My Husband Doesn’t Exist Chapter 05

My Husband Doesn’t Exist Chapter 05

The camera feed loaded slowly onto the phone 

screen. 

I stared at it. 

Every drop of blood in my body froze. 

How is this possible? 

The camera angle was completely wrong. 

I mounted the camera in the corner of the living room facing directly at the front door. 

That was the whole point. So I could monitor the 

entrance at all times. 

But what was on my screen now was something 

utterly unfamiliar. 

The frame was shaking violently. 

The image showed a section of iron railing 

covered in green rust. 

On the ground, a pair of mud–caked black dress 

shoes. 

The light was almost nonexistent. 

This was not my living room. 

This was a dead zone in the property 

management building. The abandoned corridor leading to the underground parking garage. 

A withered hand appeared in the frame. 

Then a face. Pale. Bloated. Pressed directly 

against the lens. 

Jenna’s face. 

Her eyes were locked on the camera. 

[Mara, stop watching!] 

“Confess and we go easy. Resist and we won’t.” 

A cold, commanding voice cut through the air. 

As those words landed, the phone screen went 

black. 

Everything in front of me began to warp and twist. 

My eyes snapped open. 

I was gasping. Heaving. 

This is… an interrogation room? 

Why am I here? 

The bare fluorescent bulb overhead was so harsh 

it made my eyes water. 

The sixth–floor hallway was gone. 

The reinforced front door was gone. 

The smell of white tea had vanished completely. 

The air reeked of disinfectant. 

I wasn’t standing by the elevator. 

My body was fixed to a cold metal chair. 

A heavy, freezing sensation pressed against my 

wrists. 

Handcuffs. Silver. 

The slightest movement sent the chain rattling. 

Across from me sat a long metal table. 

Two uniformed officers stared at me. Their 

expressions were stone. 

The older officer on the left slowly pulled his hand 

back. 

He looked at me with eyes devoid of warmth. 

“Mara Lynn. That’s the entire story you’ve spent three hours spinning?” 

I stared at him. 

My mind was a storm of static. 

“No… that’s not…” 

“I wasn’t spinning anything!” 

I shook my head violently, my voice cracked and 

raw. 

“I just got off work.” 

“I was standing in front of my apartment.” 

“Derek from downstairs came up to harass me 

again.” 

“Jenna called me.” 

“Kyle went over to help.” 

“The blue shirt disappeared…” 

The older officer sighed. 

There was no warmth in his gaze. None at all. 

He turned. 

And swiveled the computer monitor on the desk to 

face me. 

“Mara Lynn. Open your eyes. Take a good look.” 

“Look at this place you keep calling a fortress.” 

The screen played a recorded walkthrough of a 

crime scene search. 

The shoe rack by the door was bare. 

No two pairs of men’s size–eleven sneakers. 

Just one pair of cheap women’s flats covered in 

dust. 

No fresh men’s shirts on the balcony. 

Just a broken clothesline swinging in the wind. 

The footage cut to the kitchen. 

No signs of cooking on the cutting board. 

The entire kitchen was wrapped in thick plastic 

sheeting. 

Floor. Walls. Ceiling. 

Everything was covered in white, patchy stains left 

behind by concentrated bleach. 

And under ultraviolet light, those scrubbed 

surfaces revealed something else entirely. 

Large, sprawling patterns of luminescent blue. 

Spatter marks. Blood. 

Even through the screen, I could almost smell the 

rot. 

“Mara Lynn.” 

“You killed Jenna Farrow. And then you took her 

apartment.” 

The older officer’s voice was ice.