Retrieval

The security system for Sylvan Hills was state-of-the-art. Ring cameras. Motion sensors. A neighborhood app where Mrs. Sterling reported suspicious squirrels.

But they had forgotten about the old locks.

I stood at the back door of the garage, looking at the keypad. It was a standard Schlage, installed by the previous owner, the doomsday prepper. Graham had integrated it into the smart home network, but the physical tumblers were still there, hidden under the sleek black casing.

And I had the key.

The small, brass key from Leo's truck.

It fit.

I turned it. The mechanism clicked. A heavy, satisfying sound that felt like victory.

I slipped inside.

The garage was dark. The smell of gasoline and expensive car wax filled my nose.

I needed tools.

Graham’s workbench was a shrine to masculinity he didn't possess. A pegboard of pristine wrenches. A circular saw still in the box.

I grabbed a pair of bolt cutters. Heavy. Industrial.

And a flashlight.

I moved to the side door. The one that led to the garden.

I opened it a crack.

The night air was cold. I could hear the wind in the trees.

And something else.

Footsteps.

On the gravel.

I froze.

Graham?

No. He was inside, sleeping.

The PI?

I peeked out.

A figure was moving through the garden. Near the rose trellis.

It was the man in the hoodie.

Again.

He was doing something to the trellis.

I squinted.

He was... tying something?

A rope?

No. A wire.

He was rigging something.

My heart hammered. Who was he? Why was he here?

Was he trying to get in? Or keep someone out?

I watched him. He moved with a quiet, practiced efficiency. He wasn't a burglar. He was a professional.

He finished with the trellis. He stepped back.

He looked up at the house. At my bedroom window.

He raised a hand.

And waved.

Not a friendly wave. A signal.

Then he turned and disappeared into the woods.

I waited a full minute. Then I slipped out.

I went to the trellis.

I shined my flashlight on the wire.

It was a tripwire.

Strung across the path. Knee-high.

Connected to...

A can.

A spray paint can.

If someone tripped the wire, the can would spray.

Red paint.

Like blood.

Why?

To mark the intruder?

Or to send a message?

I stepped over the wire.

I walked to the edge of the woods.

"Hello?" I whispered.

Nothing.

I turned back to the house.

I needed to get back inside. I needed to get to the basement. To the studio.

But the back door was locked. And I didn't have the code.

I walked around to the side. To the window well. The one I had broken out of.

The grate was still askew.

I slid into the well. I pushed on the window.

It opened.

I climbed in.

I was back in the studio.

It was still empty. Still dark.

Except for the red light on the server rack in the corner.

The "nursery."

I walked over to it.

The door was locked.

I used the bobby pin again. *Click. Click.*

It opened.

I went inside.

The monitors were glowing.

I looked at the screen labeled *Garage.*

I saw myself.

Ten minutes ago. Taking the bolt cutters.

Graham had a recording of me stealing tools.

Great. Another piece of evidence for the "violent wife" file.

I looked at the other screens.

*Kitchen.* Empty.

*Living Room.* Empty.

*Bedroom.*

Graham was asleep.

But something was wrong.

On the nightstand... his phone was lit up.

Someone was calling him.

At 3:00 AM.

I zoomed in on the screen.

*Caller ID: Unknown.*

It rang. And rang.

He didn't wake up.

The call went to voicemail.

The screen went dark.

Then... a notification.

A text.

*Check the basement.*

My blood ran cold.

The text was on Graham's phone.

But who sent it?

The man in the hoodie?

Or the Replacement?

*Check the basement.*

Did they know I was here?

I heard a noise.

Above me.

Footsteps.

Running.

Someone was in the house.

Not Graham. The footsteps were too light.

I looked at the monitors.

*Hallway.*

A figure.

Running toward the stairs.

It was Leo.

He had escaped the attic again.

He was running down the stairs.

Where was he going?

To the front door?

No. He turned.

Toward the basement door.

He was coming here.

To me.

I unlocked the studio door. I opened it.

I waited in the dark at the bottom of the stairs.

The basement door opened.

Small feet on the wooden steps. *Thump. Thump.*

"Leo?" I whispered.

He stopped.

"Merritt?"

"I'm here," I said. "Come down."

He ran down the rest of the stairs. He threw himself into my arms.

He was shaking.

"The bad man is awake," he whispered.

"Graham?"

"No. The other bad man."

"What other bad man?"

"The one in the garden."

I frowned. "The man in the hoodie?"

"Yes," Leo said. "He climbed up the trellis. He looked in the window."

"Did he see you?"

"Yes. He smiled."

Leo buried his face in my shirt.

"He looked like Daddy," he whispered.

I froze.

*He looked like Daddy.*

Like Graham?

But Graham was in bed.

Unless...

Unless Graham had a brother.

A twin.

My mind raced.

No. Impossible.

Graham was an only child. I had seen the family bible.

But Graham lied about everything.

If he had a twin... a twin who looked just like him...

That would explain the alibis. The "working late." The man in the garden.

Two Grahams.

One to be the saintly husband.

One to be the monster.

"Leo," I said. "Are you sure?"

"He had the same face," Leo said. "But different eyes. Mean eyes."

"Graham has mean eyes," I said.

"No," Leo said. "Daddy has sad eyes. This man had... fire eyes."

Fire eyes.

I held him tight.

