shadowy corridors of our minds.
On stormy nights, as we huddled under blankets, those aren't tree branches scraping your window. Those aren't pipes groaning in your walls. That's IT. It’s clawing through the membrane between worlds, its breath freezing the back of your neck. Its breath a cold mist that fogs the windows of perception, refusing to be forgotten even as daylight tries to burn away its presence… |
Read a story from the book:
Midnight Murder
Emma finished her patient notes and gave her report to the evening shift nurse before changing clothes and rushing to the garage. For once, she would be able to leave work on time. She thought back to days when she had to pull double shifts or when the chaos of the ER made it nearly impossible to finish her paperwork in a timely fashion. As she drove home, Emma called her husband.
“Are you working overtime again?” Paul asked with a laugh.
“No, for once I'll even have time to cook dinner,” Emma replied.
“Wow, that's rare,” Paul chuckled, knowing how often he had to work late at his law firm and rarely had time to finish his work before 5 pm. “Do you mind if I invite Steve over for dinner? He has an investment proposal, and I'd rather discuss it at home than in the office.”
“Of course, darling,” Emma said with a bright, cheery tone. “Then I'll defrost the lasagna and take out the German cherry cake from the freezer that I picked up last week. It will give me time to tidy up before you arrive home.”
“That sounds perfect, sweetheart! We'll be home by six.”
On her way home, Emma couldn't resist stopping at a charming farmstand she passed by. She carefully selected fresh lettuce, crisp radishes, juicy tomatoes, and crunchy cucumbers to create a delicious salad.
As the food thawed, Emma tackled some light cleaning tasks around the house. She ran the vacuum over the carpets, dusted the surfaces, and even managed to squeeze in a quick shower before five o'clock rolled around. As she dried her hair, she tried to recall Steve's face. She had only met Paul's business manager once at a party nearly a year ago, and their exchange was brief and polite. Despite not knowing much about him, he seemed like a decent person, and Paul had never said anything negative about him. The firm was successful and catered to affluent clients, a fact that Emma knew from casual conversations with her husband. Curiosity piqued as she wondered what kind of proposal Steve might have in store for them. Since their marriage three years ago, Emma made a conscious effort not to pry into Paul's work life and only knew snippets of information that he shared with her voluntarily.
Shortly after six, they arrived, but as soon as she looked at her husband’s face, Emma knew something was wrong. The slight frown on his handsome features was a rare display of emotion for him, but Emma had learned to read his subtle signs over the years. His tense posture and the way he shot a quick glance at their guest, Steve, told her that something was very wrong. She raised her eyebrows in question but remained quiet and followed Paul's lead as they ushered Steve into the living room.
Paul expertly mixed cocktails for them all, but Emma could sense the tension in the air. As they sat down, Paul turned to Steve with a calm yet controlled demeanor. “Before you tell me about your investment plans, let me ask you something,” he said in a low voice.
Emma watched with growing alarm as her husband's jaw tightened, signaling his underlying anger. She couldn't imagine what would come next. It must be something very serious. She thought. Otherwise, he would talk about business after dinner, as he usually does.
“Tell me about the two hundred thousand dollars,” Paul's voice rose slightly, revealing his true emotions towards their guest.
Steve's hand shook and he jolted in his seat, spilling a few drops of his drink onto his lap. His eyes widened in surprise as Paul confronted him about missing money.
“Why are you asking me?” Steve stammered, trying to compose himself.
“Because the accountant called me just before we left to ask about one of our bank accounts,” Paul explained. “He said he couldn't find the statement for the interest we had been paid on that account. I didn't want to cause a scene in the office, so I'm asking you now. Where is the money?”
“I had nothing to do with it!” Steve exclaimed, his face turning red with anger as he stood up. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Yes!” Paul fumed, his frustration evident. “I checked with the bank, and they informed me that the account we had 210 thousand dollars in now only has eight thousand. What did you do with the missing money?”
“I… I’m leaving! You can’t just accuse me of something I didn’t do,” Steve mumbled, putting his glass on the coffee table.
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question!”
Paul's voice echoed through the room, loud and forceful as he jumped up to block Steve's path toward the door. Emma shrank back into the far corner of the sofa, her heart racing as she watched them. Paul, usually calm and collected, now had a fiery rage burning in his eyes. She had never seen him like this before.
Steve looked like a cornered animal, his hands shaking, and his face twisted in fear. “Okay, I gamble, and I've been unlucky the past three months! I'm an addict. I'm sick!” he screamed; desperation was evident in his voice. “I'll pay it back, just give me a chance.”
Paul's voice cracked with pain as he spoke. “How could you do this? I trusted you!”
“I'm so sorry! You have to understand. It's a disease!” Steve pleaded, tears streaming down his face.
But Paul was unfazed. “You played your card; now you suffer the consequences. You're fired!” He stepped aside to let Steve pass. “And you’ll have to pay back the money you stole,” Paul said coldly.
Panic set in for Steve as he realized what that meant. Desperation swept over him as he begged, “You can't! Please, you can't do this to me.”
Paul's face hardened, his once friendly features now twisted into a cold, angry mask. “You did this to yourself. Now get out of my house!”
Steve recoiled at the sharpness in Paul's voice, feeling a surge of pain and anger bubbling up inside him. He looked into Paul's eyes, but all he could see was disappointment and hurt. With drooping shoulders and a defeated expression, he turned and made his way to the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the tense silence between them.
