Walls Have Eyes

I scanned the thermal image again.

My breath fogged the cold glass of the library window. Outside, the night was a wall of black ice and silence. But on the small screen of the FLIR camera, the world was a map of heat.

Blue for the snow. Purple for the stone walls.

And inside...

Inside, the walls were bleeding.

Not blood. Heat.

A vein of orange running vertically between the studs of the master bedroom wall.

It wasn't a pipe. The plumbing schematics—which I had memorized—showed the main stack on the other side of the room.

It wasn't a vent. The HVAC was dead.

It was a void. A chase. A space that shouldn't have heat in it unless something alive was generating it.

Or unless someone had installed electronics that were running hot.

"Leo!"

My voice cracked. I turned from the window.

Leo was in the kitchen, still on the phone with the lawyer. He looked up, annoyed. He held up a finger. *One minute.*

"No," I said. "Now."

I marched into the kitchen. I slammed the thermal camera onto the island.

"Look at this."

He frowned. "Elena, I'm on with Marcus. He says the bail hearing is set for—"

"Look at the wall, Leo!"

He sighed. He told Marcus he'd call him back. He picked up the camera.

"What am I looking at?"

"The master bedroom. The north wall. See that line?"

He squinted at the screen. "A heat leak? Probably just poor insulation. The house is a hundred years old, El."

"It's not insulation," I said. "It's too focused. Too linear. It looks like... a wire chase."

"So? Maybe they ran new electric when they did the remodel in the 90s."

"There is no remodel in the 90s," I said. "I checked the permit history. The last work done on this house was in 1982. And they didn't touch the second floor."

Leo put the camera down. He looked tired. The kind of tired that seeps into your bones and makes you heavy.

"What are you saying, Elena?"

"I'm saying there's something in the wall. Something that's generating heat."

"Like what? A nest of squirrels?"

"Or a camera," I whispered. "Or a microphone."

He stared at me. For a long moment, he didn't speak. The silence stretched, thin and brittle.

Then he reached out and touched my forehead. His hand was cool.

"You're burning up," he said softly.

"I'm not sick."

"You're stressed. You're traumatized. You just killed someone, Elena. Your brain is trying to find a pattern. A reason. But sometimes... sometimes a tragedy is just a tragedy."

He walked around the island. He put his arms around me. He smelled of expensive cologne and fear.

"Let it go," he whispered into my hair. "Please. For both of us. Just let it go."

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I wanted to sink into his arms and believe him. I wanted to believe that the heat signature was just a squirrel. I wanted to believe that the hammer was a mistake. I wanted to believe that the boy at the door was just a prankster.

But then I remembered the wrapper.

The eucalyptus wrapper in my pocket.

And I remembered the look in Ethan's eyes.

*He's right behind you.*

I pulled away.

"I'm going to check it," I said.

"Elena—"

"I'm going to check it. If it's nothing, I'll drop it. I promise. But I have to know."

I turned and walked out of the kitchen.

I didn't run. I didn't want him to chase me. I walked with a deliberate, calm pace. Up the stairs. Down the hall. Into the master bedroom.

I grabbed my tool bag from the closet.

I took out a drywall saw.

"Elena, stop!"

Leo was in the doorway. He looked panicked. Genuine, sweat-on-the-brow panic.

"It's a load-bearing wall!" he shouted. "You can't just cut into it!"

"It's not load-bearing," I said. "I checked the blueprints."

I jammed the saw into the plaster. It crumbled easily. Old horsehair plaster, brittle with age.

I sawed. A jagged, ugly line. Dust filled the air, choking me.

"You're destroying the house!" Leo yelled. He grabbed my arm.

I shoved him back. Harder than I meant to. He stumbled, hitting the dresser.

"Don't touch me!"

I ripped a chunk of plaster away. I shone my flashlight into the hole.

Darkness. Lath. Old insulation.

And...

A wire.

A thin, black wire. Running vertically.

It wasn't Romex. It wasn't old knob-and-tube.

It was CAT6. Ethernet.

"Since when," I said, my voice shaking, "did the Victorians have high-speed internet in their walls?"

Leo stared at the wire. His face went slack. All the color drained out of it, leaving him looking like a wax figure.

"I..." he stammered. "Maybe the previous owners..."

"The previous owners were ninety years old," I said. "They didn't have Wi-Fi."

I grabbed the wire. I pulled.

It was tight. Secured.

I followed it up with the flashlight beam.

It went up to the crown molding. And then... through it. Into a tiny, drilled hole.

I looked at the molding. Really looked at it.

There, hidden in the intricate scrollwork of the plaster leaf, was a black dot.

A lens.

My knees gave out. I sat down on the bed, the saw falling from my hand.

"It's a camera," I whispered. "Someone has been filming us."

Leo didn't speak. He was staring at the hole in the wall as if it were a portal to hell.

"Who?" I asked. "Who would do this?"

And then I saw it.

On the floor. Where Leo had stumbled.

Something had fallen out of his pocket.

A small, black remote.

It wasn't for the TV. It wasn't for the fan.

It looked exactly like the remote I used for my presentation projector.

