Chapter 3 - The Whispers in the Walls
By nine o'clock that evening, the tension in the house was thick enough to choke on. David had refused to eat the dinner Rebecca prepared, opting instead to sit in his mother’s room, watching her sleep. Evelyn’s breathing was ragged, her sleep fitful, interrupted by sudden starts and muffled whimpers.
When he finally stepped out of her room to get a glass of water, the house was dark. Rebecca had retired to the master bedroom upstairs.
David stood in the quiet kitchen, the cold glass of water pressed against his forehead. His mind was a chaotic mess of doubts. Was Rebecca telling the truth? Was he overreacting? He knew taking care of a stroke patient was stressful, but the image of his mother crawling across the floor, thirsty and helpless, refused to leave his mind.
He walked into the living room, intending to find his mother’s wheelchair. He opened the door to the garage.
The custom, three-thousand-dollar motorized wheelchair was sitting in the corner of the garage, tucked behind a stack of winter tires. It wasn't wet. There was no bucket of soapy water, no rags, no sign of cleaning supplies anywhere near it. In fact, the battery pack had been completely removed, and the charging cable was missing.
This wasn't a cleaning project. The chair had been intentionally disabled.
David’s heart began to beat in a frantic, erratic rhythm. He leaned against the cold metal of his workbench, trying to make sense of the malice required to do such a thing.
As he stood in the dim garage, his eyes caught a tiny, rhythmic flicker of blue light coming from the wooden beam directly above the garage door.
He walked over, standing on his toes to get a closer look. Tucked into a knot in the wood was a small, cylindrical device no larger than a lipstick tube. It was a high-definition, motion-activated surveillance camera.
David’s breath hitched. He hadn't installed any security cameras in the garage.
He ran back into the house, his eyes scanning the ceilings and corners of the rooms with a newfound, terrifying paranoia. He walked into the living room, standing on the coffee table to inspect the crown molding. There, hidden behind a fake silk ivy plant, was another tiny lens.
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He went to his mother’s bedroom. He carefully searched the bookcase, the curtain rods, and finally, the smoke detector directly above her bed.
Inside the smoke detector, pointing directly down at the pillows where his mother slept, was a third pinhole camera.