“I trusted him,” Paul whispered when the door closed behind Steve, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. He slumped down beside Emma, his shoulders shaking with the weight of betrayal.
Emma searched for the right words to console her husband, but they seemed to wither in her throat. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as they sat in heavy silence.
The following days were grueling for both of them. Steve had disappeared without a trace, leaving them with unanswered questions and mounting debts.
Paul was forced to deplete the law firm's other accounts just to cover the unpaid bills, leaving them in a precarious financial situation. Tension hung thick in their home, and Emma could see the worry etched into every line on Paul's face.
“Where do you think he is?” Emma asked.
“Nobody knows. Maybe in another state, or in another country. If I were in his shoes, I would be ashamed to show my face, too. It's not even about the money,” Paul admitted one evening as they sat on the couch. “Money can be replaced. It's the disappointment that cuts deep - in him and in myself for missing the signs. I was so consumed with cases that I entrusted him to handle the firm’s finances.” His eyes held a mix of regret and frustration, and Emma squeezed his hand in understanding.
***
Emma grew accustomed to Paul arriving home late each night. She knew he was filling in for Steve's job until a replacement could be found, so she accepted his long hours with understanding. She had become accustomed to eating dinner alone and going to bed alone in their silent apartment.
But one night, her peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she squinted at the caller ID and recognized it as Clarice's number. The two had been best friends since childhood, and Clarice lived in the building next door. Still half-asleep, Emma fumbled and managed to hit the accept button with shaking fingers. “He's dead!” She was jolted awake by Clarice's frantic scream on the other end of the line.
“What? Who?” Emma croaked out, sitting up in bed and swinging her feet to the floor. “Where are you?”
“I... I'm on the street,” Clarice stammered, panic evident in her voice. “I called the police. He's dead!”
Emma's heart raced as she struggled to make sense of Clarice's words. “Who is dead?” she asked in terror, as images of everyone she knew flashed through her mind. Quickly pulling on her slippers and yanking up her jeans, Emma braced herself for whatever awaited her on the other side of her apartment door.
“Hurry!” Clarice moaned and choked up, her sobs echoing through the phone. Emma's heart raced as she listened to her best friend's distraught voice. Without a second thought, she ran out of her second-floor apartment, slamming the door behind her in haste. Her chestnut hair flew wildly behind her as she took the steps two at a time, determined to reach Clarice as quickly as possible.
As she burst into the lobby and rushed towards the front door, Emma could hear Clarice's cries growing louder. “Stay with me, Clarice! I'm coming,” she shouted into the phone, hoping her words would provide some comfort to her friend.
But as Emma swung open the front door and stepped outside, she froze in shock. Police cars screeched to a halt in front of the building, their flashing blue and red lights casting an eerie glow over the usually tranquil neighborhood.
The normally peaceful sidewalk was now filled with chaos. Her best friend, Clarice, knelt by a seemingly lifeless body, her hands covered in blood. Emma's eyes widened in disbelief as she noticed a long blade bloody knife resting on the ground by Clarice's knee.
Her mind raced as she tried to process what could have possibly led to this gruesome scene. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at Clarice's tear-stained face and then down at the lifeless body. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks - Clarice had killed Brian.
“What...how did...what did you do?” Emma stuttered, unable to believe what she was seeing. As if in slow motion, Clarice turned to look at Emma with haunted eyes and whispered, “I didn’t! I swear! How could you think I did?” Clarice looked up at her with deep betrayal and hurt flashing in her eyes.
“It’s Paul!” Emma cried out when she recognized the man with a bloody wound in the middle of his chest and dropped to her knees. She hugged her husband’s still body to her chest. “It’s Paul! How did he get here?” Emma sobbed hysterically, knowing that her husband always used the elevator from the garage to go up to their apartment. “This is not happening!” she screamed.
“I… I don’t know!” Clarice shrieked, shaking her head. “I was… I just found him like this.”
As the officers cautiously approached, Clarice lifted her tear-stained face to meet their gaze. Her hands, stained with blood, trembled as she held them up in a pitiful attempt to show her innocence. After assessing the scene and asking a barrage of initial questions, the officers finally took Clarice away in handcuffs. Emma watched with a heavy heart, feeling like she was in a dream. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and she couldn't believe how drastically her life had changed in just a few moments. Everything she thought she knew had been shattered, leaving her feeling numb and lost.
***
The days blurred together for Emma, each one blending into the next as she sat alone in her bedroom. The once comforting walls now felt stifling and oppressive, as if they were closing in on her. She stared at them, hoping to make sense of it all.
Her best friend, whom she had known since they were children, was now behind bars, accused of murdering her husband. Emma couldn't wrap her head around it. It seemed impossible that someone so kind and gentle could commit such a heinous act.
But there were unanswered questions that plagued Emma's mind. Clarice kept insisting that she didn't kill him. Was she telling the truth? And if she did do it, what could have driven her to such a desperate and violent act?
Emma's parents tried their best to be supportive, but they, too, were struggling with their own emotions. They couldn't understand how their daughter's beloved friend could do something so horrific.
As the shock of Paul's funeral began to wear off, Emma grew restless. She needed answers. She went to the detective assigned to the case, but got nowhere. So, with determination and a heavy heart, she mustered up the courage to visit Clarice in jail.
