“What kind of strange joke is this supposed to be,” I asked, trying to mask my discomfort with disbelief.
“I am not joking,” he replied immediately, and the fear in his voice was unmistakable, raw and unfiltered in a way I had never heard before.
“Did something happen,” I asked, my heart beginning to race as dread seeped into my thoughts.
He hesitated, and in the background I heard a distant sound that reminded me of traffic, followed by something sharper and closer, like a car horn.
“I am on my way back,” he said. “But until I get there, you have to do exactly what I told you, and you cannot open the door no matter what anyone says.”
“Why,” I asked, my fingers tightening around the phone.
“Because your building is being watched,” he replied, and the certainty in his tone sent a chill through my entire body.
Before I could ask another question, the doorbell rang.
The sound echoed through the apartment, crisp and loud, and I froze where I stood, my breath caught halfway in my chest.
“There is someone outside,” I whispered into the phone.
“Do not open it,” he said instantly. “Tell me what you hear.”
I moved slowly toward the door, each step deliberate, my senses sharpening as though the air itself had grown heavier, and I leaned close enough to hear voices through the thick wood.
A young male voice spoke clearly from the hallway.
“Good evening, ma’am,” the voice said politely. “We are with building management, and there is an urgent issue with the plumbing that needs to be checked immediately.”
I swallowed hard and pressed my back against the wall beside the door.
“They say they are from the building office,” I murmured into the phone.
“There are no inspections at this hour,” my husband said sharply. “They are lying, and you cannot let them in.”
The doorbell rang again, this time louder, more insistent, and the same voice returned, now edged with something that sounded like urgency.
“Ma’am, are there children inside,” he asked. “This could be dangerous if we do not address it right away.”
My stomach twisted.
“They know about our daughter,” I whispered.
“Yes,” my husband replied grimly. “Because they have been watching for a while.”
My hands began to shake.
“What are you telling me,” I asked, struggling to keep my voice steady.
“Do you remember the man who asked for the wireless password last week,” he said quietly.