"Okay," I said. "We're safe here. The door is locked."

I led him into the studio. I sat him on the floor.

"Stay here," I said. "Don't make a sound."

I went back to the server room.

I looked at the monitors.

*Bedroom.*

Graham was still in bed. Still asleep.

*Garden.*

Empty.

*Living Room.*

Empty.

*Attic.*

The tent was empty. The window was open.

The man had come in through the attic. He had seen Leo.

And then he had gone.

Where?

I scanned the screens.

*Guest Room.*

Empty.

*Garage.*

Empty.

Where was he?

And then I saw it.

On the *Kitchen* monitor.

The back door.

It was open.

Just a crack.

Someone had come in.

And they hadn't triggered the alarm.

Which meant they had the code.

Graham’s code.

Or...

A master code.

I watched the screen.

A shadow moved across the floor.

It wasn't Graham.

It was the man in the hoodie.

He walked to the island.

He picked up the knife block.

He pulled out the chef's knife. The big one.

He tested the blade.

Then he turned.

And walked toward the basement door.

He was coming for us.

And he had a knife.

I ran back to the studio.

"Leo," I said. "We have to move."

"Is it the bad man?"

"Yes."

I looked around the room.

No weapons. Just the bolt cutters.

I grabbed them.

"Get in the crawl space," I said.

"No," Leo said. "It's scary in there."

"It's safer than here. Go."

I pushed him toward the corner. He crawled into the hole.

I pulled the acoustic foam back into place.

"Don't make a sound," I whispered.

I stood in the center of the room. I turned off the flashlight.

I waited in the dark.

I heard the footsteps on the stairs.

Slow. Quiet.

The door handle turned.

*Click.*

It opened.

A beam of light cut through the room.

"Merritt?" a voice whispered.

It sounded like Graham.

But it wasn't.

It was slightly lower. Rougher.

"I know you're down here," the voice said. "I saw the light."

He stepped into the room.

He swept the light around.

He saw the bolt cutters in my hand.

He laughed.

"Bolt cutters?" he said. "Really?"

He lowered the light.

I saw his face.

It was Graham's face.

But older. Harder. A scar ran down his cheek.

"Hello, sister-in-law," he said.

Sister-in-law.

"You're his brother," I whispered.

"Gavin," he said. "The evil twin. The one they locked away."

He took a step forward. The knife glinted in his hand.

"Graham didn't have the stomach for it," he said. "He wanted to do it clean. Pills. Doctors."

He sneered.

"I prefer hands-on."

"Why?" I asked. "Why kill me?"

"Because you're expensive, Merritt. You and the trust fund. And Elena. And the kid."

He shook his head.

"Too many loose ends. Graham is soft. He keeps things. Like pets."

He raised the knife.

"I'm the cleaner."

He lunged.

I swung the bolt cutters.

*CLANG.*

Metal on metal.

The knife flew out of his hand.

He roared. He tackled me.

We hit the floor. He was heavy. Strong. He smelled like tobacco and rain.

He wrapped his hands around my throat.

"Die," he whispered. "Just die."

I couldn't breathe. Black spots danced in my vision.

I scrabbled on the floor. My hand found something.

The wire.

The live wire I had used on Graham.

Was it still live?

I didn't know.

I grabbed it. I jammed it into his side.

Nothing happened.

The breaker had tripped.

"Nice try," Gavin said, squeezing tighter.

I was fading.

And then...

*THUMP.*

A sound.

From the ceiling.

The vent.

Gavin looked up.

"What..."

*CRASH.*

The vent grate fell.

And something dropped out.

A bag.

A heavy, sandbag weight.

It hit Gavin square in the back of the head.

*CRACK.*

His eyes rolled back. His grip loosened.

He slumped forward. On top of me.

Dead weight.

I shoved him off. I gasped for air.

I looked up at the hole in the ceiling.

A face looked down.

Toby.

"Told you I'd be here," he whispered.

"Toby," I rasped. "How..."

"The vents," he said. "I know the ductwork. I installed the HVAC."

He dropped a rope ladder.

"Climb," he said.

I looked at Gavin. He was unconscious. Breathing shallowly.

I looked at the crawl space.

"Leo," I called.

Leo crawled out. He looked at the man on the floor.

"Is he dead?"

"Sleeping," I said.

I grabbed Leo. I put him on the ladder.

"Climb, Leo. Like a monkey."

He climbed up. Toby pulled him through the hole.

I followed.

We were in the ceiling. In the ductwork. It was tight. Metal.

"Where are we going?" I whispered.

"Out," Toby said. "Through the roof."

We crawled. Through the maze of ducts.

We reached a hatch. Toby pushed it open.

Night air. Stars.

We climbed out onto the roof.

The view was incredible. The whole valley spread out below us.

And in the driveway...

Police cars.

Silent. Lights off.

Waiting.

"They're here," Toby said. "The State Troopers. I called them."

"Why aren't they coming in?"

"They're waiting for the signal," he said.

"What signal?"

He handed me a flare gun.

"Yours," he said.

I took the gun.

I looked at the house. The glass box. My prison.

I looked at Leo. He was safe.

I looked at Toby. He was loyal.

I aimed the gun at the sky.

And I pulled the trigger.

*POP-HISSS.*

A red star exploded over Sylvan Hills.

The sirens started.

The raid began.