The visitation room was bleak and sterile; the cold air filled with tension and sadness. But Emma hardly noticed as she sat across from Clarice, who looked like a mere shell of the person she used to be. Their conversation was initially strained and awkward, but eventually, Clarice opened up and shared her side of the story with Emma.
Emma listened intently as her friend's tearful voice trembled while recounting the events that led up to the fateful night. Clarice's words were like shards of glass, piercing through Emma's heart with their painful honesty. “I never told you about how Brian treated me. I was too ashamed,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above her sobs. “You and Paul were so happy together, and... I was foolishly hoping that Brian would change. But he didn't...” Clarice sighed, tears streaming down her face as she continued. “The months of verbal abuse and constant belittling finally pushed me over the edge. And then at a party, when you had a headache and went home alone, I confided in Paul.”
Emma felt a surge of anger rising within her. “What happened?” she asked coldly, already imagining the worst.
“We just talked,” Clarice confessed, her voice quivering with shame and regret. “But later... um, we started seeing each other more and more.”
“What?” Emma's hand involuntarily slapped against the table in anger before she could stop it. She stood up abruptly, causing the guard standing nearby to take a step forward.
“I'm sorry! Everything is under control,” Emma forced a smile through gritted teeth as she sat back down. But inside, she seethed with rage.
The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stood in front of the door. “One more outburst and she goes back to her cell,” he warned, his hand resting on the doorknob.
“I’ll be quiet. I promise!” Emma pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation as she turned to Clarice.
“Tell me everything!” she demanded, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and anger.
Clarice took a deep breath, her hands trembling at her sides as she glanced between Emma and the guard. “I know you’re going to hate me, but I must tell you the truth.”
Emma's jaw clenched as she waited for Clarice to continue.
“In this moment of hesitation, Clarice's voice shook as she revealed her deepest secret. “I was consumed by jealousy of your happiness, and I wanted just a taste of what you had. When Paul told me he was giving a lecture in New York a few weeks ago, I impulsively flew there and stayed at the same hotel as him. And then...we had dinner. As we talked about Brian and my tears flowed, Paul consoled me, and one thing led to another...”
Emma leaned forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “One thing led to another?”
Clarice hung her head, ashamed. “I know it sounds terrible, but we both felt guilty afterward, and it never happened again. Only that one time. I'm so sorry.”
Emma's eyes narrowed into slits as she shot a murderous look at Clarice, but she fought to contain her boiling emotions. “Am I that stupid?” she hissed, “I didn't notice anything, and Paul didn't say a word about this...this affair!”
Clarice's lower lip quivered as she confessed, “I meant to tell you, but I was afraid and felt guilty. I knew if I said anything, you'd kick Paul out. I didn't want to ruin your happy life.”
“But Paul,” Emma sniffed, her voice cracking with emotion. “How could he do this to me? How could he act like nothing happened? He lied to me!”
“Don't blame him,” Clarice whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I begged him not to tell you.”
“And he complied,” Emma bitterly admitted, “keeping up with his lies so masterfully. I'm more disappointed in his actions than yours.” She let out a shaky breath before commanding, “Tell me what happened the night he died.” The words felt like knives on her tongue, but she needed to know the truth.
“Brian and I had a huge fight,” Clarice recalled with a shaky voice. “It was brutal. He broke into my phone and read Paul’s text messages. The anger in his eyes was like fire, burning me from the inside out. He called me all kinds of names, hit me, and stormed out yelling that he’ll make me pay for that. My heart pounded as I tried to process what had just happened. In a panic, I called Paul, my thoughts racing as I heard his voice on the other end.
He told me to meet him in the lobby of our building, but when I arrived, he wasn't there. Fear gripped me as I stepped outside and walked toward your building. And that's when I saw him - Paul lying on the sidewalk, motionless and pale. I was so scared, but I dialed 911 and started performing CPR. “I didn't kill him, Emma! I swear! I... I loved him.”
“And then you called me.”
“I didn't know what else to do. But now the detectives are convinced that I'm the killer because my fingerprints are on the knife. But I don't understand why... why did I pick up the knife? It was covered in blood next to Paul's body when I found him. You believe me, don’t you?”
Emma sighed heavily and stood up, torn between her loyalty to her friend and the evidence against her. “I want to believe you, Clarice. But right now, it's hard for me to.”
“I think Brian killed him to frame me. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe…”
“I told the detectives, but they just dismissed me because my fingerprints are on the knife.” Clarice cried out in despair.
***
Emma leaned back in her worn armchair; her gaze fixed on the raindrops streaking down the windowpane. The room was shrouded in silence, save for the occasional muffled tap of rain against the glass. Emma felt a familiar tingle at the base of her neck - a signal from her psychic intuition that something significant was trying to come out.
A wave of unease washed over Emma's body, settling deep in her stomach and refusing to be ignored. She knew she needed to delve deeper into the cryptic messages swirling in her mind, but it was as if an invisible force held her back. And then, in a moment of eerie clarity, a vivid image consumed her thoughts.
She saw a sinister silhouette lurking in the shadows of an ancient oak tree, fixated on a man standing on the sidewalk. The standing man was Paul. The man behind the tree fidgeted nervously; his eyes locked on the entrance of a nearby building as if he were waiting for someone. But before Emma could make sense of it all, she watched in horror as the curtain in a first-floor window was pulled aside and the figure hiding behind the tree suddenly launched itself at Paul.
