My Neighbor Heard a Woman Screaming in My Empty House—Then I Hid Under My Bed and Heard My “Dead” Husband’s Voice
PART 3
My entire body went rigid.
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She bent down again.
Her face disappeared beneath the edge of the mattress.
I gripped the knife.
My heart hammered so loudly I was certain she could hear it.
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Her hand moved slowly across the floor.
Then she touched my shoe.
I had taken my shoes off before hiding.
She pulled one out.
For a second, she simply stared at it.
Then she smiled.
“She was here.”
Derek’s voice went silent.
The woman whispered,
“Her shoes are under the bed.”
I knew I had seconds.
I pushed upward.
The woman screamed.
I swung the knife—not at her, but into the mattress beside her face.
She scrambled backward.
I rolled out from under the bed and stood.
She stared at me.
I stared at her.
And then she whispered the name I had been afraid to hear.
“Claire.”
“Natalie.”
Her face went white.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
Then she dropped the phone.
Derek’s voice came through the speaker.
“What happened?”
Natalie grabbed the phone.
“She’s here.”
A pause.
Then Derek said,
“Leave.”
Natalie ran.
She shoved past me and sprinted toward the hallway.
I chased her.
“Stop!”
She reached the stairs.
I grabbed her arm.
She twisted violently.
“Let go!”
“You’re not going anywhere.”
She slapped my hand away.
Then she ran downstairs.
I followed.
By the time I reached the front door, it slammed shut.
I heard a car engine roar.
I ran outside.
A dark SUV sped away from the curb.
I stood in the driveway, barefoot, holding a kitchen knife.
My hands were shaking.
My mind couldn’t process what had just happened.
Natalie.
My sister.
Alive.
Working with my dead husband.
I went back inside.
The phone was still lying on my bedroom floor.
The call had ended.
But there was something else.
A tiny recording icon was blinking.
I picked it up.
The last conversation had been automatically recorded.
I pressed play.
Derek’s voice filled the room.
“Claire can’t know Natalie is involved.”
Natalie’s voice answered.
“She already knows.”
“She can’t prove anything.”
“What if she recognizes my voice?”
“She won’t.”
“I think she will.”
“She hasn’t seen you in years.”
A pause.
Then Derek said,
“That’s why I chose you.”
I stopped the recording.
My hands went numb.
He had planned this.
He had been alive.
Derek had been alive this entire time.
But why?
And why had he needed Natalie?
I immediately called the police.
Within fifteen minutes, two officers arrived.
I showed them the recording.
They listened.
Then they exchanged a look.
One officer asked,
“Do you know where your sister lives?”
“Phoenix.”
“When was the last time you spoke to her?”
“Three months ago.”
“Does she have a vehicle?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know the license plate?”
I gave them everything I knew.
Then one officer asked,
“Are you certain that voice belongs to your husband?”
I looked at him.
“I was married to that man for fourteen years.”
I swallowed.
“I know his voice better than I know my own.”
They took the phone.
They photographed the speaker.
They searched the bedroom.
They found a tiny camera hidden behind the air vent.
My stomach turned.
“How long has that been there?”
“We don’t know yet.”
The officer carefully removed it.
Then he found another one.
Behind the bookshelf.
Then another.
Inside the hallway smoke detector.
My house had been turned into a surveillance system.
I sat on the couch while the officers worked.
Then one of them came toward me.
“Claire.”
“Yes?”
“We found something in your attic.”
My heart sank.
“What?”
He held up a cardboard box.
“Did you put this there?”
I shook my head.
Inside was Derek’s old laptop.
The laptop he supposedly took with him the night of the crash.
I stared at it.
“No.”
The officer opened the lid.
The battery was dead.
But when he connected it to a portable power bank, the screen came alive.
There was one password-protected folder.
The name was simple.
PROJECT C.
My initials.
C.
Claire.
The officers looked at me.
“Do you know the password?”
I shook my head.
Then I remembered something.
Derek’s coffee mug.
His wedding ring.
Three taps.
Three rhythmic beats.
I looked at the keyboard.
I typed:
3-3-3.
Nothing.
I tried the date we met.
Nothing.
Our wedding date.
Nothing.
Then I remembered something Derek used to say.
“People always choose passwords they think nobody else would guess.”
I typed the name of our first dog.
The screen opened.
My stomach dropped.
Inside were hundreds of files.
Photos.
Documents.
Audio recordings.
Medical reports.
Insurance policies.
Property deeds.
Bank statements.
And photographs of me.
Hundreds of them.
Sleeping.
Working.
Eating dinner.
Walking through the garden.
Talking to neighbors.
There were even photographs of me inside the doctor’s office.
I felt sick.
THE NEXT PART 4 👇