But it had a label on the back.

*Cam 1 / Master.*

I picked it up.

Leo moved. Fast.

He snatched it from my hand.

"Give me that!"

"What is it?" I demanded. "Leo, what is that?"

"It's... it's for the lights," he said. A stupid, desperate lie.

"The lights?" I stood up. "Show me. Turn on a light with it."

He backed away. He was clutching the remote so hard his knuckles were white.

"I... the battery is dead."

"Leo."

I stepped toward him.

"Did you put that camera there?"

"No!"

"Then why do you have the remote?"

"I found it!" he shouted. "I found it in the mailbox yesterday! I didn't know what it was!"

"Liar."

The word hung in the air. Heavy. Final.

"You put it there," I said. The realization hit me like a physical blow. "You've been watching me. Why? Is it... is it a fetish? Are you sick?"

"It's not like that!" he pleaded. "Elena, listen to me. It wasn't for... *that*."

"Then what was it for?"

"Protection!" he yelled. "It was for protection!"

"Protection from what?"

"From *you*!"

I froze.

"Me?"

"Yes!" He was panting now. Pacing. "You were getting worse, El. The paranoia. The nightmares. You were sleepwalking. You were... doing things."

"Doing things?"

"Checking the locks fifty times a night. Moving furniture. Talking to people who weren't there."

He stopped. He looked at me with eyes full of tears.

"I was scared," he whispered. "I was scared you were going to hurt yourself. Or me. So I... I installed the cameras. To monitor you. To have proof for the doctors. If... if we needed to commit you."

I stared at him.

My husband. My protector.

He hadn't been protecting me from the world. He had been building a case against me.

"You were going to commit me," I said. My voice was devoid of emotion.

"Only if I had to," he sobbed. "Only to save you."

"Save me?" I laughed. A harsh, bitter sound. "You gaslit me, Leo. You made me think I was crazy. And then you filmed me while I was falling apart."

"I love you," he said. "I did it because I love you."

"Show me the footage," I said.

"What?"

"The footage. Where does it go? A cloud? A server?"

"It's... on a drive," he said. "In the safe."

"Open it."

We walked to the closet. He moved the false panel. He punched in the code.

The safe beeped open.

Inside, there was a stack of hard drives. Labeled by month.

*June. July. August. September. October.*

And... *November.*

I grabbed the November drive.

"Is this it?" I asked. "Is this everything?"

"Yes," he said.

I looked at the drive. Then at him.

"You're lying," I said.

"I'm not!"

"You wiped the gate log," I said. "I saw you. Why would you wipe the gate log if you were just monitoring *me*?"

He blanched.

"Because..." He swallowed hard. "Because the camera caught something else."

"What?"

"Last night," he whispered. "Before Ethan came."

"What did it catch?"

"Aris," he said.

The name sucked the air out of the room.

"Aris?"

"He came over," Leo said. "Around 8:00. While you were in the bath."

"Why?"

"He... he wanted to talk. About you. About your treatment."

"And?"

"And I let him in," Leo said. "We talked in the library. For an hour. Then he left."

"He left?"

"Yes."

"Through the front door?"

"Yes."

"Then why did you wipe the log?"

Leo looked down at his feet.

"Because," he whispered. "The log showed him coming in. But it didn't show him leaving."

My heart stopped.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... the system logged his entry. But there was no exit log. The sensor never tripped on the way out."

"But you said he left."

"I thought he did!" Leo looked up, his eyes wild. "I walked him to the door. I saw him walk out. But... maybe the sensor glitched. Or maybe..."

"Or maybe he didn't leave," I said.

"He had to have left!" Leo insisted. "I locked the door behind him!"

"Did you check the guest room?" I asked. "Did you check the basement?"

"No. Why would I?"

"Because," I said, my voice trembling. "Because Ethan said *he's right behind you.*"

I looked at the hole in the wall. At the camera lens.

"Leo," I said. "Who has access to these cameras? Besides you?"

He hesitated.

"Leo?"

"I... I gave the login to Aris," he whispered. "So he could help me monitor you. As a professional."

I dropped the drive.

It wasn't just Leo watching me.

It was Aris.

Aris had been watching me sleep. Aris had been watching me shower. Aris had been watching me spiral.

And last night...

If Aris hadn't left...

If he had slipped back in... or never walked out...

Then he was in the house when Ethan arrived.

He was in the house when I shot him.

He was in the house *right now*.

A creak.

Overhead.

From the attic.

Leo looked up. "What was that?"

"The house settling," I said automatically.

But then it happened again.

*Step. Step.*

Footsteps.

Heavy. Deliberate.

Directly above us.

In the attic that was supposed to be sealed.

Leo’s face went white.

"There's someone up there," he whispered.

"No," I said. "Not someone."

I grabbed his arm.

"Him."

I pulled Leo toward the door.

"We have to go. Now."

"But the police—"

"The police aren't here!" I screamed. "It's just us! And him!"

We ran into the hallway.

The attic hatch was at the end of the hall. It was closed.

But as we watched...

The handle began to turn.

Slowly.

Silently.

And then, with a groan of rusted hinges...

It began to open.