As their eyes met, Emma could feel a coldness wash over her - a malevolence emanating from this unknown assailant. His face was blurred, yet she could see the sinister glint in his eyes as he charged towards Paul with deadly intent.
After a few minutes, her vision cleared, and she took deep breaths, feeling the tension ease from her body. With fierce determination etched on her face, she focused all of her energy on the enigmatic puzzle presented by her visions. Someone had seen the murder from the first-floor window.
Her hands trembled with excitement as she fumbled for a pen and paper, desperate to capture every fleeting detail etched in her mind. This meager fragment could be the key to unraveling the haunting mystery.
The soft glow of her laptop provided the only source of light in the dimly lit room. She meticulously combed through countless news reports, connecting dots and piecing together clues from the psychic messages that had flooded her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find any connections.
Sitting at her cluttered desk, she was surrounded by a wall plastered with a mosaic of newspaper clippings and meticulous notes. Emma wished she could see the man’s face in her vision. She wondered if it was Brian or a random stranger. No, it wasn’t a random robbery gone wrong. Paul’s valet was in his pocket with his iPhone, and his expensive watch was still on his arm when he was killed.
***
Despite her parents' desperate pleas to abandon the search and return to a normal routine, Emma felt an unshakable sense of duty weighing heavily on her shoulders. The visions that plagued her every waking moment seemed to demand action, warning her that ignoring them would only prolong their haunting presence. With fierce determination burning in her chest, Emma defied all advice and boldly approached the detective with the scant evidence she had collected about the possible eyewitness.
The detective's initial expressions were guarded and cautious as Emma recounted her visions in vivid detail. His eyes flickered with skepticism, but as she continued to describe the scene and events with unwavering confidence, his features slowly transformed from doubt to intrigue. She could see the spark of curiosity ignite in his gaze as he leaned forward, fully engrossed in her tale.
Fueled by determination, the detective relentlessly searched for any physical evidence or witnesses to corroborate Emma's claims. With a dogged focus, they probed for more information, leaving no stone unturned. But all Emma had were fragments of her vision, haunting images that refused to solidify into proof or lead to any substantial leads.
Still, something about Emma's conviction and intensity compelled the detective to take her seriously. With newfound determination, they decided to follow up on her lead and see where it would take them.
Emma desperately strained her mind, trying to recall every minute detail of her vision. But the killer's face remained an enigma, a hazy figure lurking in the shadows of her thoughts. The more she tried to grasp onto it, the deeper it seemed to slip away. A chilling sensation settled in her gut as she realized she was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle - one that could mean life or death for Clarice.
***
As the darkness of sleep enveloped her, Emma's mind was once again transported to a vivid, mysterious world. This time, the images were clearer and more defined than ever before. She saw a man with wild eyes and frantic movements running through the dense trees and bushes in the park behind their building on the night of Paul's murder. The sound of his heavy breathing echoed in her ears as he frantically searched for an escape route.
Far from the beaten path, in her vision, Emma followed the man's frantic footsteps until they led her to a small cabin hidden deep within the dark and foreboding woods. Her heart pounding in her chest, she cautiously approached the dilapidated structure, sensing that this was where the answers lay.
As she peered through a broken window, her blood ran cold at what she saw – the murderer's face staring back at her with chilling malice. A wave of terror washed over Emma as she realized that this was no ordinary dream; it was a message sent by her psychic abilities – one that could potentially solve Paul's murder.
With renewed determination, Emma went to the police station early in the morning and recounted every detail of what she had seen in her psychic dream. The detective's eyes narrowed in concentration as he asked questions, trying to piece together the puzzle. However, when they brought in the woman from the apartment that Emma had seen in her vision, she adamantly denied seeing anything out of the ordinary. Disappointment weighed heavily on the detective's face. But Emma was determined not to let this lead go cold.
She visited the woman at her home and pleaded with her to tell the truth to the detective. After some hesitation, the woman finally broke down and admitted to seeing the murder take place from her window. She had been too scared to say anything before, knowing that the killer was still out there somewhere. As she described the man who had taken Paul's life, Emma couldn't believe what she was hearing. It matched exactly with what she had seen in her vision.
Immediately, the detective organized a search of the nearby woods where Emma had seen the cabin in her vision. Sure enough, they came across a small cabin that fit her description perfectly. The team of officers moved silently; their breaths held as they crept up to the structure. One officer carefully peeked through the window and then quickly pulled back, signaling to the team leader that someone was inside.
“I saw a man sleeping on a cot,” he mouthed to the leader, who wasted no time and instructed the team with hand signals to maneuver close to the small, rundown building, and stepping to the door, he kicked it.
The decaying wood splintered, succumbing to the weight of the officers as they swarmed into the small cabin. A disheveled man leaped off the cot, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
“Steve Baldwin, you are under arrest for the brutal murder of Paul Hoggins,” announced the leader of the group, his voice stern and unwavering. He proceeded to recite the Miranda rights as the other officers searched the room.
***
With a closer examination, they discovered that Steve's thumbprint matched the one found on the knife under the dried blood hidden by Clarice's fingerprints. It was clear evidence that Clarice had handled the murder weapon after the crime.
News of Steve's arrest spread like wildfire through their small town, bringing a sense of closure to both Emma and Clarice's families. Though it could never bring back Emma's beloved husband or repair her fractured friendship with Clarice, there was some solace in knowing that justice had been served.
