The Garage Noise

I looked at the screen.

Julian’s browsing history.

*Dr. Elias Aris books.*

*The Glitch: A Case Study.*

*Industrial Flow Solutions.*

But there was another tab. One I had missed.

*Verdant Hills Historical Society: Property Records.*

I clicked it.

A PDF opened.

It was the deed to our house.

*Owner: Julian Vance.*

*Co-Owner: Elara Vance.*

But underneath the legal jargon, there was a note. An addendum filed six months ago.

*Right of Survivorship: In the event of the accidental death of one party, the surviving spouse assumes full ownership, bypassing probate.*

Standard.

But then I saw the next document in the folder.

*Demolition Permit Application.*

*Status: Approved.*

*Date: January 15, 2026.*

Tomorrow.

He wasn't just planning to renovate. He was planning to level the place. To erase it completely.

The "accident" wasn't just about the insurance money. It was about the land.

The land was worth more than the house. Especially if the "toxic history" of the old mill was finally buried under a new, modern development.

He was going to sell to developers.

He was going to cash out.

And I was the only thing standing in his way.

"Elara?"

He was in the hallway. Coming back.

I slammed the laptop shut.

I shoved it under the sofa cushion.

I stood up.

"I'm here," I said.

He walked into the living room.

He wasn't holding the gun.

He was holding a glass of water.

And a pill.

"You look pale," he said. "Take this."

"What is it?"

"A sedative," he said. "For the nerves."

"I don't need it."

"You do," he said. "You're shaking."

He was right. I was vibrating.

He held out the pill.

"Take it. Or I call Dr. Aris."

I looked at the pill.

It was white. Round.

It wasn't the paralytic. It wasn't the anxiety med.

It was something else.

I took it.

I pretended to swallow.

I hid it under my tongue.

"Good girl," he said.

He turned away.

I spit the pill into my hand. I slipped it into my pocket.

"Now," he said. "Back to the kitchen."

He grabbed my arm.

He pulled me.

I stumbled.

"Wait," I said. "My shoe."

I bent down.

I grabbed the steak knife I had hidden in my boot.

I stood up.

I slashed at his hand.

He yelled. He let go.

I ran.

I ran for the front door.

Locked.

I ran for the stairs.

He was right behind me.

"Elara!"

I scrambled up the stairs.

I reached the landing.

I turned.

He was at the bottom of the stairs.

He looked up at me.

His face was twisted. Ugly.

"You can't run," he said. "There's nowhere to go."

"I'm not running," I said.

I raised the knife.

"I'm rewriting."

He laughed.

"You're not a writer, Elara. You're a footnote."

He started up the stairs.

I backed away. Toward the bedroom.

I went inside. I slammed the door. I locked it.

It wouldn't hold him. Not for long.

I looked around the room.

The window.

It led to the roof of the porch.

I opened it.

The rain blew in.

I climbed out.

I stood on the roof. The shingles were slippery.

I looked down.

It was a fifteen-foot drop.

I could make it.

I jumped.

I hit the grass. I rolled.

I scrambled up.

I was outside.

I was free.

I looked back at the house.

Julian was in the window. He was screaming.

But he couldn't get out. The window was too small for him.

I turned and ran.

I ran toward the street.

"Help!" I screamed.

Lights came on in the neighbors' houses.

I saw Elias on his porch.

"Elara!" he shouted.

I ran toward him.

"He's trying to kill me!"

Elias grabbed his phone. "I'm calling the police."

I looked back at the house.

The front door opened.

Julian stepped out.

He had the gun.

He raised it.

"Get down!" Elias screamed.

He tackled me.

*Bang.*

The bullet hit the porch railing. Wood splinters sprayed us.

We scrambled inside his house.

Elias locked the door.

"He's crazy," he said.

"He's desperate," I said.

We heard sirens.

Blue lights flashed on the walls.

"It's over," Elias said.

I looked out the window.

Julian was standing in the street. The gun was in his hand.

Police cars screeched to a halt.

"Drop the weapon!"

Julian looked at the police. Then at Elias's house.

He smiled.

He raised the gun to his own head.

"No!" I whispered.

*Bang.*

He fell.

It was over.

Or so I thought.

Two hours later, I was in the ambulance. A blanket wrapped around me.

A detective was asking questions.

"Mrs. Vance, we need to know... was there anyone else in the house?"

"No," I said. "Just us."

"We found a second set of prints," he said. "On the back door."

I froze.

"Who?"

"We don't know yet. But they match a file in the system."

He looked at his notes.

"A known associate of your husband's. A contractor."

"What's his name?"

"Marcus Aris."

Aris.

Dr. Aris?

No. Marcus.

"Who is Marcus Aris?" I asked.

"Dr. Aris's brother," the detective said. "The one who went to prison for arson ten years ago."

My blood ran cold.

The fire.

The childhood fire.

It wasn't Julian.

It was Marcus.

Julian had hired him.

And he was still out there.

I looked at the woods.

A shadow moved.

Limping.

Watching.

The story wasn't over.

It was just the beginning of the sequel.