“Now, Elise.” The command was absolute.
My eyes darted to my husband. Caleb lay facing away from me, a silhouette under the comforter. His breathing remained slow and steady, the picture of peaceful slumber. He had kissed my forehead three hours ago and whispered, “Sleep well, baby.” He had smiled.
“You’re scaring me,” I whispered into the phone, my voice trembling.
Mara’s voice, which had been a tense whisper, suddenly snapped into a shout so sharp it felt like a physical blow. “Just do it!”
The sheer, unadulterated panic in her voice propelled me into motion. Thought ceased; instinct took over. I slid out of bed, my bare feet hitting the cold hardwood floor. My hand, acting on some bizarre autopilot, snatched my phone charger from the nightstand before I crept into the hallway. The old floorboards groaned under my weight, a sound that seemed to deafen me.
Behind me, in the bed, Caleb shifted. The rustle of sheets was like an explosion in the silence.
“Elise?” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep.
I froze, my body rigid, every muscle screaming. I held my breath, waiting for the world to collapse.
“I’m just getting a glass of water,” I managed to say, my voice a surprisingly steady lie.
He didn’t respond. A soft snore a moment later told me he had slipped back into sleep. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding, my lungs burning.
Following Mara’s orders with a frantic, blind obedience, I moved through my own home like a ghost. I switched off the dim hallway night-light, then plunged the kitchen into blackness. I crossed the living room and switched off the small lamp Caleb always, without fail, left on for me, a little beacon he said was to “guide you back to me.” The gesture had always felt so loving. Tonight, it felt sinister. My hands were trembling so badly I nearly dropped my phone. Mara stayed on the line, her presence a silent, tense weight punctuated only by the sound of her sharp, controlled breathing.