For Emma, this experience solidified her belief in her psychic abilities and taught her an important lesson about blind trust – even in those who she thought were closest to her.
“Are you working overtime again?” Paul asked with a laugh.
“No, for once I'll even have time to cook dinner,” Emma replied.
“Wow, that's rare,” Paul chuckled, knowing how often he had to work late at his law firm and rarely had time to finish his work before 5 pm. “Do you mind if I invite Steve over for dinner? He has an investment proposal, and I'd rather discuss it at home than in the office.”
“Of course, darling,” Emma said with a bright, cheery tone. “Then I'll defrost the lasagna and take out the German cherry cake from the freezer that I picked up last week. It will give me time to tidy up before you arrive home.”
“That sounds perfect, sweetheart! We'll be home by six.”
On her way home, Emma couldn't resist stopping at a charming farmstand she passed by. She carefully selected fresh lettuce, crisp radishes, juicy tomatoes, and crunchy cucumbers to create a delicious salad.
As the food thawed, Emma tackled some light cleaning tasks around the house. She ran the vacuum over the carpets, dusted the surfaces, and even managed to squeeze in a quick shower before five o'clock rolled around. As she dried her hair, she tried to recall Steve's face. She had only met Paul's business manager once at a party nearly a year ago, and their exchange was brief and polite. Despite not knowing much about him, he seemed like a decent person, and Paul had never said anything negative about him. The firm was successful and catered to affluent clients, a fact that Emma knew from casual conversations with her husband. Curiosity piqued as she wondered what kind of proposal Steve might have in store for them. Since their marriage three years ago, Emma made a conscious effort not to pry into Paul's work life and only knew snippets of information that he shared with her voluntarily.
Shortly after six, they arrived, but as soon as she looked at her husband’s face, Emma knew something was wrong. The slight frown on his handsome features was a rare display of emotion for him, but Emma had learned to read his subtle signs over the years. His tense posture and the way he shot a quick glance at their guest, Steve, told her that something was very wrong. She raised her eyebrows in question but remained quiet and followed Paul's lead as they ushered Steve into the living room.
Paul expertly mixed cocktails for them all, but Emma could sense the tension in the air. As they sat down, Paul turned to Steve with a calm yet controlled demeanor. “Before you tell me about your investment plans, let me ask you something,” he said in a low voice.
Emma watched with growing alarm as her husband's jaw tightened, signaling his underlying anger. She couldn't imagine what would come next. It must be something very serious. She thought. Otherwise, he would talk about business after dinner, as he usually does.
“Tell me about the two hundred thousand dollars,” Paul's voice rose slightly, revealing his true emotions towards their guest.
Steve's hand shook and he jolted in his seat, spilling a few drops of his drink onto his lap. His eyes widened in surprise as Paul confronted him about missing money.
“Why are you asking me?” Steve stammered, trying to compose himself.
“Because the accountant called me just before we left to ask about one of our bank accounts,” Paul explained. “He said he couldn't find the statement for the interest we had been paid on that account. I didn't want to cause a scene in the office, so I'm asking you now. Where is the money?”
“I had nothing to do with it!” Steve exclaimed, his face turning red with anger as he stood up. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“Yes!” Paul fumed, his frustration evident. “I checked with the bank, and they informed me that the account we had 210 thousand dollars in now only has eight thousand. What did you do with the missing money?”
“I… I’m leaving! You can’t just accuse me of something I didn’t do,” Steve mumbled, putting his glass on the coffee table.
“You’re not going anywhere until you answer my question!”
Paul's voice echoed through the room, loud and forceful as he jumped up to block Steve's path toward the door. Emma shrank back into the far corner of the sofa, her heart racing as she watched them. Paul, usually calm and collected, now had a fiery rage burning in his eyes. She had never seen him like this before.
Steve looked like a cornered animal, his hands shaking, and his face twisted in fear. “Okay, I gamble, and I've been unlucky the past three months! I'm an addict. I'm sick!” he screamed; desperation was evident in his voice. “I'll pay it back, just give me a chance.”
Paul's voice cracked with pain as he spoke. “How could you do this? I trusted you!”
“I'm so sorry! You have to understand. It's a disease!” Steve pleaded, tears streaming down his face.
But Paul was unfazed. “You played your card; now you suffer the consequences. You're fired!” He stepped aside to let Steve pass. “And you’ll have to pay back the money you stole,” Paul said coldly.
Panic set in for Steve as he realized what that meant. Desperation swept over him as he begged, “You can't! Please, you can't do this to me.”
Paul's face hardened, his once friendly features now twisted into a cold, angry mask. “You did this to yourself. Now get out of my house!”
Steve recoiled at the sharpness in Paul's voice, feeling a surge of pain and anger bubbling up inside him. He looked into Paul's eyes, but all he could see was disappointment and hurt. With drooping shoulders and a defeated expression, he turned and made his way to the door, the sound of his footsteps echoing in the tense silence between them.
“I trusted him,” Paul whispered when the door closed behind Steve, his voice hoarse and heavy with emotion. He slumped down beside Emma, his shoulders shaking with the weight of betrayal.
Emma searched for the right words to console her husband, but they seemed to wither in her throat. Instead, she simply wrapped her arms around him, holding him close as they sat in heavy silence.
The following days were grueling for both of them. Steve had disappeared without a trace, leaving them with unanswered questions and mounting debts.
