Chapter 2
Something that couldn't be seen? What kind of answer was that?
My head was spinning.
It wasn't a fire, an earthquake, or a burglary. Then what was it?
I looked at David. The side of his face seemed oddly unfamiliar in the shifting glow of the streetlights.
We'd been married for five years, and I thought I knew him inside out.
David was an ordinary programmer. He was soft-spoken, a little shy, maybe even a bit clumsy.
He'd blush whenever he got into an argument with anyone.
But tonight, he seemed like a whole different person.
He was calm, decisive, and there was a bone-deep fear that seemed etched into his very being.
The car was already speeding down the highway. David obviously had this route mapped out from the start.
We were driving toward the next city over.
"Where are we going?" I asked.
"Somewhere safe," David answered.
We lapsed into another long silence.
The only thing breaking the quiet was the engine's roar and the strained, suppressed breaths we shared.
I tried to recall everything that had happened tonight. There hadn't been any sign at all.
We'd just gone through our usual routine. We came home from work, had dinner, watched TV, and then went to bed.
Before we fell asleep, David was still complaining to me about how much of a headache the new project at work was.
Everything was normal, nothing out of the ordinary, until David pushed me out of bed.
The more I thought about it, the more terrified I became.
What exactly happened in that building? What happened to our neighbors?
The couple across the hall had just retired. They were always so kind. They even brought us their homemade pancakes.
The family downstairs had a mischievous little boy who'd just started grade school.
And... the rest... Did they make it out okay?
I didn't dare think any further.
The car was speeding, and the scenery outside was whizzing by.
I reached for my phone, thinking about calling someone. Then I remembered I'd left it at home.
"David, we need to call the police," I said, my voice trembling.
He whipped his head around, his gaze fierce.
"We can't call the police," he snapped.
I said, "Why? Something might've happened in the building. Our neighbors—"
"If we call the police, we'll end up dead, too," David said, word by word.
Each word hit me like a shard of ice, chilling me to the bone.
I couldn't say a single word.
Dead. That was what he said.
I stared at David—my husband, the person I trusted most—and right now, he was a complete mystery to me.
What did he know? What was he keeping from me?
After two hours, we exited the highway.
We entered a city that was completely unfamiliar to me.
It was around three in the morning, and the streets were empty—no people, no cars anywhere.
David parked the car in front of a rundown motel.
"Let's stay here for now," David said.
He turned off the engine, but didn't get out right away.
He leaned back in his seat and let out a deep breath.
Only then did I notice his back was drenched in cold sweat.
We checked in and got ourselves a room. The place was tiny, and the air reeked of mold.
David double-checked the lock, and then shoved a chair under the door.
After all that, he finally relaxed and flopped down on the bed.
I stood in the middle of the room, my hands and feet icy cold.
"Can you tell me what happened now?" I asked.
David looked at me, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.
He said, "Julia, please, don't ask.
"All you need to know is that we survived. That's all that matters."
His words made my heart sink. I felt a wave of despair wash over me.
It was like an invisible wall had sprung up between us, shutting me out.
I didn't sleep a wink all night.
David lay beside me, his breathing steady, as if he were asleep.
But I knew he wasn't.
His body was rigid, never really at ease.
As dawn crept in, I carefully reached for his phone. It wasn't even locked.
With trembling hands, I tapped open the news app.
I needed to know if anything had happened back in our city.
I swiped to refresh. A local news article popped up.
The headline was short, but every single word made my blood run cold.
It read: [Horrific Incident in a Residential Building in the Old Town—Eight Families, No Survivors.]
My finger stopped dead on the screen. All at once, my blood ran cold.
I read that headline again and again, unable to look away.
A residential building in the old town. That was our place.
Eight families... Our building had two units per floor, ten floors in all.
The attic on the top floor was empty, so there were nine families living there.
Hold on, there were actually ten families. The ground floor unit counted, too.
I took a deep breath and tapped on the article. There was a video inside.
The footage was shaky, probably filmed by someone in the crowd with their phone.
I saw the familiar entrance to our apartment building. The place was already cordoned off with long stretches of police tape.
Uniformed officers were moving in and out, looking deadly serious.
The camera zoomed in, and I saw the front door to our apartment building.
Several ambulances were parked outside, but their lights weren't flashing and there were no sirens blaring.
A few emergency workers were carrying a white stretcher bag out of the building.
I felt like I was going to be sick.
The written report was bare-bones, straight to the point. It said the police got a call in the early hours and showed up at the scene.
They found all eight households inside had been found dead in their beds.
No one knew how they died, and there was zero sign anyone had fought back.
In the last part, the report mentioned that the two families living on the ninth floor had vanished without a trace. They were now officially missing.
Ninth floor, two families.
One was us, and the other was the retired couple across the hall.
They disappeared, too?