Paul was forced to deplete the law firm's other accounts just to cover the unpaid bills, leaving them in a precarious financial situation. Tension hung thick in their home, and Emma could see the worry etched into every line on Paul's face.
“Where do you think he is?” Emma asked.
“Nobody knows. Maybe in another state, or in another country. If I were in his shoes, I would be ashamed to show my face, too. It's not even about the money,” Paul admitted one evening as they sat on the couch. “Money can be replaced. It's the disappointment that cuts deep - in him and in myself for missing the signs. I was so consumed with cases that I entrusted him to handle the firm’s finances.” His eyes held a mix of regret and frustration, and Emma squeezed his hand in understanding.
***
Emma grew accustomed to Paul arriving home late each night. She knew he was filling in for Steve's job until a replacement could be found, so she accepted his long hours with understanding. She had become accustomed to eating dinner alone and going to bed alone in their silent apartment.
But one night, her peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by the shrill ring of her phone. Bleary-eyed and disoriented, she squinted at the caller ID and recognized it as Clarice's number. The two had been best friends since childhood, and Clarice lived in the building next door. Still half-asleep, Emma fumbled and managed to hit the accept button with shaking fingers. “He's dead!” She was jolted awake by Clarice's frantic scream on the other end of the line.
“What? Who?” Emma croaked out, sitting up in bed and swinging her feet to the floor. “Where are you?”
“I... I'm on the street,” Clarice stammered, panic evident in her voice. “I called the police. He's dead!”
Emma's heart raced as she struggled to make sense of Clarice's words. “Who is dead?” she asked in terror, as images of everyone she knew flashed through her mind. Quickly pulling on her slippers and yanking up her jeans, Emma braced herself for whatever awaited her on the other side of her apartment door.
“Hurry!” Clarice moaned and choked up, her sobs echoing through the phone. Emma's heart raced as she listened to her best friend's distraught voice. Without a second thought, she ran out of her second-floor apartment, slamming the door behind her in haste. Her chestnut hair flew wildly behind her as she took the steps two at a time, determined to reach Clarice as quickly as possible.
As she burst into the lobby and rushed towards the front door, Emma could hear Clarice's cries growing louder. “Stay with me, Clarice! I'm coming,” she shouted into the phone, hoping her words would provide some comfort to her friend.
But as Emma swung open the front door and stepped outside, she froze in shock. Police cars screeched to a halt in front of the building, their flashing blue and red lights casting an eerie glow over the usually tranquil neighborhood.
The normally peaceful sidewalk was now filled with chaos. Her best friend, Clarice, knelt by a seemingly lifeless body, her hands covered in blood. Emma's eyes widened in disbelief as she noticed a long blade bloody knife resting on the ground by Clarice's knee.
Her mind raced as she tried to process what could have possibly led to this gruesome scene. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at Clarice's tear-stained face and then down at the lifeless body. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks - Clarice had killed Brian.
“What...how did...what did you do?” Emma stuttered, unable to believe what she was seeing. As if in slow motion, Clarice turned to look at Emma with haunted eyes and whispered, “I didn’t! I swear! How could you think I did?” Clarice looked up at her with deep betrayal and hurt flashing in her eyes.
“It’s Paul!” Emma cried out when she recognized the man with a bloody wound in the middle of his chest and dropped to her knees. She hugged her husband’s still body to her chest. “It’s Paul! How did he get here?” Emma sobbed hysterically, knowing that her husband always used the elevator from the garage to go up to their apartment. “This is not happening!” she screamed.
“I… I don’t know!” Clarice shrieked, shaking her head. “I was… I just found him like this.”
As the officers cautiously approached, Clarice lifted her tear-stained face to meet their gaze. Her hands, stained with blood, trembled as she held them up in a pitiful attempt to show her innocence. After assessing the scene and asking a barrage of initial questions, the officers finally took Clarice away in handcuffs. Emma watched with a heavy heart, feeling like she was in a dream. The reality of the situation slowly sank in, and she couldn't believe how drastically her life had changed in just a few moments. Everything she thought she knew had been shattered, leaving her feeling numb and lost.
***
The days blurred together for Emma, each one blending into the next as she sat alone in her bedroom. The once comforting walls now felt stifling and oppressive, as if they were closing in on her. She stared at them, hoping to make sense of it all.
Her best friend, whom she had known since they were children, was now behind bars, accused of murdering her husband. Emma couldn't wrap her head around it. It seemed impossible that someone so kind and gentle could commit such a heinous act.
But there were unanswered questions that plagued Emma's mind. Clarice kept insisting that she didn't kill him. Was she telling the truth? And if she did do it, what could have driven her to such a desperate and violent act?
Emma's parents tried their best to be supportive, but they, too, were struggling with their own emotions. They couldn't understand how their daughter's beloved friend could do something so horrific.
As the shock of Paul's funeral began to wear off, Emma grew restless. She needed answers. She went to the detective assigned to the case, but got nowhere. So, with determination and a heavy heart, she mustered up the courage to visit Clarice in jail.
The visitation room was bleak and sterile; the cold air filled with tension and sadness. But Emma hardly noticed as she sat across from Clarice, who looked like a mere shell of the person she used to be. Their conversation was initially strained and awkward, but eventually, Clarice opened up and shared her side of the story with Emma.
Emma listened intently as her friend's tearful voice trembled while recounting the events that led up to the fateful night. Clarice's words were like shards of glass, piercing through Emma's heart with their painful honesty. “I never told you about how Brian treated me. I was too ashamed,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above her sobs. “You and Paul were so happy together, and... I was foolishly hoping that Brian would change. But he didn't...” Clarice sighed, tears streaming down her face as she continued. “The months of verbal abuse and constant belittling finally pushed me over the edge. And then at a party, when you had a headache and went home alone, I confided in Paul.”
Emma felt a surge of anger rising within her. “What happened?” she asked coldly, already imagining the worst.
“We just talked,” Clarice confessed, her voice quivering with shame and regret. “But later... um, we started seeing each other more and more.”
“What?” Emma's hand involuntarily slapped against the table in anger before she could stop it. She stood up abruptly, causing the guard standing nearby to take a step forward.
“I'm sorry! Everything is under control,” Emma forced a smile through gritted teeth as she sat back down. But inside, she seethed with rage.
The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously as he stood in front of the door. “One more outburst and she goes back to her cell,” he warned, his hand resting on the doorknob.
“I’ll be quiet. I promise!” Emma pleaded, her eyes wide with desperation as she turned to Clarice.
“Tell me everything!” she demanded, her voice quivering with a mix of fear and anger.
Clarice took a deep breath, her hands trembling at her sides as she glanced between Emma and the guard. “I know you’re going to hate me, but I must tell you the truth.”
Emma's jaw clenched as she waited for Clarice to continue.
“In this moment of hesitation, Clarice's voice shook as she revealed her deepest secret. “I was consumed by jealousy of your happiness, and I wanted just a taste of what you had. When Paul told me he was giving a lecture in New York a few weeks ago, I impulsively flew there and stayed at the same hotel as him. And then...we had dinner. As we talked about Brian and my tears flowed, Paul consoled me, and one thing led to another...”
Emma leaned forward, her eyes blazing with fury. “One thing led to another?”
Clarice hung her head, ashamed. “I know it sounds terrible, but we both felt guilty afterward, and it never happened again. Only that one time. I'm so sorry.”
Emma's eyes narrowed into slits as she shot a murderous look at Clarice, but she fought to contain her boiling emotions. “Am I that stupid?” she hissed, “I didn't notice anything, and Paul didn't say a word about this...this affair!”
Clarice's lower lip quivered as she confessed, “I meant to tell you, but I was afraid and felt guilty. I knew if I said anything, you'd kick Paul out. I didn't want to ruin your happy life.”
“But Paul,” Emma sniffed, her voice cracking with emotion. “How could he do this to me? How could he act like nothing happened? He lied to me!”
“Don't blame him,” Clarice whispered, tears welling up in her eyes. “I begged him not to tell you.”
“And he complied,” Emma bitterly admitted, “keeping up with his lies so masterfully. I'm more disappointed in his actions than yours.” She let out a shaky breath before commanding, “Tell me what happened the night he died.” The words felt like knives on her tongue, but she needed to know the truth.
“Brian and I had a huge fight,” Clarice recalled with a shaky voice. “It was brutal. He broke into my phone and read Paul’s text messages. The anger in his eyes was like fire, burning me from the inside out. He called me all kinds of names, hit me, and stormed out yelling that he’ll make me pay for that. My heart pounded as I tried to process what had just happened. In a panic, I called Paul, my thoughts racing as I heard his voice on the other end.
He told me to meet him in the lobby of our building, but when I arrived, he wasn't there. Fear gripped me as I stepped outside and walked toward your building. And that's when I saw him - Paul lying on the sidewalk, motionless and pale. I was so scared, but I dialed 911 and started performing CPR. “I didn't kill him, Emma! I swear! I... I loved him.”
“And then you called me.”
“I didn't know what else to do. But now the detectives are convinced that I'm the killer because my fingerprints are on the knife. But I don't understand why... why did I pick up the knife? It was covered in blood next to Paul's body when I found him. You believe me, don’t you?”
Emma sighed heavily and stood up, torn between her loyalty to her friend and the evidence against her. “I want to believe you, Clarice. But right now, it's hard for me to.”
“I think Brian killed him to frame me. Don’t you think?”
“I don’t know. Maybe…”
“I told the detectives, but they just dismissed me because my fingerprints are on the knife.” Clarice cried out in despair.
***
Emma leaned back in her worn armchair; her gaze fixed on the raindrops streaking down the windowpane. The room was shrouded in silence, save for the occasional muffled tap of rain against the glass. Emma felt a familiar tingle at the base of her neck - a signal from her psychic intuition that something significant was trying to come out.
A wave of unease washed over Emma's body, settling deep in her stomach and refusing to be ignored. She knew she needed to delve deeper into the cryptic messages swirling in her mind, but it was as if an invisible force held her back. And then, in a moment of eerie clarity, a vivid image consumed her thoughts.
She saw a sinister silhouette lurking in the shadows of an ancient oak tree, fixated on a man standing on the sidewalk. The standing man was Paul. The man behind the tree fidgeted nervously; his eyes locked on the entrance of a nearby building as if he were waiting for someone. But before Emma could make sense of it all, she watched in horror as the curtain in a first-floor window was pulled aside and the figure hiding behind the tree suddenly launched itself at Paul.
As their eyes met, Emma could feel a coldness wash over her - a malevolence emanating from this unknown assailant. His face was blurred, yet she could see the sinister glint in his eyes as he charged towards Paul with deadly intent.
After a few minutes, her vision cleared, and she took deep breaths, feeling the tension ease from her body. With fierce determination etched on her face, she focused all of her energy on the enigmatic puzzle presented by her visions. Someone had seen the murder from the first-floor window.
Her hands trembled with excitement as she fumbled for a pen and paper, desperate to capture every fleeting detail etched in her mind. This meager fragment could be the key to unraveling the haunting mystery.
The soft glow of her laptop provided the only source of light in the dimly lit room. She meticulously combed through countless news reports, connecting dots and piecing together clues from the psychic messages that had flooded her mind. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find any connections.
Sitting at her cluttered desk, she was surrounded by a wall plastered with a mosaic of newspaper clippings and meticulous notes. Emma wished she could see the man’s face in her vision. She wondered if it was Brian or a random stranger. No, it wasn’t a random robbery gone wrong. Paul’s valet was in his pocket with his iPhone, and his expensive watch was still on his arm when he was killed.
***
Despite her parents' desperate pleas to abandon the search and return to a normal routine, Emma felt an unshakable sense of duty weighing heavily on her shoulders. The visions that plagued her every waking moment seemed to demand action, warning her that ignoring them would only prolong their haunting presence. With fierce determination burning in her chest, Emma defied all advice and boldly approached the detective with the scant evidence she had collected about the possible eyewitness.
The detective's initial expressions were guarded and cautious as Emma recounted her visions in vivid detail. His eyes flickered with skepticism, but as she continued to describe the scene and events with unwavering confidence, his features slowly transformed from doubt to intrigue. She could see the spark of curiosity ignite in his gaze as he leaned forward, fully engrossed in her tale.
Fueled by determination, the detective relentlessly searched for any physical evidence or witnesses to corroborate Emma's claims. With a dogged focus, they probed for more information, leaving no stone unturned. But all Emma had were fragments of her vision, haunting images that refused to solidify into proof or lead to any substantial leads.
Still, something about Emma's conviction and intensity compelled the detective to take her seriously. With newfound determination, they decided to follow up on her lead and see where it would take them.
Emma desperately strained her mind, trying to recall every minute detail of her vision. But the killer's face remained an enigma, a hazy figure lurking in the shadows of her thoughts. The more she tried to grasp onto it, the deeper it seemed to slip away. A chilling sensation settled in her gut as she realized she was missing a crucial piece of the puzzle - one that could mean life or death for Clarice.
***
As the darkness of sleep enveloped her, Emma's mind was once again transported to a vivid, mysterious world. This time, the images were clearer and more defined than ever before. She saw a man with wild eyes and frantic movements running through the dense trees and bushes in the park behind their building on the night of Paul's murder. The sound of his heavy breathing echoed in her ears as he frantically searched for an escape route.
Far from the beaten path, in her vision, Emma followed the man's frantic footsteps until they led her to a small cabin hidden deep within the dark and foreboding woods. Her heart pounding in her chest, she cautiously approached the dilapidated structure, sensing that this was where the answers lay.
As she peered through a broken window, her blood ran cold at what she saw – the murderer's face staring back at her with chilling malice. A wave of terror washed over Emma as she realized that this was no ordinary dream; it was a message sent by her psychic abilities – one that could potentially solve Paul's murder.
With renewed determination, Emma went to the police station early in the morning and recounted every detail of what she had seen in her psychic dream. The detective's eyes narrowed in concentration as he asked questions, trying to piece together the puzzle. However, when they brought in the woman from the apartment that Emma had seen in her vision, she adamantly denied seeing anything out of the ordinary. Disappointment weighed heavily on the detective's face. But Emma was determined not to let this lead go cold.
She visited the woman at her home and pleaded with her to tell the truth to the detective. After some hesitation, the woman finally broke down and admitted to seeing the murder take place from her window. She had been too scared to say anything before, knowing that the killer was still out there somewhere. As she described the man who had taken Paul's life, Emma couldn't believe what she was hearing. It matched exactly with what she had seen in her vision.
Immediately, the detective organized a search of the nearby woods where Emma had seen the cabin in her vision. Sure enough, they came across a small cabin that fit her description perfectly. The team of officers moved silently; their breaths held as they crept up to the structure. One officer carefully peeked through the window and then quickly pulled back, signaling to the team leader that someone was inside.
“I saw a man sleeping on a cot,” he mouthed to the leader, who wasted no time and instructed the team with hand signals to maneuver close to the small, rundown building, and stepping to the door, he kicked it.
The decaying wood splintered, succumbing to the weight of the officers as they swarmed into the small cabin. A disheveled man leaped off the cot, his eyes wide with fear and confusion.
“Steve Baldwin, you are under arrest for the brutal murder of Paul Hoggins,” announced the leader of the group, his voice stern and unwavering. He proceeded to recite the Miranda rights as the other officers searched the room.
***
With a closer examination, they discovered that Steve's thumbprint matched the one found on the knife under the dried blood hidden by Clarice's fingerprints. It was clear evidence that Clarice had handled the murder weapon after the crime.
News of Steve's arrest spread like wildfire through their small town, bringing a sense of closure to both Emma and Clarice's families. Though it could never bring back Emma's beloved husband or repair her fractured friendship with Clarice, there was some solace in knowing that justice had been served.
For Emma, this experience solidified her belief in her psychic abilities and taught her an important lesson about blind trust – even in those who she thought were closest to her.